#my thoughts have been tumbling my brain smooth so they have to be out. sorry

[waddingham]

was looking at some very old posts of mine and i just. when i finished s2 of ted lasso i was certain that a) ted would be going back to kansas and that b) ted and rebecca would not end up together on our screens. and i didn't have a problem with either of those things bc i was certain they'd be done with the same thoughtfulness that was present in s1 and most of s2. and i ended up being right about both things but so totally wrong about the execution of both??? yeah okay i hear you there was a three season arc, there was a plan, but wrt s3 you cannot convince me that plan consisted of anything that happened outside of "ted goes home". and even that decision felt shoved to the wayside.

i was dead certain that teds decision to go back was going to be informed by a deep exploration of ted and his past and his trauma and how the loss of his dad affects his own sense of fatherhood, that it was going to be ted's season entirely and would be as heart wrenching and uplifting as the rest of his story — so much so that by the time he decided he needed to go back, that we'd all be so on board. we'd all feel "oh of course he has to go back, look how much henry needs him and how much ted needs henry, how deep his fear of not being there for his son goes". why didn't we get that why did ted feel like a supporting character in his own show in his own SEASON why didn't the deeply traumatic event that informs almost all of ted as a character ever come up when it's so relevant to all of this why!!!! i need a 30 page essay from each of the ted lasso writers and a week long conference with js to explain it to me like im 5!!!!! am I stupid!!!

right anyway

when it comes to ted and rebecca i have less gripes but still am so baffled at the number of parallels drawn and connections made and support given to say "yes they're kind of intrinsically tied" for ZERO acknowledgement of it? which brings me back to the first point because that journey for ted could've leant itself so nicely to rebecca returning the kind of support to ted that he gave her? which in turn could've added a lovely extra layer to rebecca's story by seeing her find additional comfort and confidence in her own ability to support someone else and give love? it all could've woven together so neatly?? like??? am i stupid????? whether they ever hit the romance threshold or not (setting aside the fact of just how many and how often they tried to invoke rom coms but went "oh ew romance? no" when given a perfect opportunity to say something timeless but refreshing about second chance loves) continuing to see them grow together the way they had already accentuated through the whole rest of the show would've been more than enough for me personally. even if there was a heartbreaking parting it would've felt......earned? it would've felt right? just as fair to the viewer after absorbing all these things as it was to the story?

anyway......i feel like I'm missing something every time I think about it

[sincerestlove]

Coming Home

my first tumblr fic, ahhh!! i’m so excited to be sharing my work here. i am absolutely in love with reneé rapp <3

Pairing: Reneé Rapp x Reader

Warnings: Alludes to smut

~

It was an ungodly hour in the morning when you heard the familiar jingle of keys in the front door. You had fallen asleep some hours before, reruns of The Office playing on the television. Groggily rubbing your eyes, you looked up to see your girlfriend, visibly tired, walking through the door. With a sigh, she shucked her coat on the hangar, kicked off her shoes and made her way towards you.

"Hey, Ne." You sleepily smiled at her, opening your arms for her to walk into.

"Hi, baby." She sighed again, diving head first into the warmth and comfort of your arms. She nuzzled her nose into your neck, slowly breathing in the fading scent of your perfume and shampoo.

You began running your fingers gently through her soft blonde hair, smiling at the way she immediately relaxed into your embrace. "Are you hungry? Have you eaten since you left this morning?" Already knowing the answer, you rolled your eyes when she shook her head no. "Okay beautiful, let's get some food in that tummy."

Coaxing the tired woman to sit up on the couch, you quickly made your way into the kitchen to grab the plate of food you made for her return home. Reneé smiled at you gratefully, her stomach growling on cue. "Thank you, Y/N, you're the best."  The blonde began to dig in, you laughing at the urgency of her movements.

"Slow down, babe. The food isn't going to run off of the plate." You grinned at her, the woman pausing to look at you sheepishly.

"Sorry. I'm hungrier than I thought." You waved teasingly, allowing her to finish her meal in silence, turning your attention to the television.

After a few minutes, Reneé returned her empty plate to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway of the living room on her way back. You looked up at her, brow raised. She leaned against the door frame smirking at you, arms crossed under her chest. Her eyes ran up and down your frame, taking in your appearance.

Just then, you took in what she was wearing, and your mouth went dry. She was clad in your favorite tank top, clinging to her in all the right places - hair tumbled loosely down her toned shoulders, slender fingers running up to push it out of her face.

"See something you like, Y/L/N?" She smirked at you, pushing off the frame and sauntering slowly towards you. Your brain short circuited then, mouth hanging open as the woman offered her hand to you, gesturing her head towards the bedroom. You nodded, sleep immediately forgotten, quickly taking her hand and allowing her to drag you to the bedroom you two shared.

Reneé shut the door behind you and gently pushed you against it all in a smooth motion. Your breath hitched in your throat, hands finding solace on her waist. "Are you too tired, Ne? We don't have to do anything tonight, you know?" You assured the woman, knowing how long and tiring her recording sessions have been recently.

She nuzzled into the space between your neck and shoulder, warm lips finding flushed skin. "Never too tired for you, honey. Get on the bed for me, hm?"

~ ~ ~

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but when you came back down from your numerous releases, Reneé was cleaning up between your legs with a warm towel, pressing soft kisses to your tummy. "How are you feeling, love?" She whispered, fingers coming to gently massage your lower back and thighs.

"Good. Yeah, good." You mumbled. Renée laughed, as you felt her cuddle in behind you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders. She pulled the covers up over the both of you, nuzzling her face into your hair.  "This was supposed to be about you, y'know."

Your girlfriend laughed, rubbing your back soothingly. "You can always return the favor later. Sleep now, love."

~

i hope you enjoyed! please leave me requests if you have any :)

[luv-beam]

okay so i went a little crazy i sorry 🧍🏻‍♀️

summer of '99

• no cuz im the older sister but i feel like i can understand yn completely and to say that i have been in sunwoo's shoes too at one point or another *looks away guiltily*... anyways... haha ERIC KSNFKDND no bc the little smile on my face when he said hi excited? :'))

• OMG THE MP3 PLAYER AND H.O.T KSDNKD the way he put the headphones on her and scooted over to the middle seat skfnsjdnjd okok ik its like NOTHING but my brain going brr.

birthday of '89

• the,,, the birthday party im :( no cuz the way my heart just STOPPED in my chest when it was clear her friends werent coming omg

• awwh sunwoo pls 😔💔 older sibling tough love is real ,, but im happy he did go to retrieve eric, and look at them being silly and happy and oh,, im crying :'))

• okay but what if you just,,, had an eric hehe

• i think we're always looking for that one person who just lights up a room by walking in and just effortlessly brings spirits up,, what a blessing yk?

back to '99

"you settle with the patriarchy" AHHAHAHAH

• sighs .

• .........eric w the wet hair the description is so endearing but the vision is uhm not in that sense 😁

• the comedic timing of choking on the watermelon seed 😭😭 but their banter is so gold, and so very older brother-little sister accurate

• DYING THE THE THE THE POOL HE PICKED HER UP AND KANFJSNDJSNJDND i will never get sick of shit like that in fics dude, makes me look like :O irl but also why did it give me butterflies :l is this the impact of always wanting m*le attention my entire life :l

• i giggled teehee

• THE SCRUNCHIE. HOW'D I JUST KNOW THAT HE WAS GONNA PULL IT OUT OF HIS ASS SO CASUALLY LIKE THAT JDBFJDNFJN

• omg the whole sequence of yn falling and trying to make the u turn and realizing she's not gonna pancake onto the sidewalk and looking up to be met by ERIC like bro. how'd u get here so fast. why are you,,, literally so chivalrous i could YEET OFF A CLIFF

• also again, the whole sequence was so beautifully written. like u could really see the actions playing out, and lines about ur poor balance laughing at u really butters my biscuit

• aw the pinky swear (´Д⊂ヽ

• im rocking back and forth eric eric eric T_T where can i get one cuz the way you're portraying him rn is making me fall to my knees like wtaf am i doing w my life. he feels so safe and like a hug as a person

aug of '99:

• he's just... incompetent AHHAHAH the side somments and thought processes are SENDING ME INTO ORBIT

• lowkey the little similarities btwn how sunwoo and yn act as siblings just mwah like i feel like im seeing parallels and idk if im just analyzing them into space or if they were intended but !!

• what a smooth mtherfcker......... 🤨😐 ofc u get a bracelet, ofc i'll tie it for u, ofc they bump limbs, OFC ERIC WILL NOT TAKE THE DAMN BRACELET OFF

sept of '99:

• *smiles mischeviously* cutie >:)

• THE CHOCOLATE.......... YOU.... YOUUUUUUU. YOU. :l what if i like fell off a tree rn how about that

• *grabs my own shoulders* *shakes them violently* HE BOUGHT US SOME MORE. HE BOUGHT US. SOME. MORE. AHHHHHHHHEHFJRHFJBFJFNFJGJKFJF

• "eric says close to your ear" SHUT UP. STHUT THE FRONT FKN DOOR OFC U CAN HAVE CHOCOLATE I DONT CARE ABT CHCOCLATE DO IT AGAIN DO IT AGAIN

• what if i actually like.... died?????? the warm gaze 🙁 wdym WARM STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT IM SCREAMING WE R GOING IN HEADFIRST

• THE TUMBLING AROUND IN BED TO PUT STICKERS ON HIS FACE IM YELLING YODELING CRYING SCREAMING DYING FRYING MYSELF ON THE STOVE— did u just say polaroid camera o_o thats it everyone im ending everything

• when she buried her face in the pillow and screamed..... literally me rn

oct of '99:

• the best month of the year sorry i dont make the rules im just obsessed w myself like that 🤡🤡

• OH HELP ME...... hes soooooo cute im falling into an abyss that i cant crawl out of and chewing on my fucking fingers wtf i havent had breakfast yet except for two painkillers and im going thru it HE NEEDS TO AJFBEKFNJD AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

• I . LOVE. HIM. him just being on the clock and the HESITATION TO GO BACK TO WORK THE KFNEKFNEKFNDKFJJDBS AJSNDJSBDJDNFJDNFJJFJ

nov of '99:

• the view... is stunning hah... haha ha cries

• kdfbkdnfkfnfj 😭😭😭 this this this this THIS !!!! i cant even english rn i cant word what word hpw doth thy wkfjkenfjrn

• NOOO. NO. THE I ALREADY HAVE A BROTHER LINE......... THE QUESTION DO U YN??? DO YOU???????

• U KNOW THAT CAT MEME THE WHITE CAT WITH THE RIDICULOUSLY WIDE MOUTH AND TEARS THATS ME THATS ME RN IM YELLING IM ACTUALLY JUST GAPING LIKE A FISH IM JUST AGGWHRHHEBFHRBFBDH THE WAY HE SAYS IT THE WAY IM ON THE FLOOR ROLLING AROUND

• u know what im tired of? feeling single. im staring into space and this is a reminder to future me to insert that one picture of seungkwan here WDYM . ALL THE WORDS UNSAID??? BAR. BAR U CANT DO THIS TO ME. (from me in the future: i actually don't have that specific seungkwan pic saved. blr on mobile also won't let me use all my memes cuz too many photos 💔 everyone say boo dumblr)

dec of '99: current mood going in is empty why is my hand without one to hold. i will be back tho i have to feed my brother and ship him to school

• okay im back and this place is crowded and making me hhhhhhhhhhh but i love the addition of the broadcast w all the shit that could go wrong when going into the new year 🤧🤧 though a dooming prospect, it adds to the world building in a really cool way

• its kind of refreshing really the way they all think the world is going to end even tho we have the foresight that it wont, not yet at least

• oh my god the countdown i love

• NO. STOP THAT I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS. THIS LINE BAR THIS LINE !!!! I WANT TO PRINT IT OUT AND SMACK IT ON MY FOREHEAD

• WAIT NOOOO SUNWOO GO AWAY GET OOOOOUUUUUUUUT

jan of '00: lol jan anyways

• malicious joy IS the best kind of joy, as a q simp and as an older sister and a closeted sadist— wait what :0

• and i LOVE this kind of deja vu 😁😁 DO IT AGAIN I SAY DO IT AGAIN HEHEHEHEHEH how chivalrous and romantic, that hes there to catch u whenever ur abt to eat shit 🥰

• oh hes desperate hes pulling out the IOUs HES GUILT TRIPPING THRU CAPITALISM

• HE KEPT IT IN HIS WALLET ARE YOU SHITTING ME RNASKNFKENFKFND IM SITTING IN MY BROTHER'S SCHOOL PARKING LOT AND HE CAN HEAR ME TYPINF AND IM JUSTBDYUNGJEBFKFNKFNFKFNGKFN

• I REALLY WANNA SPEND MY LAST MOMENT WITH YOU IG 😭😭😭😭 I 😭😭😭 GUESS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

• okay im gonna go buy vegetables i'll brb

• im back \o/

• NOOOO THE DETAILS THE DETAILS AS THE PUZZLE PIECES FIT TOGETHER FOR HER THE UGLY FKN BRACELET . wait hey those animal stickers r NOT stupid u take that back right tf now

• he is literally the most boyfriend coded person on the planet he is soooo so cute why did u make me more delusional bar why

• have i died yet is this the end???? NO U DIDNT ERIC STOOP. SYOP THIS RN.

• OH MY GOD THE SNOWBALL KSNFKDNDK AHHAHAHAHAHHA NO CUZ I LOVE SUNWOOS REACTION HELP the way u put it makes it sound so endearing and UGH THE END LINE THE E N D L I N E . NOW THATS AN ENDING FOLKS WOOOOOO !!!!!!

final thoughts! yes u get to hear more of me screaming i hope you've liked my live journey of pain !!

**side note: the feeling yn felt when she was w sunwoo's friends is how i feel in groups, period :') ig thats why i could sympathize w how she felt, but also just cuz i regret the share of cruelty i have dealt as an older sister too and it comes back to me in btwn the cuteness of this fic

okay,,,, just so you know, i hope ur never scared EVER AGAIN for me to read your work cuz like 🤨🤨 u have nothing to be scared for, i fkn loved this. like the vibes were immaculate, idek how to describe how they made me feel, but the fact that it was set in the 90s and the world building was so real and jsbfksnfkfk it was vibalicious and truly the slice of life gets me every time. im just here, wondering when my life can sound exactly like you wrote it

also the way you portrayed ERIC and the sunyn sibling relationship 😭😭😭 they were both SO well done im just so speechless. such beautiful characterization, and the way eric was so consistently present in yns life, and sunwoo being a true Older Sibling™. i don't read a lot of sibling relationship stuff on blr, but this hit, dude.

i say well done, and uhm, sorry for how long this was 🤡 bye ily 💖

millennium bug – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: 90s au, twenty-five twenty-one au, brother's best friend au, childhood friends au, fluff, slice of life, coming of age. older brother! sunwoo. essentially just eric being baek yijin. oct-nov scenes inspired by weak hero class 1. no plot just vibes im sorry

warnings: minimal swearing and thats all lol

word count: 19k

a/n: posting a fic for a new fandom is always so scary pls be nice to me deobiblr bc im literally abt to cry. also yes i am calling this a 2521 au bc the plot is so heavily inspired it might just be one. a special thank you goes out to @csenke for dragging me into stanning this group i am enjoying myself 🤞

there are some pros and cons to not having friends growing up. cons: you're always forced to tag along with your brother and his group wherever he goes. pros: his childhood best friend is kind of hot.

JUNE OF 1999

Being Kim Sunwoo’s younger sister is no bed of roses sometimes.

Sure, you get the occasional excitement of having him bring you rollerskating with you down the hill or the ever so rare moments of him defending you in front of your mother when you two have done something wrong (while never saying he was in on the bad act as well, of course), but more than often, you are met with his disgusted looks and insults whenever the two years older boy passes by your room and casually bangs at the door just to spite you.

His snarky looks are especially ones to remember. Maybe it’s because he offers them to you often– much like in this very moment, completely unprovoked, and completely not by your fault.

“But mum–”

“I already told you, Sunwoo,” your mother looks at him with a stern look in her eye, the one that makes chills run down your spine, “you can go if you take Y/N with you.”

“But nobody’s bringing their sister! Mum, come on–”

“Take it or leave it, young man.”

And see, your brother may be 19 years old, but he’s still in need of getting permission to leave the house if it includes an overnight stay. It’s an unspoken rule he always follows, since he’s usually granted the right to leave, but the result of his conversation was different than what he expected this time. And see, you may be just two years younger than him (one year left until you are an adult), but even though your mother is too busy to take care of you and entertain your slowly adultling self on most days because of her highly demanding job, she always makes sure that you don’t stay alone for long, and that’s exactly why (you realize, contrary to your brother) she insists on making you tag along on Sunwoo’s trip to the beach house with his friends.

The male grunts and turns on his heel, not giving your mother another response– and with this, you know she won. And that means you’ll have to pack your bag soon, because you know that there’s no way Sunwoo would miss going to the beach house with his friends– even if it meant making his little sister tag along.

And sure enough, Lee Juyeon’s minivan pulls up into your driveway only a few hours later, and the sound of the honking outside is enough for your older brother to aggressively drag you outside of the house, shutting the door behind you and hollering an angry “Bye mum!” to your mother. Your figure is handled with the least amount of care possible as you’re thrown towards the white van, the door opened and 5 heads already peeking out with expecting eyes, waiting for your brother’s arrival.

“My mum made my stupid sister go with me, so I hope we have space for one more,” Sunwoo huffs as he throws his bag into the trunk, slamming it with more force than was necessary (boy does he know how to throw a scene), an encouraging voice of none other than Juyeon– the driver himself– landing in your ear. 

“Sure, just hop in!”

With that, your feet finally unglue themselves off the ground and bring you into the vehicle. You’re familiar with his friends– since a scenario like this hasn’t happened for the first time and you had to spend your fair time with Sunwoo’s circle growing up, mainly because you never really had many friends yourself. You’re not close with any of them, though, and you���re sure you haven’t seen half of them for ages. 

Lee Juyeon is the responsible one of the group. You’re comfortable with the fact that he’s the driver, since you’re not entirely sure if you’d trust any of the other men in this space behind the wheel (you fear the day your brother gets a driver’s license. You'd bet a million dollars that he’ll die while driving recklessly one day). Next to him on the passenger’s seat is Choi Chanhee, his best friend, carrying a map in his hands and twirling it in all possible directions to get his friend on the right track. In the three-seat behind those two is Ju Haknyeon, Ji Changmin and your brother himself, and in the very back of the whole van, almost in the trunk, you’re sat next to Eric Sohn– your brother’s childhood best friend.

“Hi guys,” you offer a greeting to all of them, settling into the uncomfortable leather seat (that’s peeling off, just by the way), watching as the rest of the men pay you no mind and ignore your voice, falling into a comfortable conversation with each other.

Sighing, because this always happens– your brother gets too annoyed because he has to bring you with him all the time, and you imagine his friends aren’t fond of the fact either– you settle deeper into the seat and cross your hands on your chest, looking outside of the window. You can’t imagine enjoying your trip now, since you feel like you’re a nuisance, a child they have to take care of (yes, it embarrasses you just the tiniest bit, you have to admit. Although, you do enjoy getting out of the house from time to time), and the fact that your feelings were probably more than justified and also true has you pouting, an unsatisfied feeling weighing at your lungs.

“Hi,” a voice resonates from your side, the sight of a smiling Eric peering at you taking you off guard. You didn’t expect anyone to react to your greeting– not so delayed anyway– and the sight of your brother’s best friend carrying on in the conversation with you has you shocked beyond belief. “Excited?”

Finding yourself hum in agreement– how much you are still excited for the pool and for the sun, you’re not really sure– and although you are upset, something about his open and nice demeanor has you visibly relaxing, the sparkles inviting themselves back into your eyes. “I’ve never been to the beach,” you admit, seeing Eric gasp at you in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “I go every year with my parents.”

“Well,” you hum, “you know how my mother is…” you sigh, chewing on the inside of your cheek. It’s easier to joke about it than to actually let the fact get to you– with your mother being the main news anchor, she is too busy to actually go on trips and form bonds with her own children sometimes. That’s why you spent most of your childhood at Eric’s family’s house in the first place– this is what made you the closest with Sunwoo’s same aged friend. His parents were nice enough to let you stay over and have sleepovers whenever your mum had to leave suddenly and take week-long trips abroad, or have emergency shifts during late evenings. 

Eric hums, sympathizing with you. “Well, at least you get to experience it now!”

“Yeah,” you awkwardly nod, playing with the hem of your jean shorts. It’s the shorts you made yourself by cutting the legs off your favorite pants after you grew out of them and they got too short, and they’re starting to look a little worn-out now. Maybe you should beg your mum to get you some new clothing.

The conversation between the boys grows in volume, doing nothing to help you to relax in the crowded vehicle. You can’t really find a place to fit yourself in and talk, the topics too unfamiliar for you and the feeling of not even being welcome in the discussion sitting heavy on your chest, when a finger bears itself to the flesh of your thigh, making you snap your head around to gape at the source of the contact. Eric looks at you with a boyish grin, sparkles evident in his eyes.

“Wanna see something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

The male digs around his backpack, hands searching through the contents of his bag for only a couple of seconds– since he’s the neat one, contrary to your messy brother– before he takes out a small gadget: a square with a little screen on top, a silver, circular button space sitting big in the very middle of the device. Eric throws the thing into your lap, smiling when you take it into your hands and examine it with curious eyes.

“Have you seen one before? My dad got it for me last week,” he boosts, satisfied with your reaction to it. 

Your mother’s job pays quite well– meaning that you usually have the latest gadgets, the latest trends– but if you’re being honest, you haven’t seen one of these in real life before. Yes, you caught a glimpse of an ad for it in the town center, on one of the big billboards while passing by to get to school in the morning, so you know that it’s an MP3 player, but still; this was your first time touching one and examining it in real life. 

“How does it work?” you ask, watching as the boy scoots from his seat to the middle one, so he is now sitting directly next to you, before he takes out wired headphones from the first department of his backpack and turns the little square over in his hands, finding where the jack goes.

“You put those in,” he says, plugging in the headphones, “and then you press this…” he explains, taking the device out of your hand and pushing on the power button for a few seconds, “and then it should play.”

Watching him with expecting eyes, the boy finally puts the MP3 player back into your hold. Then, his fingers swiftly put the respective earphones into your ears– like you’d do to a little kid that has no idea how they work, making you a little flushed at the action– and after that, you’re left with the sound of an unfamiliar song playing in your ears, making the sound of the chatter in the van completely tune out. Eric keeps on watching you, a sense of pride in his eyes as you nod at him, all excited with the new explory, before he takes one of the earphones out of your ear, grinning.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “The song is good,” you dumbly say, watching as the boy next to you pridefully nods at the compliment, resting his back against the car seat. 

“It’s the H.O.T album. My dad says they’re good,” he mumbles, moving the headphone he took from you and placing it into his ear, making you nod at him in acknowledgement. The action has your insides bubble with disappointment, thinking that the fun is over as you reach for the other earphone as well, offering it to the male.

Eric looks at you with a shocked pout, shaking his head. “No, we can share!” he says, pointing towards your ear. “If you want, of course.”

The action has you smiling, a shy nod escaping out of you as you reach and put the earphone back into your ear, letting yourself fall deeper into the car seat, listening to the song from Eric’s MP3 player. You’re grateful for his presence– he didn’t have to keep up a conversation with you. He could ignore you, just like the rest of his friend group always has. Maybe it was something about the two of you growing up together that always made the boy at least a bit more affectionate towards you than the rest.

You spend the car ride to the beach house with Eric leaning on your side, listening to music and his occasional blabbering about how his previous days went. 

Somehow, you're glad the seat beside him was the only vacant one when you arrived to the vehicle.

YOUR SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, 1989

You don't quite remember when you met Eric for the first time, if you’re being completely honest. The first memory you have of him is of your seventh birthday party, although you’re almost certain the boy’s been present at some point of your life before– at one point, you think you saw a picture of him and Sunwoo, two chubby toddlers, watching you as you laid on a blanket on the ground somewhere in your photo album. As far as you’re concerned, he may as well have been there when your mother brought you back from the hospital– although you think he must have been too young for that back then.

The first memory you have of Eric Sohn is the day you turned seven– a gloomy, sad day that in the moment, you prayed you wouldn’t have to remember in the first place.

It was already established that while your brother is the social butterfly, you don’t have a big friend group. Actually, you could count the number of your friends on one hand, and since the amount wasn’t as big, your mother allowed you to invite them all over to your house to celebrate your birthday with you. 

She baked a cake, she decorated the living room, hell, she even took a day off from work– something you deemed special, for it doesn’t happen often– and as you sat on the floor of your living room, the cake standing proud on the small coffee table, waiting for your friends to arrive, you hummed a song under your breath, the clock slowly passing the time you agreed for them to come over and celebrate.

At first, you didn’t mind it– everybody gets late sometimes, it’s okay. It was just a birthday party, and you had a lot of time. Not everything had to be set on schedule.

But the closer the clock moved to being one hour, than two after the time your friends were supposed to come, you grew worried. Your mother’s nervous pacing around the living room and her heavy sighs as she sat next to you on the floor, smiling at you in what you can only explain as sad way made you more and more anxious about the fact that you only had three friends, but all three of them seemed to not care enough to come celebrate your birthday with you. And as your mother finally took the final bow in the form of a soft hand on your inner thigh, her tone gentle as she called your name– “Y/N, I think we should light the candles,” you began to tear up.

You were supposed to eat the cake with your friends. You were supposed to hear them sing the birthday song to you. You were supposed to turn on the radio and dance around with your classmates, eat the sweets and unwrap the cheap, but heartfelt gifts they brought along with them to celebrate your birthday. 

But none of these scenarios were happening, and you felt incredibly, incredibly lonely and sad. Forgotten, if you will. Not cared for, definitely.

Hiding your face into your hands, you started to cry. This disappointment was too big for your small heart to take, and you no longer cared about the cake, the candles, the seaweed soup your mother cooked for you to celebrate, the gifts, or the party. All you wanted to do was hide in your room and never come out– something about the whole situation felt deeply embarrassing, and to this day, the moment before the whole day turned around still makes you feel a bit ashamed of yourself. 

Too busy crying, you didn’t notice your older brother watching you with big bambi eyes, a worried glance sent your way each time your sobs grew louder and louder. And maybe the boy only wanted to taste the cake (he’s been bugging your mum about it since the very morning, but he was always sent off with a scolding look telling him that he’ll get a slice when everyone arrives), but no matter what his true intentions were, his actions still managed to pull your seventh birthday party together in a way you never imagined.

The sound of the front door faintly resonated in your brain somewhere in the middle of your aimless sobbing, but you paid it no mind, thinking it was just Sunwoo going out to the yard to kick the ball. See, your older brother had never really known what to do when you cried growing up– it didn’t matter if he was the reason for your tears or if anyone else was. If he was the reason for your emotional outbursts, he tried to shut you up with his palm and get you to stop crying before his mother found out and gave him a scolding, but if someone else was, the small boy sometimes turned angry at the source. Kicking his classmate that once made a snarky comment about you and made you tear up or punching his friend when he was too harsh with you was all he knew to do in these situations, so he wasn’t the one to comfort you with words or hugs. It was only natural for him to escape in this situation.

You were brought to a state of shock and surprise when a hand landed on your shoulder, a familiar voice breaking you from your emotional turmoil.

“Why are you crying? We have to eat the cake!” you heard, your big, sad eyes meeting the small figure of the boy living next door, your brother nervously stepping from one side to the other right behind his best friend. “Can you light the candles, Mrs?” Eric politely asked your mum, pointing towards the cake waiting sadly at the coffee table, the figure of your mother leaving your side only shortly to get the matches from the kitchen and illuminate your face with the small flames.

Confusion mirrored your features as you watched your brother and his best friend sing the birthday song to you while your mum lit your candles, both boys clapping and dancing around, acting silly just to get a laugh from you. You didn't know how Eric got there, but you guessed there are some good sides to having him as your neighbor. The energetic boy did his best to brighten up your mood a bit, and when you blew out the candle, making a wish, Sunwoo even went as far as smashing your face into the cake to bring in the full birthday authenticity.

That got him a slap to the back of his head from your mother, as well as made you stand up from your position– no longer making you look like a disappointed bulk of pity– and chase him around the room, icing falling off your nose to the laminated floor. You got your revenge and smeared the chocolate all over his forehead (he let you chase him down only because it was your birthday and he really, really hated to see his sister cry, but he won’t ever tell you that) and as the three of you sat back down to the floor, watching your mother slice the cake and offer it to you on small white plates, you realized you suddenly weren't as sad anymore.

“What did you wish for?” Eric asked you, mouth full of cake and face messy with chocolate.

“I can’t tell you,” you hummed, eyebrows furrowed. “Then it won’t come true.”

“You probably wished for that doll you saw in the store the other day,” Sunwoo snickered as he swallowed, having you glare at him and send a sharp kick to his shin, unwatched by your mother (thankfully), as the boy fought you back, having no mercy.

Music suddenly filled the room as Eric stood up and put the radio on, his 9 year old brain smart enough to know how the device worked, his small figure dancing away to the songs playing on the single radio station you could play without carefully sorting out the antenna so it faced the north, and truly, you didn’t know how it happened, but it had you standing up and dancing around, exactly how you'd imagined doing with your friends from school.

The day wasn’t ruined– quite the opposite, really. It was one of your favorite birthday parties, and ever since then, Eric was invited to every single one you had after. And while Sunwoo may act like he doesn’t hate anything more in this world than having a younger sister, every time you feel like a burden to him, you remember this very afternoon.

You will never tell anyone what you wished for that day– but just to let everyone in on the secret, 

it was to somehow, just like Sunwoo, find someone like Eric for yourself as well. 

JUNE OF 1999

Standing at the side of the pool, eyes squinting from the inevitable force of the sun, you’re starting to regret your decision of coming along just a little. See, you usually don’t protest whenever Sunwoo aggressively drags you around and brings you everywhere he’s supposed to, because even though you love to see your brother angry (especially when you’re the reason behind the emotion), you’d also hate to see him miss out, but now, as the scorching hot sun is having no mercy on every exposed inch of skin– and believe me, there’s a lot of it, since you’re wearing your swimming trunks– and the sweat on your forehead is no longer culminating in beads, but rolling painfully slowly down your forehead, you do admit you’d be a little bit happier in the shade of your little room than here, watching the guys play volleyball in the comfort of the freezing cold pool.

And as the only female around the house, you settle with the patriarchy and bring out a small folding chair and a camping table alongside with a big, sharp knife, struggling to hoist up the giant watermelon you got in a grocery store on your way to the beach house, with the intention of cutting it and serving it to the guys later. Who knows, maybe they’ll like you a little more after that. 

The knife sinks into the thick green skin of the watermelon easily, and so as you accompany yourself with the excited (and not so excited screams coming from the losing side of the game– mainly your brother himself), you cut up the fruit into halves, then quarters, and as you stare at the moon crescents settled on the camping table, you decide to play nice and cut up the fruit into smaller triangles as well, to really get on everyone’s good side.

The yearning for male validation awakes in a woman pretty early on in life. It’s an inevitable misfortune.

“Told you Sunwoo’s all talk but no game!” you hear Haknyeon yell out as the game seemingly ends, the younger boy lunging at him in the pool, fighting him for the truthful words. Glancing at the commotion, you notice the guys slowly getting out of the pool, making you heave out in victory– you’re finally gonna have your turn in the pool. Well, if they don’t decide to occupy it again before you even get a chance to get in.

“Y/N! You cut up the watermelon?” Eric asks a very obvious question, walking up to you with beads of water all over his half-naked body. His dark hair is damply sitting against his forehead, making him look like a wet puppy, but as the male gets closer to you, he drags his palm through the locks and pushes them back, revealing his forehead– a sight sweet to your eyes, but you refuse to pay it much attention in the heat of the moment. It’s just the sun making you delirious as the idea of finding him attractive flashes through your brain, that’s all. 

“I did! Take one,” you smile, watching as the rest of the guys walk over to your little stand– while also obnoxiously swatting out water out of their hair like dogs, refusing to use towels like normal people– and finally, there it comes: appreciative smiles appear on their faces as they each take a piece, biting down on the fruit with delighted sighs.

Sunwoo walks up to you with a surprised look on his face, sighing as he messes with your hair. “If I knew you’d be our servant, I wouldn’t have even minded you going in the first place.”

“You do something nice for people and they jump on the chance to exploit you,” you hum, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s just like you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“No, that’s just me having older brother privileges.”

“I hope you choke on that, you know,” you bite at him, pointing towards the piece of sweet watermelon in his hands, the smile on his face turning bitter. There’s a satisfied look on your face when your brother does, indeed, choke on a watermelon seed a few seconds later– and they say dreams don’t come true.

“You didn’t have to,” you hear Eric speak up from the other side, your head turning to face the male, his features appreciative and warm. “Thank you,” he beams. There’s redness on the tip of his nose and his forehead, signaling his quickly approaching sunburn, and you can’t help but laugh out at his clueless, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer self. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you in question.

“Nothing,” you peep, “you just look like you forgot to use sunscreen,” you mumble, watching as the male gasps and touches his face, a horrified expression overtaking him when the skin under his fingertips burns to the touch. 

“I didn’t forget! It must have rubbed off in the pool,” he mourns, “I must look stupid!” 

“Only a little,” you tease, a grin overtaking your features. See, there’s something about the fact that you’ve known Eric for the entirety of your whole life that makes you more prone to teasing him– you’re familiar with your dynamics and just how far you can go, so his next actions startle you just the tiniest bit as the male looks sternly at you, throwing the half-eaten watermelon slice to the camping table. You thought you had the risks calculated– apparently, you didn't.

“What did you say?”

Examining his features, seeing no signs of anger– just the stoic, fakely-offended face of your brother’s childhood best friend– you shrug. “That you look a bit stupid with your face like that.”

“Oh, okay,” he nods, “you’re going down for that.”

“What do you mea–”

Your words are cut short when the male lunges at you, his arms enveloping your thighs and holding you up. The contact of his cold skin from the pool and your heated figure makes goosebumps appear all over your body, your hands instinctively reaching around him to support yourself as he walks closer to the pool– his intentions are suddenly painfully clear and you start to panic. 

“This will teach you to respect your elders,” Eric huffs, the turquoise surface of the water slowly coming into your point of view.

“Stop! Stop-stop-stop,” you squirm, kicking your feet and trying to take down the predator, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, alright?”

The male takes a halt for a split second– making you foolishly believe he’ll let you off– before he breaks out into a devilish grin and continues to walk to the edge of the pool. “Too late.”

“Eric!” you scream, the volume of your voice resonating through the whole beach, your heart thumping wild against your ribcage with the awaiting process. You’re not even sure what you’re scared of anymore– you can swim and you bet the water will feel nice against the scorching sun– but still, you’re absolutely terrified as the male has no mercy on you, carrying you steadily towards the water. “At least let me tie my hair first! You can dump me in after, I promise,” you mourn, trying to buy yourself more time.

“Alright,” he nods, waiting at the very edge of the pool, leaving you to take the purple scrunchie off your wrist and gather your hair together, preparing to tie it into a bun so it doesn’t get in your way when you’re in the pool. The hair tie is just at the tips of your fingertips, the first loop over the hair ready to be done, when a scream cuts out of your throat.

The feeling of falling suddenly overtakes your body, leaving you no time to prepare yourself for the impact of the cold water against your skin and all up in your nose, since you didn’t pluck it when you were dumped into the pool. The fall only lasts a split second until you’re below the water, the force of it resonating in your ears, and when you finally act on your instincts and stand up in the pool (it wasn’t even that deep in the first place, only reaching to your upper stomach), you cough out all the water and pray to gods you don’t throw up chlorine into the freshly cleaned pool. After you’re done catching your breath and getting oxygen into your lungs again, you do your best at getting all the hair out of your face. 

There is laughter landing into your ears as soon as you manage to get all the water out of them by leaning your head to the side and violently slapping each one, and when your eyes look up, you see an amused Eric Sohn bending over in his waist at your disheveled appearance. 

Grunting and pointing a finger to the criminal that almost made you drown, you huff out. “I’ll kill you! Just you watch.”

Your scrunchie nowhere to be found, forever lost somewhere outside of the beach house, you think, as it flew off your hand in the impact of the attack, shock makes your figure shake alongside of the coldness of the water, making you audibly sigh. 

Yes. You do regret coming along just a little.

JULY OF 1999

Somewhere along the way, Eric Sohn starts acting as if he’s your second older brother. Sure, you’ve known the male your whole entire life and he’s seen you grow up, but it took him 17 years of your life to come to a point where he gives you equal amount of attention whenever he’s over at your house than he does to your brother, and even asks Sunwoo if you’re coming along with them whenever they leave to hang out somewhere else. It’s a change that comes naturally and slowly, and you welcome it unknowingly– the revelation shocks you on a hot summer day, though, when the idea finally comes to you in full force.

You would even argue and say Eric acts more like your brother than your actual sibling does– he asks if you’ve eaten and listens to you when you talk (which Sunwoo never does, well, except from when he’s arguing with you). Eric even compliments your outfits sometimes and lets you borrow his MP3 player from time to time– Sunwoo would never share his things with you, no matter how hard you pleaded and threatened to tell your mum. Yes, your brother's an adult and you’re one year away from becoming one– you still resolve your conflicts through your only parent, though. Some things, you never grow out of.

“I wanna try using the skateboard now, Sunwoo,” you order sternly when the boy finally reaches your destination. You’ve been sitting on the sidewalk for quite some time now, since your brother and his friend decided that they’re gonna try out their new skateboards on the hottest day of the year. Your town doesn’t have fancy skateparks and ramps like the ones you’ve seen in the music videos on TV, so you don’t really know what initially made the two buy those things, but you do admit that even driving up and down the road in front of your house does seem a little fun– so much you’d love to try it.

“What a shame we all wish for things we can’t have,” he shrugs ironically, shaking his head at you from his position above. The male reaches down for his bag, taking out a water bottle and putting it against his plush lips, all while you glare at him from below, still seated in your initial position. Eric comes up to you two, squishing at the soft plastic bottle in Sunwoo’s hold, making the water splash your older brother in the face, leaving a winning grin to be shared between you and the shorter boy, an expression that makes you all warm on the inside. See, at least Eric always has your back.

“You can try mine, if you want,” the latter shrugs, offering you a smile.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “why not?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just didn’t expect you to offer, since as you saw, my dear brother just refused when I asked…” you mumble, standing up from the sidewalk and taking the skateboard into your hand. Eric offers it to you with an outstretched arm and watches as you put the board on the floor, squinting at it with much examination.

“Do you know how to ride it?” he asks.

“No,” you shake your head, “but I mean, if Sunwoo can do it, how hard can it really be?” you joke, seeing as the said boy glares at you, finally finishing his water and dropping the bottle to the ground. 

“I’ll remind you of that statement when you eat shit on the pavement,” he shushes you, rolling his eyes. 

Not paying more attention to the grumpy being that is your own brother, you relocate your attention back to the skateboard on the heated road. You’re lucky you live on a street where cars don’t often drive by, since your neighborhood is on the very edge of the town, so you don’t really fear being run over by a pickup truck. What you do worry about, though, is your lacking sense of balance, which you discovered when you learned how to ride the bike for the first time. While your brother was a professional in no time, it took you weeks to get it right, and so with the idea of riding a board that provides you zero sense of security, you get a bit worried for your own life.

Dragging your hair out of your face and aimlessly trying to tuck it behind your ears– there’s no use in trying though, as the strands slip out just as fast as they found their place– you keep staring at the board only a few centimeters away from your feet, mentally calculating your next move. There’s a noise of a backpack being opened and rustling around in the background of your miserable thoughts, and when you look up to see what’s going on, you notice Eric offering you a small, purple bundle of fabric. 

“What’s that?” you ask, even though the answer is clear as the day– you recognise your own scrunchie with no problem. You’re just surprised to see it in his hold. You thought it was forever buried somewhere in the beach house, since you weren’t able to find it after you got out of the pool, no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh,” he shrugs, amidst a little too nonchalantly, “I found it and figured it was yours, but I forgot to give it back to you then… it seems like you need it now, though,” he offers you an explanation, lips pressed into a thin line that slightly signifies a smile.

“Ah,” you gasp, nodding as you take the hair tie out of his outstretched palm, gathering your hair into a bun and tying it up on the crown of your head– the staring contest you’ve been having with the board is much clearer now, when you don’t have your messy strands in the way. The idea of Eric keeping your scrunchie after finding it at the beach house makes your stomach do a weird kind of turn– you guess it made you a bit weirded out, if you’re being honest.

“Want some help with that?” he asks, pointing towards his skateboard.

Nervous, cracking your knuckles as you meet his eyes– he looks a bit amused, but still genuine– you nod, admitting defeat. There’s no way you’re getting on top of that board without help and not falling down. It’s always better to be safe than to be sorry, and so when Eric laughs airly at your composure and takes a few steps closer towards you, you let the male lead you, finding comfort in his secure words and actions.

Eric offers you his arms to hold when you try to get on the skateboard. He is peering at you from under his eyelashes when you put one of your legs onto the wood, his grip on your forearm getting firmer when you try to get your other foot on as well– and you must admit that you suddenly don’t feel like you might die anymore when there’s someone holding you and standing by your side. 

“See? It’s not that hard,” Eric mumbles, his voice low and reassuring from the proximity. You notice your hands sweating a little when his palm envelopes yours– damn the sun and its unbearable heat making you embarrass yourself– but he doesn’t mention it as he firmly holds you and meets your eyes. “I’m gonna drag you around a bit so you get used to it before trying yourself,” he says before taking a few steps forward, preparing to be your own type of personal driver.

Having him instruct you and help you around makes you feel more comfortable on the board. Sunwoo would never do such a thing for you– he’d enjoy watching you fall down and break your neck and possibly die– so you’re more than happy to have someone in your life that takes care of you in ways your older brother refuses to. 

The skateboard moves forward a little, starting slow, but then picking up speed as Eric jogs a little, making you laugh at the action. He does not have to go above and beyond, but he still does– but you guess it’s good for him to let out his energy somewhere. After a while, he looks back at you and meets your eye with a warm gaze, making you nod at him reassuringly and hold up a thumb of the hand he’s not holding right now, signaling that you’re okay and enjoying yourself. That has the male let go of your hand and let you take the road with the laws of physics, moving forward by yourself with the force he created. 

It’s nice. It’s fun. 

Yes, you totally understand why Eric and Sunwoo wanted skateboards after seeing them on TV. Hell, you want one now.

“Try it yourself now!” Eric encourages you as the board naturally comes to a stop under you, and his smiling face is enough for you to take initiative and nod, relocating one foot off the wood and placing it on the floor, then kicking it and making yourself move on the simple vehicle.

A moment of surprise envelopes you like a warm hug when you manage to not fall off and keep your balance, the joy of it making you try to go faster on the board, kicking once, twice against the pavement with the sole of your old, beaten up shoe. “I’m doing it!” you yell, glancing back at Eric standing on the sidewalk, watching you with excited eyes. The male offers you a victorious holler, something that makes you break into a laugh, makes your confidence blossom in marvelous ways.

Confidence rises in you so much you try to take a U-turn and go back to your teacher– perhaps showing off that you really got the hang of it now, or something– but as you try to maneuver the board and turn right, there it comes: the moment where you realize that you were, once again, too overly-confident in your abilities that are, sadly, very poor. Your body sways from side to side, your poor balance laughs at you and points an accusing finger at your attempts, and, well, to put it frankly, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes and the moment plays in slow motion as you lose the board from below your feet– the wood flying somewhere to the opposite side of the road, not at all where you meant to go in the first place– and your body inevitably comes crashing to the ground.

Awaiting the hard pavement meeting your nose and breaking it, you brace yourself with palms outstretched in front of you, the last remains of self-perseverance entering the sane parts of your brain in what you think are the last seconds of your miserable life. Another moment of surprise greets you when your yelp is muffled against something soft and your hands don’t hit the hard pavement, your ears filled with a grunt that belongs to another human swiftly chiming in and catching you before you fall.

Firm hands hold your waist– the touch somehow familiar, enveloping you in a strange sense of deja vu– and even though your body goes limp in terror, the male has you back on your feet in no time, his palms on the exposed skin of your stomach. The realization has you burning up as you look up and meet Eric’s eyes, gasping at the closeness of his face to yours. 

“You okay over there?” he asks as you unconsciously study his face– you never noticed his nose looked this nice up close– before you wake out of it and nod urgently, breaking away from his hold. You’re not gonna try to calculate the effort he must have put in just to chime in and catch you from where he was standing in such a short moment, but something about the passing thought of it has you weak in your knees from gratefulness. 

“Uhm- yeah,” you nod, kicking the pavement with your stained shoes, “I just… miscalculated my skills, that’s all,” you sheepishly hum, hearing the boy snicker at your shaken-up composure.

Watching him take off and retrieve his skateboard from where it wandered off against the curb– much to his golden retriever energy– you sigh and prepare to go sit back on the sidewalk, having enough of new experiences from the shock still lingering in your fingertips. You take a glance down the road, seeing your older brother cruising on the street– when and how he got there, you truly have no idea– when you hear Eric, who seemingly has different ideas for your next actions, call at you from the middle of the pavement.

“Where are you going? Come back!” he asks, having you look at him in surprise, mouth agape and eyes big, staring at him. He now has the board under his shoulder, but puts it back on the road and points at it, shrugging to himself. “I’ll push you down the road, it’s gonna be fun!”

“Eric, I’m literally going to die–”

“No, you’re not. Come on, I promise,” he says, but still, he doesn’t have you convinced. Your feet move against your best conclusions, though, and when you come to a halt right in front of your companion, he offers you a boyish grin. “Sit down on it, that way you’re more balanced. I swear you’re not gonna fall off, okay? I got you.”

“You promise?”

“Yes,” he nods, determined.

“Pinky swear,” you mumble, holding up your pinky finger– all thoughts of seeming childish pushed to the side in the desperate moment– and the male in front of you shakes his head in disbelief, breaking into a laugh.

“Cute,” he huffs, “yeah, okay. Pinky swear,” he nods, interlacing your pinky with his and bumping his thumb against yours, the seal foolishly making you feel more secure as you follow his order and take a seat on the skateboard, your hands gripping the bottom of the wood so hard your knuckles turn white.

“Okay, ready? 3, 2, 1–” he chants as he pushes you, two steady hands coming in contact with your shoulder blades, force making you move on the board, wheels taking you down with gravity. The sound of Eric’s shoes hitting the pavement fills your ears as you go faster, and as you finally get to the part of the hill that takes a downwards slope, he offers you a final push, sending you down the road. 

Wind makes your hair fly back, your surroundings blurring as you yelp and scream, but you can’t say you’re not enjoying the ride. Eric was right– it was fun, you liked it, and something about the gesture had you all warm on the inside. The breeze has you cool down a little in the summer heat, and the board continues to move even as you pass your older brother standing at the bottom of the slope, away from your trajectory. 

Body relaxing when the skateboard finally slows down, you let out a heartfelt laughter. Turning back and seeing Eric jog down the road with a humongous grin on his face, you offer him two thumbs up above your head, watching as he returns the gesture and makes his way back to the two of you on the bottom of the small hill.

The truth is, this was the day you realized Eric Sohn has always found his way to make you feel included and safe. 

You can’t help but feel grateful.

AUGUST OF 1999

“Sunwoo, you have to tie a knot here and then– no, you dumbass, you’re doing it completely wrong,” you mourn as you watch your older brother with a mess of thread in his lap, a focused scowl on his face. There’s a fan standing across from you, blowing cold air into your face, but you still feel yourself grow heated with frustration as Sunwoo just can’t help but not understand the art of making friendship bracelets. It’s not like you’re forcing him to do them– he was the one that asked you to show him how to, muttering something about offering one to his classmate Yeji once he’s back in school– so in theory, he should be putting in effort, no? 

Or maybe he is. Maybe he’s just… incompetent.

“I don’t get it,” Sunwoo hums under his breath, sighing as he leans against the sofa in your living room, the two of you sitting on the floor accompanied by his best friend squinting at you from the opposite side, a comic book in the latter's hand. The myth of men not being able to multi-task is quickly thrown into the bin as you watch Eric pay equal amount of attention to the comic book and the dialogue between you and your brother, and when Sunwoo seems to give up on the art of making friendship bracelets, his best friend can’t help but laugh.

“You’re giving up already? This is how you want to get a girlfriend?” you poke your brother to his side and take the threads off his lap, examining the mess of a safety pin and meters of yarn, all knotted up and not coming along in the shape you taught him to at all.

“It’s not to get a girlfriend, I just-”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, huffing as you roll his poor attempt at friendship bracelet into a ball and throw it to the corner of the room, making a mental note to pick it up and throw it to the bin later. “You know what, just give her this one and pretend you made it,” you mutter, taking a bracelet you'd already made to demonstrate in between your fingers and throw it into Sunwoo’s lap, the older one catching it and examining it under his nose.

“That looks pretty good,” he hums, making you snort at his appreciative comment. The bracelet is pink and red, the colors just screaming romance and cute energy, which is exactly what a girl needs to be swayed by your brother. You can’t really believe a bracelet will make her swoop into his arms, because truthfully, with your brother’s face and manners, every living thing is keeping a fair distance, but hey, it doesn’t hurt to try, does it? Maybe his classmate is… majorly blind? That might do it?

“Of course it looks good,” you scoff, “that’s because I made it,” you nod, averting your gaze towards your lap, threading your fingers through the yarn you attached to a safety pin on your sweatpants to keep the growing friendship bracelet in place. 

“Then why is the one you’re making right now so ugly?” Eric asks, pointing towards the creation. 

Glancing up at the male slowly, mentally throwing all different kinds of curses at him for daring to talk badly about your craft, you huff. “What do you mean, ugly?”

“The colors… they don’t… they don’t really go together,” Eric sheepishly admits, scratching the back of his neck, quickly averting his gaze from you and gluing it back into his comic book. You think that if he doesn’t stop being a smart-ass and throw jabs at your artistic choices, he’s gonna have to protect his comic book with his own body– and you bet he’d do that, because he borrowed it from the library. The fees for damage are high.

“That’s just… not true at all,” you muse, but groggily take a look at the creation once again, but now, thanks to the remark, seeing it in a completely different way. Shades of orange, brown and purple stare back at you amidst a little disappointedly, and as you thread the yarn and make a couple of knots to end the bracelet, you can’t help but feel a pout growing on your face from the realization. Eric might be right. It does look a little bad…

“Whatever. Your taste is just bad,” you snap as you finish off the craft piece, unclasping the safety pin and sliding the bracelet off the inside, freeing it from the hold. Eric laughs a little at your frustrated state– similarly to what you do when you manage to get Sunwoo upset– and with that, you sigh and put the bracelet on the coffee table.

“I’m going out to the store to get some chocolates,” you say as you stand up, goal clear in your mind, “have fun, losers.”

“You’re still collecting the stickers from these?” Sunwoo asks, a mischievous smile growing on his lips. The teasing is inevitable and coming very soon, and there’s nothing you can do about it– you’re fully aware, which only further makes you want to escape the situation more quickly. Rolling your eyes at your brother’s antics, you move towards the door. 

“Yes, Sunwoo, I am. They’re cute and make me happy, do you have a problem with that?” you point an accusing finger at the male, having him shrug, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“You’re such a kid,” he huffs, averting his gaze from you when he lands the comment, the jab coming straight at your fragile heart.

“Okay, then,” you note, “I’ll just have my pretty and cute bracelet back, and you can get your girlfriend something else-”

The male quickly regains his previous composure, swatting his hands in hurry just to make you halt in your sentence. His eyes are big and his mouth is a little agape in terror as he tries to save his ass, plea written all over his face. “I was just joking! Don’t be so petulant… go get your cute stickers, they’re so fun!”

Humming to yourself, your face is tugged up into a victorious smile. “That's what I thought. So, as I was saying, have fun, losers.”

“Wait!” Eric suddenly calls for you, making you turn on your heel in the middle of your escape, eyes peering at the male. “Don’t I get a bracelet too?”

The request catches you off guard. There’s a certain kind of spark in Eric Sohn’s eyes as he asks the question, and you can’t really place it in any category, but it has you nervously shrugging at the preposition. You’re not really sure why Eric would want a bracelet from you, but to avoid confrontation and also the weird leap of your heart surely leading you into cardiac arrest, you only shrug and move back inside of the living room, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you scan the surroundings, searching for something.

“Sure,” you nod, taking the ugly bracelet off the table and offering it to him, “you can have that one.”

You hold a staring contest with the older boy for a couple of seconds, his head undoubtedly swirling with arguments and comments about the apparel of the friendship bracelet, but he’s smart– he must know the survival of his beloved comic book must be at stake. So, he only nods and smiles at you, outstretching his hand to you and nudging his head in its direction.

“Okay,” he hums, “tie it for me?”

A second comes by– a heartbeat, really– in which you chew on your bottom lip and gasp at the request, but still, you nod and come closer, crouching down to be at his level and taking the thread into your fingers. You wrap the bracelet around his wrist, making sure to leave a bit of wiggle room before you tie a knot, bringing the ends together, all while feeling the eyes of Eric glued to your face, watching every micro expression flash through your unsettling composure.

When you’re done, making a move to hide your hands behind your back and standing up, your limbs bump into each other and send an unspoken sense of electricity all through your body. The sensation is so strange you don’t meet anyone’s eye before you leave the room, yelling out a goodbye as you hurriedly open the front door and run out to get fresh air (it’s August, though. The air is humid and only makes your head spin more).

You clear your throat before you take off to the grocery store. It's only when you're halfway there that you realize you'd forgotten to bring your wallet with you. It's okay, though– you take this chance to walk around, regaining your casualty.

You bet Eric will take the bracelet off in a matter of a week.

SEPTEMBER OF 1999

The leaves start turning orange and the weather a bit colder when you become hyper-aware of your shifting composure whenever Eric Sohn is around. The way you feel heat rushing to your cheeks whenever he calls you cutie, a nickname he’s had reserved for you since you two were little kids, the way you feel weak in your knees whenever he casually brings his arm around your shoulders or when he bends down to tie your shoelace in the middle of the sidewalk. You don’t really know what those sudden changes are, yet, you feel a bit embarrassed by them whenever they take place. You don’t think it’s normal to feel this way around your brother’s best friend, and the more you hang out with him, the more you wish you read less books as a child– because now, you’re also hyper-aware of the title those feelings may have. 

Still, it only comes to you on one September afternoon– you wake up from blissful unawareness and jolt with the quickly opening pit in your stomach at the strange revelation.

“Eric! Sunwoo isn’t home, though?” you mumble, confused as you notice the boy standing on your doorway, a plastic bag in his hand and a red Nike jacket enveloping his frame.

“I know, he said he’s hanging out with Juyeon hyung today,” he nods, “I brought you something, though,” he says, holding up the bag and making sure you get a chance to see it, offering you a boyish grin.

“Oh?” you gasp, furrowing your eyebrows at the male. When you do nothing to invite him inside, he does so himself– slightly nudging you in your side as he passes your figure and enters your house. He acts like he owns the place, and by the amount of time he’s spent in your home, you’d think he does– he doesn’t, though. The only thing he owns is just a lot of audacity.

The male takes off his shoes in the entryway and walks his way over to your room– a surprising act, considering he’s spent the least amount of time in this very place– and when he’s sure you’re following his every move, he empties the contents of the bag to the middle of your freshly made bed. Watching as approximately ten items fall out of the plastic, your eyes widen with surprise as you recognise your favorite chocolate– the mini bars with stickers inside, the ones you collect and stick into your journal and look at in the middle of the night, giggling to yourself and kicking your feet at the adorable pictures in your make-shift collect book.

“Woah,” you gasp when the male looks at you, seemingly awaiting your response, and when he gets the wished outcome, pride overtakes his features, shrugging to himself.

“My mum got some for free because she bought a lot of cabbage for kimchi yesterday,” he explains, “I thought of you when I saw them, so I bought you some more.”

“I- you-” you stutter, emotions too big for your own good swelling all inside your fragile, little self, hands running into your hair and tugging at the roots to wake yourself up from the dream. “You didn’t have to!”

“We got them anyway, and I know you like the stickers,” Eric shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, completely ignoring the fact that he said he bought you some more, your heart skipping a beat at the sentiment. Clearing your throat, you tentatively take a step closer to your bed, gathering a bar of chocolate into your hand and opening it, taking a bite.

“You can have the stickers if you give me some chocolate,” Eric says close to your ear, almost as if he was creating a masterplan, to which you eagerly nod and plop onto your bed, moving the bars of sweets into one pile. As you continue to munch on the first one, you unwrap the sticker and look at it, praying to yourself as if you were checking if your lottery ticket was worth any cent– hoping you get a sticker you don’t own yet.

The image of a cute panda would cheer anyone up even in their darkest moments– not you, though, as you mourn and sigh, disappointment clear in your features. 

“What?” Eric asks, eyes big pools of worry.

“I already got that one.”

“Ah,” he nods, seemingly understanding– much to your surprise, “well, we got 9 more tries, let’s get to eating.”

Wrappers are rustling in your bed sheets as you and Eric eat the concerning amount of chocolate, gathering the stickers in a little pile on top of your notebook, promising each other to not look at the stickers as you go and just make a grand reveal at the end. Eric’s full cheeks are a sight you enjoy, telling him he looks like a squirrel– to which he sends a light flick to your forehead, telling you you don’t look much different– and soon enough, the nine bars left disappear from your plain sight (you only had 3 and Eric ate the remaining 5. He’s a growing boy, though, so you understand. He needs to get his undying energy from somewhere.).

“Ready for the reveal?” you ask, locking your gaze with Eric.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

With that, you get to the pile of stickers in the middle of your bedsheets. Looking at the first one, there’s a happy squeal cutting out of your throat, the image of an adorable yellow duck warming you up with euphoria. 

“You don’t have that one yet?”

“I don’t,” you nod, “this is just perfect.”

Eric nods and watches you with a certain kind of warmth in his gaze as you open up your notebook and stick the newest addition to your little sticker farm– or a ZOO, however you wanna call it. The next sticker from the pile is added as well– a brown, big bear– and the next one too, the most adorable colorful parrot slapped to the corner of your page. 

The rest of your stickers are the ones you already own, though– a displeased look takes over your features at the knowledge, but still, you can’t help but beam at the fact that you have 3 new additions to your collection, and they were a gift from Eric Sohn himself. Someone who doesn’t make fun of your childish habit. Someone who feeds your little interest, watches you with excitement in his eyes as you indulge. Someone not like your brother. 

Someone you could never see the way you see your brother.

“What do you do with the duplicates?” Eric asks, pointing to the sad pile on the top of your notebook. His figure is closer to you now, since he wanted to watch you stick the animals into your notebook, his crossed legs almost pressed against yours on the small bed.

“Well, usually, I just throw them out,” you shrug, “but since you’re here…” you muse, the idea plopping into your head like the newest discovery you should probably patent, peeling the back of one of the dog stickers off and swiftly turning towards your companion, mischief sparkling in your eyes.

You put the sticker on his left cheek, making the boy jump. “Hey!”

Giggling, taking another one of the stickers and pressing it to the middle of his forehead, Eric starts to fight you, your bodies wrestling on the bed. You don’t think he puts much effort into getting you off him– that, or he’s insanely weak– and in no time, his face is adorned with all different kinds of animals, his hair messy from tussling in your bedsheets. The image has you laughing before you realize you’re basically straddling him on your bed, his big eyes gaping at you from below, his appearance enough to make something in your brain short-circuit and make you leap off him, clearing your throat.

Heat rushes into your cheeks as you take a seat next to him, playing with your fingers. You pray for anything to come and ease the awkwardness you caused, and sure enough, today must be your lucky day. “Hey, look here!” 

You call for the boy as you swiftly take your polaroid camera off your bedside table– the one that belonged to your dad, the one you fought with Sunwoo about, the one your mum said was yours because Sunwoo is too careless with his things to keep it safe– and snap a picture of the puppy-like boy, laughing at the fact that now, you have the image of him looking dumb and covered in stickers forever. Or at least until he doesn't take it away from you– which he attempts quickly.

“Hey!” he yelps again, huffing as he lunges at you, trying to take the picture out of your grasp as you drop the camera into your soft sheets. Your feet take you to the living room, navigating through furniture, and when you don’t hear footsteps follow you, you think you’re safe– Eric does have a lot of energy, but chasing you around gets tiring for him quickly when he knows you'll never let him win.

Entering your room once again, prepared to find him on your bed like before, you’re taken by surprise as a shutter sound goes off right after you open the door, a polaroid picture taken of your face making you temporarily blind at the flash.

“Eric!” you whine, hating that there’s a picture of you standing shocked at your doorway now forever in the universe– not really caring that the boy just got you back with the exact stunt you pulled on him just a few minutes ago. Before you get a chance to blink out the blind spots in your vision caused by the flash and run after him, though, you feel him gently press you out of the doorway and slip outside, the sound of the front door opening and closing after him resonating along his slowly disappearing, amused laughter.

Serves you right, doesn’t it? 

Sighing, you shake your head and take a seat on your bed, the picture of the boy still in between your fingertips. You only take a look at it when your vision comes back to normal, and as the image of Eric covered in stickers, hair messy and cheeks rosy below the animal print comes into your sight, the revelation arrives the same second a starstruck smile plays with your features.

And with that, you’re absolutely terrified. 

Throwing the polaroid picture onto the bedside table and lunging yourself into the sheets, you scream into your pillow and wish for the feelings to disappear– because in what world does a crush on your brother’s best friend ever come to a happy ending?

OCTOBER OF 1999

Once October hits, you find yourself home alone more often than you’d like. Sure, you don’t mind having some me time to read comic books or watch the TV uninterrupted in the living room, but still– alone turns lonely pretty quickly, and somehow, you start to regret the fact that you’ve been relying on your older brother and his friends for so long instead of making some connections on your own.

Sunwoo started to play soccer at school– something is telling you that he might go far if he keeps it up– and that’s why he’s been stuck at practice every single day, coming home late in the evening all tired, but happy, so you’re not really complaining. Eric works in the little bistro downtown now, since he wanted to make some money and not rely on the allowance Mrs. Sohn gives him every month, and it’s not like you were that close to begin with, but the fact that the boy is now too busy to meet you is making your spirit fall just the tiniest bit. And with your mother always being at work, you find yourself alone in your room, laying in your bed and staring at the ceiling. 

Sometimes, you journal. About anything and everything, really. You don’t really think you’re ever gonna read back the entries once you’re older, since they would just be a reminder of how miserable and boring your teenage years really were, and that’s why you allow yourself to be authentic. On most days, you write about your assignments for school. Sometimes you bad mouth a classmate or two– gossiping with the diary pages, because you don’t really have any human beings to do so in real life– and seldom, you allow yourself to get into topics that evoke the slightest bits of existential crisis in you.

Topics like college. Growing up. Your lack of hobbies and social interaction with the outer world. The newly found crush on Eric Sohn…

Okay, maybe you do write about the boy with brown hair and dark eyes a little too often. You can’t help it, though– when he’s not giving you any new interactions to dwell on, you have to just pick apart the old ones. You think it’s a natural reaction.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing one October afternoon, the lamp in your room on, since the evening comes faster when the weather is colder, as you’re laying in your bed and kicking your feet back and forth, chewing on the end of your pencil. The sound of your doorbell resonates through the house suddenly and startles you, making you jump awake from your delirious delusions.

Mentally going through the list of possible visitors you could have– because it can’t be your mother or your brother, since they never forget to carry their house keys– you’re lost, not really finding any fitting candidates. Furrowing your brows, lost in thought and frankly, a bit confused, you plant your socked feet onto the wooden floor and walk over to the front door just in time for the bell to ring again. Scratching the back of your neck in nerves, thinking of precautions you could take for your own safety– since your front door doesn’t have a peep hole and you don’t want to open the door to a complete stranger– you clear your throat and yell over the door.

“Who is it?” you ask.

“Delivery!” a voice calls through the door, making you huff. 

“I didn’t order any food?” you yell back, confused. “Sir, there’s another house behind ours, sometimes the mailmen get confused and we get their mail. Maybe try there?” 

“The address is right, though?” the voice calls again, and somehow, it sounds kind of familiar… no, it can’t be, you dumb goose. You’re just imagining things because you’ve spent the last 20 minutes writing about the curve of his nose into your diary.

“There must be a mistake-”

“Come on, Y/N, open the door,” the voice on the other side mourns, the mention of your name making you jump, completely startled. The tone the man says it in is sweet like honey, though, so familiar in your ears, that you mentally want to slap yourself– so you weren’t dreaming. It is him.

Dragging your hand through your hair to smooth it down, praying you look at least a little presentable– although in your stained sweatpants and the Pokémon shirt you inherited from Sunwoo when he grew out of it, you doubt that’s even possible– you open the door and try to offer Eric a warm smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Food delivery,” Eric shrugs, pointing with his thumb in the direction behind his back, where his bike undoubtedly stands up against your gate.

“Oh…. but I already told you I didn’t order anything,” you mumble, confused. Studying his face– because a girl can indulge when she has the opportunity, am I right? – you notice his hair has grown a little longer, falling into his eyes. You bet it’s hard for him to see, but you must admit it looks nice, and you almost tell him, before you catch yourself and break away from the sentiment. 

The male snickers. “I know, I was just joking,” he says, “I did bring you food, though.”

“Why?” you ask, confused when he bends over and picks up a plastic bag off the ground, a container of food inside, the warmth of the contents making condensation appear all over the red sack. 

“We made this by mistake and it was just gonna be thrown out if nobody took it,” he shrugs, “and I figured you haven’t eaten yet– or if you did, you just had those cold kimbap rolls from the store– and I wanted to get some warm food into your stomach.”

“Ah,” you gasp, nodding at the explanation. It does explain the source of the food really well, but truthfully, it explains nothing about the fact why Eric thought of bringing you the food instead of taking it home with himself– he’s a foodie if you’ve ever seen one. The idea of him worrying about if you were fed or not is equally as strange and interesting in your head– still, you clasp your hand around the bag and take it, the smell making you involuntarily hungry. “Thank you.”

Eric only nods at you, a smile beaming at his face. “Well,” he sighs, “I’d love to stay longer and hang out, but I’m still on the clock, so…” he mumbles, taking a hesitant step backwards towards his bike, eyes never breaking contact with yours.

“Oh, right,” you nod, “that’s okay. Have a fun day at work!” you muse, watching him as he grins and finally retrieves back his bike, opening up the gate to your property and escaping, waving at you as he gets on.

“I’ll see you soon!” he calls as he rides off, your eyes following him until his figure disappears behind a corner, your ears buzzing with excitement and your lower lip trapped between your teeth with the innocent promise.

Walking back into the house, you grin as you close the front door behind you and carry the food into the kitchen. You quickly get the containers out of the damp bag, putting them onto the wooden table, and gasp when you find a sticky note on the very top one, a messy handwriting scribbled in a rush, but stuck to the food with care.

Eat well and don’t skip meals, Y/N-ie!! – Eric x

Not being able to battle your smile anymore, you decide to open up the containers and stuff your mouth with the food instead– only to find your favorite dish inside, staring back at you in what seems to be a dream that’s too good to wake up from. 

And sure, you are delusional, but are you delusional enough to believe that this wasn’t all a coincidence? You’re not so sure.

Still, you eat the food with feet kicking back and forth as you sit in the silent kitchen, the empty house no longer feeling so lonely. When you’re done, you throw the trash out– everything but the sticky note, which you glue into your diary a few minutes later, hoping to keep the memory forever.

NOVEMBER OF 1999

The world around you is dark as you step outside of cram school, your eyes are tired and your skin is prickled with goosebumps in the chilly air. You despise going to cram school, but your mother told you you have to– since you didn’t have any athletic features that could get you far in life like Sunwoo, you had to be good at studying, or else you won’t get into university. There was a lot of work ahead of you, but since you didn’t really have anything else to do in the day, you didn’t protest and went anyway.

The days are usually very long and you get off very late, resulting in you being tired almost all the time. When you get home, you undress yourself and change into your sleep clothes and doze off until the morning, when you have to wake up and go to school again– it’s an exhausting cycle, but you know you have to endure it for your own sake.

Walking down the steps that lead out the cram school building, you stretch your body and huff, cursing at yourself for the fact that you didn’t bring a jacket– you forgot that evenings get really chilly, and frankly speaking, you didn’t have much time to think when you were rushing to get ready in the morning. You’ll just have to get through it, you think to yourself as you walk in the direction of your house– the last bus to your neighborhood already left an hour ago, when you were in the middle of revising division– your sneakers kicking the stray rocks below your feet as you tug the sleeves of your hoodie lower, desperately trying to feel more heat.

“Do you never watch where you’re going? That’s gonna get you in trouble one day, you know,” you hear a familiar voice say, the joking tone making your heart skip a few beats as you place the owner of the saccharine voice to its face. Looking up, slightly alarmed at being caught in such a distressed state, you gasp.

“I was… watching my step, I guess,” you shrug as you come into a halt in front of him, shivering both under Eric’s gaze and the cold weather at once. “What are you doing here? Deliveries?”

“I just got off,” he says, “so I figured I could stop by. Sunwoo said you’re going to cram school, I thought you might enjoy some company on your way home.”

Gaping at his explanation, you nod, completely startled. The idea of your brother talking about you in front of Eric, the boy you have a very embarrassing, very big crush on scares you, to say the least. See, it doesn’t really matter that the boy grew up with you, pretty much seeing you at your lowest whenever he was around over at your house when you were both just little kids– the image of Sunwoo telling Eric about finding you sobbing at your comic book (the scene got too sad, nobody can really blame you) or about how your favorite jeans ripped right before you had to go to school one morning is terrifying. You don’t really want him to know about these things. He may act like your brother sometimes, but you never really saw him in that light in the first place.

“Well, then,” you clear your throat, “it’s… it’s good to see you,” you say. Eric shows you his boyish grin as your lips utter out the words, and you can’t help but mirror it, your eyes locking with the male. As if you just took a step back, your eyes see him in a light you’ve never seen him before– as if this was your first time meeting your brother’s best friend– and something about the sentiment has your stomach feeling all uneasy, heat rushing to your face. His hair is styled in a way that tells you that he didn’t really style it (or if he did, it looked truly effortless in your eyes, so props to him), pushed back a little and revealing his forehead, a few of the strands carelessly falling into his eyes. His jawline is sharper than how it was when you first met the boy, and with the realization of a foolish teenage girl, you have to admit that Eric Sohn grew up to be a very attractive, attentive man.

“You’re cold?” he says, although the sentence sounds more like a statement rather than a question, before he shakes his head at your antics and heaves out a sigh. “You should’ve taken a jacket with you when you went, you know it gets cold in the evening,” he scolds you. In those times, he reminds you the most of your brother– because although you and Sunwoo act like you hate each other sometimes, you know the older male still cares about you. He just hates showing it, which translates in his scolding tone whenever you do something wrong or against his wishes. 

In those times, Eric reminds you the most of the way your brother treats you, and you somehow hate it. You despise the fact, because that means he must only see you as someone like his younger sister– he never had one, so maybe he just likes to compensate for it by taking care of you all the time. Maybe he feels responsible to do so because of Sunwoo. The thought makes you equally as nauseous– you’d never want him to hang out with you just because he feels like he has to. 

“I didn’t have time in the morning,” you grunt, rolling your eyes at him. You avert your gaze from the male, for it makes you slightly uncomfortable after your previous thoughts, so when the noise of a zipper being pulled down and the weight of fabric on your shoulders brings you back to reality, you snap your head around at him all alarmed. 

“What? Wear it,” he says, head shrugging towards the direction of his jacket on your figure. “You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t.”

Trying to wrestle out of the red material, you squirm in the hold of the windbreaker– Eric’s hands gripping each side of the jacket, as if predicting your next moves, making sure it stays on you and doesn’t fall down. His strong arms tug you closer to him to make your fight more difficult– and he’s successful with his efforts, because the proximity of him and his smell engulfs you and unarms you, heat rushing to your cheeks as you halt in your movements.

“Stop,” you mourn, “I don’t need it.”

“Yes you do,” he insists, “so stop being a baby about it and wear it.”

Staring into his eyes, as if to mentally tell him to stop what he’s doing– to stop how he’s treating you, how he’s making you all weak in your knees and sleepless at nights because of how much you think of him and hope he’s doing well each day, to stop being so gentle with you and taking care of you, because it brings all sorts of both doubts and delusions into your head– but he doesn’t back down. You’ve known him for quite some time, you should already be aware of just how stubborn he can be.

“Arms in,” he hums, holding on to the jacket and waiting for you to wear it properly. One thing about you– you can always admit your defeat. So, with a sigh, you put your arms through the sleeves of Eric’s red windbreaker, shrinking a little under his firm gaze. He looks at you with a look full of something you can’t decipher, and it’s all making you so, so insanely lost in the many thoughts and feelings swirling around your head, not helping your current state.

“I already have a brother, y’know,” you mumble in a moment of weakness, looking at your feet– your dirty white sneakers almost touching his from how close you are standing right now, “so you should stop treating me like one.”

A moment of silence overtakes you two, and you suddenly feel like you’ve done something wrong. Still, Eric’s hands are holding on to the sides of the opened jacket, keeping you close to him. “Hm?” 

Clearing your throat and shaking your head, you snicker to yourself. “Forget it.”

“No- I mean,” he blurts out, tone of voice a little nervous, “do you see me as your brother figure?” he asks, tone of voice more quiet now, more gentle.

Breathing in the crispy air, taking a moment before you reply, you shake your head in disapproval. “No,” you say, “no, I don’t. I- I don’t think I do,” you say, scared of what your answer will bring out of him. You don’t really know why, but at this moment, you feel insanely fragile– as if any bad move could make you break in his hands, waiting for him to glue you back together. 

Metaphorically, he does just that. “Good,” he nods, leaning down towards you, hands gripping the zipper of his jacket and zipping it together, making sure no cold can get to your bones as his fingers tug it up towards the very top, under your chin. “Because I’ve never seen you as my sister either.”

His answer once again startles you– but when you take a step back from the situation, you think it was in a good way. His hands grip your shoulders for a second as his eyes meet yours and he offers you a warm smile. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he says, tugging you towards the fence where you find his bike, his motions guiding you like a rag doll sucked out of all life.

“Hop in,” he motions towards the back of the bike, where the basket would usually be– Eric moved it towards the front, though, leaving enough room for you to sit at– and as you do, he takes a seat in front of you and looks back at you over his shoulder. “Hold on tight so you don’t fall.”

Like in a trance, your arms sneak around his middle– this was the first time you had this kind of physical touch with him, and just the thought of it makes you want to scream your throat out– before the male takes off on the bike, riding towards your neighborhood. With the cold wind slapping your face, you foolishly rest your cheek on his shoulder blade and close your eyes, enjoying the closeness of his body keeping you warm. 

If anyone asked you about the action, you’d tell them you were just tired.

DECEMBER OF 1999

Socked feet make their way through the room, the sound of footsteps resonating on the laminated floor, as the short male comes up to you with a bowl of potato chips in his right hand and a bottle of soda under his left arm. Eric Sohn sighs at you, shaking his head in disbelief, before he places the items onto the coffee table and takes a seat next to you on the floor, opening up the bottle and pouring the three of you drinks.

“Can’t believe I’m spending New Year’s Eve with you losers, of all people,” Eric snickers, having you roll your eyes at the male and grumpily furrow your eyebrows at his sentence.

“No one’s stopping you if you wanna go, y’know,” you grunt as you take the filled glass off the table, taking a sip of the sweet drink and sighing at him. If he’s gonna take a leap into the new year with you while making you annoyed, he may as well leave now and do whatever his initial plan was– once again, no one’s stopping him if that’s what he wants to do.

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “it would’ve been so much more fun if we all went to Juyeon hyung’s. Everyone’s there celebrating, but we’re stuck here in your room.” 

“Well, Eric,” your brother smiles ironically at him, shrugging to himself, “it’s not like it’s my fault you’re not over at Juyeon hyung’s right now. You chose to spend the new years here with me. My mother prohibited me from going there, not yours.”

The argument has the male shrug, his eyes averting your brother’s gaze once his comment gets a bit too honest and realistic. It’s true and he’s right– it’s not like Eric’s mum told him he can’t go celebrate with his friends, because she didn’t. Eric’s mum trusts him and wants him to have fun and do what all the kids his age are doing. Your mum, on the other hand, is making you and Sunwoo stay home for New Year’s Eve to celebrate with your family, because, as she quoted, New Year’s Eve the only time she gets time off work, and she wants to spend it with her kids– forget the fact that you’re currently sitting locked in your room with your friend, protesting the family time just because you can– and when Sunwoo told her she has to stop treating him like a little kid, she told him she has all the right to do so, because he is her kid. And that’s how the party he was supposed to attend with Eric (the party you foolishly thought you’re gonna have to tag along to, not hating the sentiment as much as before now) got canceled from your brother’s plans.

“Well,” Eric chews on the inside of his cheek, “I did it for you two. Be grateful.”

“Whatever,” you hum, “let’s turn on the TV. I bet there’s some variety show on.”

Eric heaves out a sigh as he reaches for the TV remote, clicking the power button and making the boxy device in front of you light up. Your mum got you a TV in your room when you complained about being too bored one November day, and although the box of entertainment didn’t really help like you imagined it to, you’re glad it’s of service at least today. Instead of the expected variety show, though, there’s news on– the face of the old announcer looking at you with a serious look on his face, the professional tone making chills run down your spine, for he reminds you a bit of your mother when she scolds you. You think that’s a common news announcer trait. 

“As the year 2000 approaches, computer programmers realize that computers might not interpret the 00 in the software as 2000, but 1900. The softwares currently running only use a two-digit code for the year, excluding the 19. The data was excluded because the data storage is costly and takes up too much space. Activities that were planned on a daily basis could be damaged or flawed,” the announcer says, making the three of you look at the screen with interest. Maybe it’s true that when you get older, you get more interested in news– you think it’s good to know what’s going on around you, although the topic discussed right now might not even concern you in the slightest.

“Banks, which calculate the interest rates on a daily basis, could face real problems. Interest rates are the amount of money a lender, such as a bank, charges a customer, such as an individual or business, for a loan. Instead of the rate of interest for one day, the computer could calculate a rate of interest for minus almost 100 years!” 

“Oops,” Eric lets out next to you, a reaction so far away from what a real adult would think of the situation. See, you are all just kids, after all.

“Centers of technology, such as power plants, are also threatened by this issue. Power plants depend on routine computer maintenance for safety checks, such as water pressure or radiation levels. Not having the correct date could throw off these calculations and possibly put nearby residents at risk,” the announcer continues, the information coming out of his mouth suddenly making you hyper aware of the reality you’re experiencing right now.

“Do we have a nuclear power plant nearby?” you ask in a hushed whisper, watching as the men next to you almost comically widen their eyes, shrugging.

“I’m not sure,” Sunwoo peeps.

“The worst of all, this software and hardware issue could cause such a big problem in nuclear energy facilities, where nuclear bombs and missiles could be set off, causing the world to go into utter chaos, or worse, an end,” the announcer concludes, the last word making you gasp in terror. 

“An end?” you chirp, sitting up straight in your seat as you look at the two men, now equally as terrified. There’s something in Sunwoo’s gaze that makes chills run down your spine, the reality crushing down on you with heavy measures. 

“I knew I shouldn’t have fought with mum. What if the last words the two of us exchanged before we die are the harsh words I had said yesterday?” your brother mourns, seeing as his best friend chews on his bottom lip, lost in thought.

“What did you say to your mum?”

“That- that I’ll never forgive her for ruining this for me,” he mumbles, his voice breaking at the end, “and… other things,” he adds, the hint of incoming panic making his best friend frantically wave his hands around and try to make your brother relax before he has to deal with the breakdown. If the world is ending, this is not how any of you want to go.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Eric says, clearing his throat and pointing to the TV, “look! The show is on, we should watch before the year ends,” he proposes, taking the remote into his hand and turning the volume up to hopefully drown out Sunwoo’s thoughts and have him focus on something else. And it works– noting that your brother has an attention span of a 5 year old– he can hardly remember what he was worrying about just 30 seconds ago.

Still, the thought keeps bouncing around your head like a child in a bouncy castle. The words of the news anchor keep repeating in your brain, making your ears ring as you look at Eric from the corner of your eye, watching his angelic face. Oh how you hate disturbing the peace now that you’ve all calmed down– but still, you can’t deal with the worries alone. Checking the clock hung above the TV, noticing there’s at least 5 minutes left before midnight, you clear your throat, feeling your whole body on fire.

“Do you really think the world is gonna end?” you ask, cracking your knuckles in a nervous manner. Looking at Eric, pupils shaking, you find your brother’s best friend seemingly lost in thought. The music of the variety show program serves you three as a background sound now, none of you paying attention to the TV anymore, instead, focusing on all the things you've done wrong in your life and how somehow, this feels like karma for all of it.

“I dunno,” Sunwoo shrugs, “I mean- they said it’s possible! It was on the news, and they wouldn’t lie on the news…” he nervously mumbles, scratching the back of his head. 

“That’s what’s worrying me,” you sigh, “we shouldn’t have turned on the TV.”

“It was your idea in the first place!”

“And I’ll carry the burden into my grave,” you admit, gulping as you press a forced smile onto your lips.

Momentarily looking back at the TV, you desperately want to keep the thought of the world being over out of your head before you spend your last minutes on this earth going crazy– but now that you started, you can’t keep thinking about it. “Man, the world can’t end yet. There’s so many things I haven’t tried yet! I’m too young to die!”

The men don't reply to that– you presume they’re too busy trying to find other things to occupy themselves with instead of the inevitable– which has you dissatisfied as you throw your body back into the sofa, heaving out a sigh. Seconds go by painfully slow but also painfully fast at the same time, given the circumstances, as you listen to the cheerful song playing in the background and nudge your friend into his upper arm with your pointer finger, feeling his arm encircle your shoulders and pull you closer to him. The contact of his fingers on your upper arm makes you squirm and break out into a smile, feeling a particular lightness in your stomach at the action, a sensation that has you in shock. 

“I’m gonna talk with mum before we die,” Sunwoo suddenly calls as he stands up from his seat on the floor, sighing to himself, “I can’t go with the thought of her being upset with me,” he sentimentally adds before he’s out of the door, rushing towards the living room.

The space falls into momentary silence now that your brother is gone, having you chew on your bottom lip with nerves. You think now is the time to beg for forgiveness with the higher forces– I'm sorry for not studying well. I'm sorry for being rude and ungrateful towards my mum. I'm sorry for being greedy– when the sound of Eric’s voice resonates through the place as he speaks up again, waking you up from the anxious slumber, the clock now striking 2 minutes before midnight. “What would you wanna do before you die?” he asks.

The question is simple. You presume he wants simple answers– things like getting into college, getting a good job and making a lot of money, growing old– but as you lean away from him and get back to your place on his left, your eyes locked with his, you’re left clueless. There are so many things you have yet to achieve, and the idea of not being able to pushes a burden to your chest, but at this very moment, you can’t really name one. 

Shrugging, you chew on the inside of your cheek as your eyes scan his face. His firm eye contact has you a bit flustered, making you shrivel in your seat, and as the sound of the TV morphs from the song into a countdown from 55, you’re overwhelmed with the thought that your friend is insanely pretty– and he always has been, you just hated admitting it to yourself for the past few months, despite still being fully aware– and that now, when the world ends, you’re dying unkissed and alone.

Well, not completely alone, since Eric’s here. And he’s always been here– your whole life, since you can remember, and he’s here now as well, even though he should’ve been at Juyeon’s house. As the clock strikes 30 seconds away from midnight, your eyes involuntarily travel down to his chapped lips, all air knocked out of your lungs, the thoughts in your brain picking up on speed the closer you come to the end.

You’re dying soon. You’re dying in 30- now 29 seconds, and you’ve never kissed anyone before. You’re dying before you get a chance to hold hands with someone and have a partner, and you’re dying before you get a chance to tell Eric how you feel about him. There’s 28 seconds left until the end and you’re just staring at him like a coward, because you don’t really let yourself indulge in the silly warmth of your heart whenever you’re around your friend, but god, you can at least admit it to yourself before you die.

And as the clock gets closer and closer to midnight, now only giving you 20 seconds before it all ends and a missile lands on the top of your house, blowing up the whole town and making you all disappear, Eric’s question repeats itself in your brain. What would you want to do before you die?

The answer is suddenly painfully clear as you take action– leaning towards the boy on your right, face closer to his than it’s ever been before, your eyes counting all his eyelashes and focusing on his surprised, yet unmoving face– and as you hear the countdown reach 15, you close your eyes and press your lips against his. 

The contact makes you weak in your knees as your hands reach to his face to steady him, your own firework show erupting in your stomach, and suddenly you’re completely content with dying tonight– because at least you’re with Eric, at least you did something. You kiss your friend with something close to an unsaid confession, your lips staying on his throughout the rest of the countdown, the taste of soda you’ve both been drinking the whole evening mixing in the contact of your skin. You’re not sure you’re even doing this right– again, you’ve never kissed anyone before– but it doesn’t matter to you much as you let go of your worries, aware of the fact that in a few seconds, nothing will matter anymore when neither of you are going to be around to say anything to each other after the kiss is over.

The countdown rings in your ears– coming down from 5 as you scoot yourself closer to Eric, 4 as you run the pads of your thumbs along his cheekbones, 3 as you still in your movements, 2 as you notice your knees bumping into each other on the ground and finally, 1 as you get ready to die, kissing your first and only love– when the sound of cheers and fireworks from the TV fills your ears instead, the world around you stilling and completely unchanged.

Your kiss started in 1999 and ended in 2000. Your love for him passed a century.

Eyes fluttering open and your mouth letting go of his, the image of the boy with his lips slightly parted, eyes closed and cheeks rosy comes to you in the yellow light of your room, making your heart fall down to your stomach. He looks absolutely angelic, his hair slightly messy and the fabric of his shirt a little disheveled in the front, and even though you’d love to indulge in your foolish desires and kiss him some more, you’re quickly taken aback with the noise of the door to your room opening and making you jump away from Eric, your brother appearing out of thin air in the presence of your room. It serves you like a weird kind of reality check, Eric’s eyes opening and looking at your brother, and even though you two haven’t been caught, the male clears his throat and bites down on his lower lip, looking almost guilty.

Oh no. What have you done?

Suddenly, you feel insanely silly.

JANUARY OF 2000

“You’ve been awfully quiet the whole day,” Sunwoo mumbles from beside you, his whole body engulfed in a pile of snow, “not that I care, but are you okay?”

“I thought you liked it when I don’t talk,” you mutter, playing with the frozen white all around you, seated on the red plastic sled at the top of the hill. You got tired after dragging it up from the bottom, and when you noticed that the rest of Sunwoo’s friends– Eric included– are still on their way up, you figured you could use up the time to relax and sit around for a while. It’s been quite some time since all of Sunwoo’s friends gathered to hang out at the same time, which made you surprised to see that your own brother invited you to tag along with them as they decided to go sledding on the second day of January, using up their break to best of their abilities. Which is also why you didn’t say no to the invitation– you thought sitting at home and moping around wouldn’t help you much.

“I do,” he says, nodding, “that’s why I’m asking what’s up– so I know what to do when I need to shut you up later,” Sunwoo hums, making you roll your eyes at the masked worry.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you scoff. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, “so you’re just going through puberty?” he teases, to which you take a handful of snow into your palm and lunge the white at him, satisfaction running through your veins when the snowball lands into his unsuspecting face, the male coughing and swatting his arms around to defend himself.

“Hey!” your brother screams at you once he gets the ice out of his eyes and his mouth, his body jumping into a standing position before he chases you around, the bubble of a laugh escaping your throat for the first time these days– they’re not wrong when they say malicious joy is the best kind of joy.

Running at the top of the hill, not really looking where you’re going– instead looking over your shoulder to see Sunwoo’s actions, preparing yourself to duck if he decides to turn your small quarrel into a snow fight– your legs get tangled with the red sled you left before you started a war with the angered man, a yelp cutting out of your throat as you get prepared to fall over and knock your teeth out.

Your body comes in contact with something half-firm, half-soft, and as your feet slip and the snow-covered ground disappears from below your legs, two arms wrap around your waist and steady you, making sure you don’t get hurt.

Turns out Eric Sohn is there to catch you every time you are about to eat shit. You hate this kind of deja vu.

As you open your eyes (that you had closed on instinct, not wanting to see your own death) once you’re sure you’re safe and sound, the world around you invites itself into your ears in an overwhelming noise. The laughter of Sunwoo’s friends– some hollering at your fall, some at the redness and last remains of snow covering your brother’s face– and the hushed arguments over who’s going down first– with Haknyeon screaming that he’s stealing Sunwoo’s (yours) sled and Juyeon following him. After all those happening in the matter of a few seconds,  you realize you’re left on the top of the hill alone with the male, terror shaking through your insides.

Clearing your throat and taking a step back from him, you tuck your hands into your pockets and avert your gaze from Eric. You two haven’t spoken since you decided to kiss him on New Year’s Eve, and with the awkward tension in the air, you don’t feel like doing so ever again in your whole entire life. 

“Thanks,” still, you hum.

Eric seems a little more light-hearted than you, shrugging as he replies to you. “Haven’t I told you to start watching where you’re going?”

“I’m not good with listening sometimes,” you mutter, huffing. Taking a look around yourself– noticing that there are no sleds left on the top of the hill, therefore, if you wanted to escape the situation, the only way down would be to roll around like a human version of a snowman, you once again admit your defeat, standing around nervously and shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

The silence is uncomfortable. It makes you want to dig a hole in the snow and bury yourself alive, to suffocate under the weight of the icy cold and never see Eric’s face again. You know that you ruined whatever friendship you had with the male– by being stupid and foolish, not really thinking about consequences (because there were supposed to be none and you were supposed to be dead), and the weight of the guilt makes you want to puke and hide away. 

Still, Eric comes out of his way to talk to you. Honestly, you’re kind of surprised– he should be disgusted with you. Realistically, he should be the one avoiding you, not the other way around.“They’re gonna take long to walk back up,” he notes, “wanna get hot chocolate with me?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you shake your head, not once breaking eye contact with the overwhelming white of the hill.

“Come on,” he sighs, “it’s just around the corner. They built a hot chocolate stand because they knew kids would come sledding here. Honestly, it’s an astute business tactic, but I promise the hot chocolate actually tastes nice,” he says, nudging you slightly with his arm, as if to make you look at him and change your mind.

“Thanks, but no,” you definitely say, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Are you avoiding me?” he asks, tone of voice casual– as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if nothing ever happened and he was genuinely curious about the reasoning behind your actions.

“I’m not, I just don’t really like hot chocolate,” you sheepishly mutter, trying hard to avoid the topic.

“So you are avoiding me,” he hums, as if it wasn’t obvious before– and not only because you’re a bad liar. Plus, you love hot chocolate. Somehow, you think Eric knows.

“Look, Eric,” you sigh, running your hand through your hair, “can’t you just drop it?”

“No,” he shrugs, shaking his head, “and that’s why we’re talking about the reason why you’re avoiding me over a cup of hot chocolate. Let’s go.”

His persistence is terribly overwhelming sometimes. You wonder how the male does it. “I already told you-”

“You owe me for the stickers and the meal and everything,” he corners you, and you know you can’t argue with that. He’s kind of right, you suppose– you never paid him back for all the chocolates or for the free meal he brought you that one evening. And that’s exactly why you find yourself sighing as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself for the talk.

You hate how he can always get his way. Walking up to the stand, you crack your knuckles in the pocket of your jacket, nervously coming up with possible arguments to tell him. I didn’t kiss you on purpose, it was an accident. I only did it to know how it feels. We are both supposed to be dead, it’s not my fault the world didn’t end like it was supposed to! Each sentence sounds more stupid than the previous one, and so with that, you shake your head, wiping the thoughts away, smiling at the elderly lady in the stand. You’re just gonna have to be honest, you figure. 

“Two hot chocolates, please.”

Rummaging through your pockets to find your wallet– you do owe Eric, so it’s only natural for you to pay– you’re caught off guard as the male next to you swiftly takes out his own and unzips it, preparing to pay for you. 

“I thought I owed you?” you mumble, hand reaching to tug at his forearm to stop him, to which Eric only grins at you and sighs.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to pay,” he says.

“I think that’s exactly what that means.”

“Just take it,” he huffs as he brings out a note from his wallet, the force making something else fly out and fall to the ground with it, having the boy swiftly crouch down and pick the item up, attempting to hide it before you get a chance to see. And now, you don’t have 20/20 vision, but you recognise your face when you see it– that, and you also recognize the small white sheet to be a polaroid picture, and as far as you’re aware, you’re the only one who has a camera in his circle.

The boy hands you the drink with red-tinted cheeks. The idea of him carrying a picture of you that he took back in September makes you flush as well, and when your gloved fingers accidentally meet as you take the cup from him, he forces out a laugh. “We can talk about that after you tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

His nonchalance has you relaxing only for a few seconds. The boy walks with you as you try to heat up your cold hands on the boiling surface of the cup, and when you see a bench a few meters away from you two, you instinctively take a seat.

“So?” he becomes you, eyebrows rising as he takes a sip from the melted sweetness.

Sighing, you try to come up with the best way to go around this. Do you apologize? Do you promise to never do it again– and you won’t, even though you want to so badly and his lips look surprisingly soft today? Furrowing your brows at the war in your head, you place the cup on the bench next to you and put your head into your hands, hiding away from him when you realize the only way to do this is to be completely, utterly honest.

“I’m just so embarrassed, Eric.”

The only noise meeting your eardrums in the moment is the faint yelling of the crowd sledding in the background, your companion remaining quiet for a bit. When he sees you won’t explain yourself, he goes ahead and asks the question. “Why?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” you sigh, not believing his so casual composure.

“Maybe,” he laughs, the airy sound taking all breath away from your lungs.

Well, not all of it, since you have enough oxygen to go on a tangent, it seems. “Because I kissed you, goddamnit. And- and I don’t even know why I did it, honestly, I’ve never thought of kissing you before! It’s just- when I heard the world is ending, I realized I hadn’t had my first kiss yet, and that just felt like such a miserable way to die, and then you asked what I wanted to do before I die and I couldn’t think of anything else,” you say, progressively taking out your head from your hands and facing the male, big eyes staring into his soul. 

To your surprise, he doesn’t seem mad. Or disgusted. Or any of the reactions you expected, really. Eric stares at you with a soft, but amidst a little star-struck look in his eyes, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of every slight shift in his composure.

“Did you kiss me because you wanted to kiss me, or because you thought the world was gonna end?” he asks, awaiting your answer.

And if you’re being honest, 2 days after New Year’s Eve, you do admit the thought of the world actually ending sounds a bit stupid. Why did you even believe that theory? Why did they talk about it so seriously on the news? They tricked you into ruining your own life. 

But still, nothing can be done about it now. “Both,” you admit, shrugging, “I… I kissed you because I really didn’t want to die unkissed, but also… I wanted it to be you, y’know? Like… I thought we were really going to die, and so I thought kissing you might be a nice way to go. I really wanted to spend my last moments with you, I guess,” you sheepishly say, averting your gaze from the male.

Eric offers you his silence again after you’re done explaining. While you do admit you feel a little tense to hear what he has to say, you also realize you feel lighter now that it’s out in the universe and out of your system. A major weight was taken off your shoulders with the confession, and suddenly, you’re kind of glad that your friend was so assertive and insistent on talking about this– who knows how long you’d go before managing to face him. You think you could honestly go on… forever.

Taking a sip of the luscious liquid, you feel your body warm up once the anxiousness slips away from your bones. The boy next to you hums, making you face him with expecting eyes. “Then why were you avoiding me?”

Sighing, you shake your head. “I just told you. I’m starting to think you’re the one that’s bad at listening.”

“No,” he laughs, “that’s still you. Because if you were good at listening, you’d remember me telling you that I’ve never once seen you as my younger sister.”

Shrugging, kicking the pile of snow in front of you with the tip of your winter boots, you’re not quite following. “So?”

“So you should’ve realized that I’m not doing all of this,” he theatrically swings his arms around, “for nothing, you know?”

“All of what?”

“Taking care of you. Feeding you, helping you collect those stupid animal stickers, walking you home…” he mumbles, sighing. “Keeping your picture in my wallet,” he adds with a playful tone, making you smile.

“I thought you were just being a good friend,” you shrug.

“I don’t keep a picture of your brother on me at all times,” he says, tugging off his gloves. The sleeve of his jacket rides up a little as you watch him take his cup of hot chocolate off the bench, surprised (and flooded with warmth) to see the ugly friendship bracelet you made still adorning his wrist.

Grinning to yourself, excitement welcoming itself into the tips of your fingertips, you shrug. “So?” you mirror your own question from a little while ago, wanting him to say it to you instead of relying on your own brain– you think there’s still a possibility of you just being too delusional to see the reality for what it really is. You need to make sure you’re not imagining things.

“So,” he starts, sighing to himself as he turns a little in his seat to face you, “you should stop avoiding me, because I liked the kiss. And you. And we should probably do it again, because I didn’t get the chance to kiss you back the first time,” he says, once again taking all oxygen out of your lungs with the casualty of his preposition.

Locking his eyes with you, having you two staring at each other like two rays of sunshine warming up the cold January, he grins. “How does that sound?”

“Good,” you breathe out, “very good.”

The male takes it as an invitation as he scoots himself closer to you on the bench, his body turning a bit to face you. His free hand cups your cheek, leaning closer to lock his lips with you like he asked you to, your eyes fluttering close at the proximity, the fuzzy feeling in your stomach already expecting to kiss him again. The situation feels a little too idyllic to be real, though– you should’ve expected it to get ruined again.

Something cold and wet comes into contact with the side of your face, and when you sharply open your eyes, you see Eric staring at you with shock and terror in his eyes, the snow dripping down the side of his face as well. Whoever threw the snowball has good aim, you think– managing to target two people at once (even though your faces were that close to each other that it probably wasn’t even that hard), and before you get a chance to look around and see who cut off your kiss, there’s a scream coming from the left side of the two of you, the sound of feet quickly darting in the snow landing into your ears.

“Eric Sohn, what the fuck do you think you’re doing with my sister?” the voice hollers, and before you get a chance to react, the said male fastly stands up from the bench and runs to the other direction, laughter resonating all throughout the place as Sunwoo and his friends chase their shortest friend down.

Snow starts falling as you watch your brother tail his childhood friend, and with a foreign sense of warmth, you get reminded of the birthday wish you made while blowing out the candles on your seventh birthday.

You wished for someone just like Eric. You didn’t know the universe would be so kind to give you him instead.

[littlemissnoname13]

hi could you please make a part two to feeling colors, i LOVED your writing in it. no rush :))

Hiii nonnie! 💕 I did end up writing a second part for the fic after all. I hope you like it as much as the first. X

Feeling Colours - Part Two

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Word count: 2500 give or take

Summary: Draco’s feelings for the reader start to grow

Warnings: fluff, excessive drinking, mentions of throwing up, kissing, nothing explicit, Draco being a softie (lmk if this needs more warnings)

Masterlist | Part One 

Your eyes fluttered open to find Draco Malfoy sitting on a chair next to you, breathing quietly like sleep was finally hitting him. Ruffled blond strands of hair fell over his weary eyes and he’d used his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket. 

Your first instinct was to silently lift up your covers and check if your clothes were still intact and thank Merlin they were. 

“Have a little faith Y/n.” Draco grumbled, startling you in the process as he struggled to lift himself into a more comfortable position. “I would never take advantage of a drunk girl.”

Fragments of the previous night came back to you when you heard him say that. 

The party, the burn of the booze, the dust-filled broom closet, the throwing up, the taste of soup and the strong and sturdy arms of the boy now looking at you with a sheepish grin on his face.

You eased at the sight of his smile. There came a certain type of comfort after someone had seen you throwing your guts up. 

“Thank you for last night Draco.”

“Like I said before Miss raging alcoholic, Don’t make a habit of it.” He let out a small yawn and started to smooth out his hair but much to his dismay, the strands refused to cooperate. 

You couldn't help but laugh at the displeased look on his face. “Here, let me—”

“NO. I absolutely refuse to let you touch my hair.” He protested, grabbing both your wrists before your fingers could make contact with his precious hair. 

“Come on Malfoy.” You pleaded, now fully out of bed and trying to break free from his hands. “I swear I can fix it for you.”

“Nope.” He said firmly as he tried his hardest to maintain a straight face. “Stop it—No please not the sides—no..”

“Please, just a bit more...ah okay….there we go.”

“Haven’t you done enough Hufflepuff?!”

“Oh. that rhymed.” You laughed, still touching his hair when the two of you accidently tumbled onto the chair he was originally sleeping on. 

Draco was agile in cushioning your fall with one of his hands balancing himself on the armrest and one hand wrapped around your waist.

It was only the second time he’d saved you from falling and you were already getting used to it. 

Something inside of you was immediately hoping that Draco would be there to break your fall for a third time too. 

It felt good with him.

It felt safe with him.

~~~

Alone at the school courtyard in the afternoon of the next day, Draco sat down in a far corner to rearrange his cluttered thoughts about you into tidy little compartments in his brain. 

It should have been easy for him. He was a natural occlumens after all.

But for some bizarre reason, he couldn't find a way to erase your name, the sound of your voice and your scent that was slowly dominating all four lobes of his brain and all four chambers of his heart. 

Even with the sun still in the sky, the occasional gust of wind made his hands turn cold so he instinctively shoved his hands into his blazer pocket to warm up. 

It was only then that he realised that he’d completely forgotten to give your locket back to you. 

~~~

A few days had now passed and Draco had gotten several opportunities to give your necklace back to you. 

First it was at the great hall.

He watched you intently from the Slytherin table, waiting for the perfect opportunity to talk to you while you nibbled on a cupcake.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he watched you lick the powdery pink frosting off your Peony lips.

He wasn’t all that fond of those cupcakes you were eating but he’d have done anything for a taste of the frosting from your lips. 

Before he could even manage to walk over to you, you stood up and walked away with your friends.

When you were close to the exit however, you paused and turned towards the Slytherin table to give him a tiny smile.

He quickly reached into his pocket to look at the locket, it was the exact pink shade of the frosting. 

~~~

The second time he tried to return it was at Potions class. 

Theo had so graciously agreed to switch partners with Draco and Snape did not seem to mind as long as the potions were brewed right. 

“Crush the petals as best you can before dropping them into the cauldron.” Snape instructed and you quickly grabbed a fistfull of rose petals. 

Draco watched in awe as you crushed rose petals in your hands, releasing the floral aroma into the atmosphere. The scent caught onto clothes and a flush crept onto his face.

“Well, are you going to help me, Malfoy?”

Draco silently copied your motion and stirred the cauldron till the potion was simmering and ready.

Returning your locket in the middle of Severus’s class did not seem like a smart idea so he decided to come up with a better one. 

“We are having another party in the dungeons on Friday. You should come and bring Abott if you’d like.”  Draco shrugged it off like it was the most casual thing ever. 

“Will there be elf made wine?” You wiggled your eyebrows at him and he let out a rather loud scoff earning the attention of the sulky potion’s master.

“Malfoy, Y/l/n.” Snape called out, looking as unimpressed as ever. “Detention.Saturday.”

“Incorrigible.” Draco muttered and you nudged him in the rib with your elbow. 

“Two Saturdays.” Snape said, before dismissing the entire class. 

On his way out, Draco discreetly sneaked a peak of the necklace in his pocket because he already knew what colour it was going to be. 

It was the exact same pink of the rose petals you were crushing. 

~~~

Two days had gone by since potions class and Draco was no longer fazed when the necklace emulated the same shades of pink from the bubblegum you were blowing or the fuschia ribbon in your hair. 

Draco also didn’t think it was necessary to make another attempt to return your necklace until Friday.

He already had a lot of things preoccupying his mind like actually planning the party. 

There had been no Slytherin Party planned for Friday before Draco invited you and now, He was getting his friends to help him arrange one. 

Crabbe and Goyle were tasked with getting more liquor,  Blaise and Theo were responsible for music and food while Draco was responsible with the overall logistics like silencing charms and getting the word of the party out. 

“All this for a girl.” Blaise mocked. Theo took this moment to whisper something to Crabbe who then whispered something to Goyle. 

“Care to say it out loud, Nott?” Draco seethed as he watched his friends clutch their stomachs and laugh out loud. 

“Theo called you a simp.” A teary eyed Goyle spluttered. 

“A what now?”

~~~

Friday’s party topped the previous one. 

More people, A wider selection of liquor, wine varietals, good food and music blasting so loud that the floors were vibrating. 

As per usual, Hannah had already disappeared into some dark little corner with her paramour leaving you all alone with a group of Slytherin girls. 

“I love your dress!” Exclaimed a tipsy looking Daphne Greengrass who herself was wearing a gorgeous turquoise number. 

“Thank you.” You replied, giving her your most polite and friendly smile. 

“Come now, let's go and dance already.” Pansy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at the interaction. Although it wasn’t super obvious, you sensed that Pansy wasn’t too pleased to have you there. 

Daphne intertwined her hands to yours and pulled you into the dancefloor with herself, Pansy Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode. 

Daphne’s surprisingly amiable nature took you by surprise but you decided to go with it. It was a party after all. 

When she placed her hands on your shoulders, you mirrored. When she swayed her hips, so did you. 

“He can't stop staring at you now, can he?” Daphne shouted into your ear over the music as you both continued to dance together. 

“I’m sorry who?” You shouted back. 

“Malfoy.” Daphne giggled. “ He’s been watching you all night actually. Why do you think he hosted this party in the first place?”

You stole a quick glance at Draco when no one was looking. He was sipping on a glass of whisky and watching you from a distance.

He had ditched his all black attire for a white button down shirt. The top two buttons were undone and his hair had a sort of laid back look to it

“See?” Daphne shouted again. “Hasn’t even taken his eyes off you once. It's driving Pansy nuts.”

Just to confirm if Daphne was in fact telling the truth, you tilted your head to the side to get a bitter view of him and the minute you did, your eyes met with his.

Heat spread all across your cheeks and he raised his glass to you as an acknowledgement before quickly turning away. 

After that, it was just an intense and tactical little gambit of who caught who staring. 

He covertly watched you sway your hips and you secretly noticed the way he tapped his fingertips on the glass he was holding.

Both of you refused to relent to whatever game this was up until the point where he grabbed a bottle of fire whisky and started to walk away. 

You didn't even need to think twice about where he was headed. 

“Go on.” Daphne nudged encouragingly.

~~~

Draco pulled the closet door open and stepped inside with a smile playing at his lips.

The last time he was there, he was introduced to you, your scent, your smile, your eyes. 

Before that night in the closet, he took colours at their face value. They were nothing more than visual representations of light—what amount, what hue, what saturation.

It was strange how things had changed for him. 

Not only did you make him see colours in a whole new light, you made him feel them, you made him hear them.

As Draco settled down with his drink, he saw the door creak open. 

It was still dark but he could already tell that it was you by the scent of your perfume. Oh, he could never ever forget that aroma even if he tried. 

Lumos. 

Draco held his wand in front of him and allowed himself to turn to his side to get a better view of you. 

Never had he ever seen someone glow the way you did under the lumos charm. The radiance in your eyes, the pearlescence of your skin and the curvature of your lips made him lightheaded.

“I feel like this closet is going to be a recurring thing for us huh?” You beamed at him and he found himself swooning. 

Salazar Slytherin. Nott was right. He was a simp.

“I guess so.” Draco quickly answered, Blaming this dizziness on the lack of ventilation while taking a big sip of his drink. 

“I don’t mind.” You said and twisted open the bottle of wine you’d brought with you. 

“Don’t tell me you brought another bottle of that god awful wine in here.”

 “It’s actually not that bad and it gets you drunk way quicker.” You shrugged. 

“Why do I feel like I might have to walk you to your dorm again?” 

He watched you take a long slow sip of wine and couldn’t help himself from noting that your lips were slowly getting stained red with the fruity nectar. 

“Might?” You shook your head. “Sorry to break it to you, but this wine is going to catch up with me soon.” 

Draco jokingly palmed his face, earning a laugh from you. It seemed like the perfect time to hand you your lost possession back. 

“Atleast, I’ll know when you are going to be sick though.” Draco said as he fished for the locket in his pocket. 

“How come?” 

“Because of this.” He explained, holding the necklace out. “I’m sorry I should have given it back sooner.” 

“That’s okay.” You murmured softly and pushed your hair away from your neck and he instantly took this as a cue to drape the necklace back to where it belonged. 

“Ah…there you go.” He whispered into your ear before shifting back to look at the gem. 

Draco expected it to be pink but to his astonishment, the gem had already turned a vibrant red. 

A new colour.

He could see red in the apples of your cheeks.

He could feel red pumping through his veins and hear red in the way his heart was rapidly beating. 

 “It’s red.” You commented and he slowly nodded. 

Even though he knew what red was for him, he needed to hear your interpretation before making his next move. 

“What does red mean to you y/n?” 

“To me, well…..red represents um..passion, something fiery, something that burns bright, leaves you breathless.” You whispered looking as if you were feeling almost as breathless as him. 

Draco swallowed hard when he noticed just how close your face was to his. 

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?” 

“If I kissed you right now, would you kiss me back?”

He noticed that your breathing was progressively getting shorter. You looked startled at his sudden question but held his gaze nonetheless. 

“I guess you’ll have to see for yourself, Draco.”

He couldn’t help but let out a hoarse chuckle before pressing his forehead to yours. “Is that an invitation hm?” 

You didn’t say a word but the deepening red color of your necklace gave everything away. 

Any remaining doubt in his mind went away when he felt you caress his cheeks with your cold hands. 

He gently let his fingers slip into your hair as he closed the distance between your lips. 

The kiss was reminiscent of the rush of first love. The innocence, the giggles. 

The kiss paid homage that perfumed night in the broom closet that had started it all. 

The kiss was bleeding, seeping, trickling In various shades of red and he was drinking every drop. 

Draco Malfoy could finally tell what the colour red tasted like. 

It tasted like your wine stained lips. 

He backed away and placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and you gave him a shy smile in return. 

~~~

The two of you spent the remainder of the party inside the closet. 

Drinking, talking, laughing and more kissing.

So much kissing. 

“Alright y/n, let’s get you to your room now shall we?” Draco sighed when he noticed that you were getting more and more inebriated by the minute. “Come on.” 

You struggled to step out of the closet and almost tripped on your own two drunken feet.

Almost. 

“As if I’m going to let you fall face first.” He mumbled to himself before lifting you up in his arms. 

You let out a small laugh before looking up at him. 

“Draco?”

“Hmm?”

“I know you said to not make a habit of this but unfortunately for you, I already have.” 

FIN. 

~~~

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Love,

vi

[starshipsofstarlord]

Play Time

Pairing | Elizabeth Olsen x reader

Summary | ‘Play time’, as it is described, is not for your own wandering hands. It is for you to succumb and be under your partner’s control, however, when she is not present, you take matters into your own hands, - literally.

Warnings | smut, spanking, masturbation, swearing, slight degradation, oral sex (fem receiving ofc), mummy kink

Requested ☑️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There was a tension driving your actions, albeit though they were forbidden. It was obvious that Lizzie would be disappointed into your will to give into your own greed, however she wasn’t here, and you had enough time to bust an orgasm out. She wouldn’t have to know.

That was a mistake on your part, and you’d have known that if you had thought with your brain rather than your hungry cunt. Lizzie always reminded you that that was your insatiable flaw, and that was why she was the dominant counterpart rather than you.

If she were left in your own devices, then your own orgasm would remain to be your own priority, and she wouldn’t get much love. And that was certainly something that she could not have.

And so, you were laid in the nude upon your shared bed, your head reeling back at the stimulating sensations that your nimble fingers blessed upon your clit. It admittedly felt good; there was no aspect of teasing, or the sound of taunting above.

It was just... perfect. The only downside was, that the hands belonged to you, and were not those of Lizzie. But she would never touch you so gently, nor dream or giving you what you wanted straight away. There was a thrill that came with doing something that she would be strongly opposed to.

She craved the influence of the power that she had over your body, and how she had the ability to make it bend and break to her every whim. It wasn’t unusual for her to use the description of a ‘brat’ in regards to you, and it clearly was a suitable resolution in thinking of you, all things considered.

You were, knowingly, going against her strict demands, but worst of all, it was rule number one that you had broken. Do not touch yourself. That heightened a spark throughout your entirety, knowing that you were doing something bad, and deserving of being called a brat, or something worse.

But nevertheless, in all your disobedience, you continued revealing yourself in the addiction of control, pumping your slim fingers in and out of your entrance, with the assistant of your thumb providing a string of perfectly adjusted chords to reverberate through your body.

Too preoccupied basking in the glory of the climax that you were striving towards, you had not feigned to notice the silhouette leaning disappointedly against the ajar door frame, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Yes.” Heavy breaths lay abandon to your chest, the movements of your fingers faltering in their rhythm as they twitched under the flow of the pumping blood running through your ecstatic veins. With one last thrust of your paired fingers, a mewl fled from your mouth, confirming the end of your orgasm. “Holy fuck.”

“Indeed.” Lizzie squinted, stepping forward, her sudden appearance promoting wide eyes upon your face, and causing you to whip your hands away from yourself, digging their tips into the covered mattress. “And it appears that you’ve been a very bad girl, breaking mummy’s rules whilst she was away. How... bratty!”

At her specific, and degrading terminology, a whimper surpassed the insides of your mouth, as your body cradled into itself, embarrassed by the exposure that you were broadcasting to her, albeit by accident. It was clear, that you had been caught in the cross hairs of being red handed, and so, the same colour reflected in a hue upon your body, pressing through your skin in regard to the shy heat.

“Liz-“ she fixed you with a stern look, the borderline dominance flickering through her emerald hues. “Mummy.” Biting your lip, you slowly, filled with cautiousness, crawled upon the bed, and towards the woman that often instructed you in what to do. “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

A tut sampled from her pink mouth, enforcing you to bow your head in slight shame. It was inevitable that she was to find out about your individually orchestrated solution to get off, but it made it that much worse, for it was not a second hand discovery.

Instead, she had watched with grave eyes how you fell apart under the collapse of your own touch. Each fluid motion that you had entrusted yourself with delivering was viewed through her stealthy and hawk like eyes. And that meant, there was no solution in trying to deny her deaf accusations, for she had served witness to your lonesome relief.

“No, it won’t.” She agreed, lightly shoving you out of her way, causing you to jolt back by the act, so that she could perch herself into a sitting position on the end of the mattress that was weighted down with many intimate occasions. “You know what to do.”

Lacking any reluctance, you followed her contextual demand, laying in your middle across her apparently inviting lap, your front composed in a floppy manner on one side, and your body half mirroring it on the other.

She trailed her cursive hands down your spine, evoking the appearance of goose bumps to poke out of your barren skin. It was far too well known what awaited you in the concept of her actions, and it had you inwardly wincing.

“See, that’s you being good. Good girls do what they’re told.” It was her successful attempt of taunting you; her outwardly confirming that you were no such thing. “How many?” From experience, you knew that it was a rhetorical consideration, Lizzie was speaking more to herself by it than she was you.

“Please don’t...” the corner of your eyes wept lightly at the thought of what was to come. The thought provoked a sincere yet arousing fear within your chamber of pleasure and fertility. No matter though how much your tried to pardon yourself for your languid mistake, it would never be enough - you knew that, from a collision of experience and logic.

Your attempts though served as vigil fuel to her scarlet fire, and whether she noticed or not, it was uncertain. But despite her possible obliviousness to it, she struck your ass with a relatively hard hand, pulling a mused squeak to tumble helplessly from your heaving mouth, that was attempting to keep the moan within its confines.

“Thank you mummy.” It rolled from your tongue deliriously, like a rehearsed line. Her hand smoothed over the place of which she had spanked, soothing the slight sting, before collaborating her hand unto your skin once more, n the same abused patch of skin. “Fuck!

In a timeless instant, she swatted you once more, causing a salty drop to cascade from your urgent eye. “Remember, only brats use language like that towards their mummies.” It was something that you had a good memory of, but the sworn word had made an appearance to your own dismay.

It had been a thoughtless spew of inconvenience, one that had dug yourself into a spiralling of trouble, and resulted in thus more pain permitted onto the section of your reddened and hand printed behind. “I think we may have to continue this, unless, you have any other ideas, baby?”

Your tongue darted out to swipe across your bottom lip, before you even considered answering. Y doing so, you could taste the salt that had dripped down from the bridge o your nose, and descending down you body in an orderly fashion to reach your slick centre.

It was a frustrating concept though, regarding your eager to please pussy. There was no attention drawn to anything on that end of you; instead, all LIzzie wanted was to hear you speak, and pathetically jumble around with words to spill the perfect answer. All you had to do, was think of how a good girl would respond.

“I’ll do anything.” Your voice was hoarse - desperate. And the vocal feature intrigued Lizzie, and so she rolled you onto the bed beside her, gently grasping the side of your face whilst playing with disarrayed hairs that curled across your cheek.

“Anything?” She repaeated for confirmation; safe to say, she was intrigued. After all, she wanted to experience the efforts that you would go to in order to make it up to her. And so, with tidal integrity, she pierced her green orbs into your own, awaiting another reply out of you.

“Yes.” A sleek smile gave way on your face, showing her that you were more than leased to do anything that she told you too. At the end of the day, it was the dynamic that you had invested yourself in, and also, the saying was true, in a diverse matter; ‘mummy knows best.’

“Okay then.” A broad structure defined her cheeks, paying tribute to her happy, and impressed demeanour. “Since it’s only fair, I want you to make me cum. It’s clear that you’re so good at it, considering that you got yourself to orgasm by nothing but your own fingers.”

She was intentionally getting under your skin about your misbehaviour, ripping of the band aid that you were certain that the openness and lack of squirming away that the spanking that she delivered entailed. But instead, it was another thing that you had been wrong about that to, and so you shuffled patiently upon your knees, watching as she intimately read you expression.

Lizzie pulled you closer by her adoring grasp on your cheek, slotting your mouth against the hilltop of hers. The pair of you moved in a rhythm, sawing your tongues around each other like flexible switch blades. Whenever she pulled away for a breather, you chased her with the promise of continuation, and vice versa.

But finally, the main event was approaching, such a ploy was revealed by Lizzie shrugging out of the dress that she had worn specifically for the interview downtown. The peeling of that layer left her in nothing more than her panties, revealing that she had forgone the support of a bra, which was formidable, since the outfit of her stylist’s choice had enabled enough, yet not too much revelation of a cleavage.

No resilience was met by either parties as she removed her flushed lips away, and laid dominantly back on the expensive mattress. And without waiting for you to run like a transitioning river beside her, she removed her panties herself, flinging them lazily away by her ankle. “Last time you ripped them.” Was her excuse, though, not that she had to ever explain herself to you of all.

It was a vivid memory, one that you fondly held onto. At the time, it had merely been an accident, but no longer did you regret what you did back then. In fact, reflecting on in it was quite hot in fact, and it had indeed been flashing images from that time that you had used to get yourself off earlier.

But your prior release, nor those that were promised in the future were your concern; not at the moment anyways. Your own priority was the woman spreading her legs so confidently in front of you, and the r rated sight had saliva collecting in the globe of your mouth.

“So pretty mummy.” The compliment had her cunt clench around nothing, you could see as the slit puffed its expanse out, attempting to seduce you inside. And it’s efforts were not in vain, for you crept forwards on your forearms, your high and beheld beloved capturing your every move within her clouded gaze.

“It would be far prettier if you were to give it a kiss. I think it’d like that, very much.” An innocent smirk wandered onto her compelling face, and you were eager to oblige her insinuating command. Your fingertips rubbed the insides of her thighs, your thumbs reaching to spread her glorious pink folds.

Leaning forwards, you in took a sensual breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent that rolled off from Lizzie’s cunt in controlling waves. It reeled you closer, and closer, until your lips were pressed against her bud in a sweet peck. “Your so wet.” Was your speculation, and you couldn’t help but gravitate your fingers onto her flower, and roll them in circles upon her individual expanse.

“Then clean it up baby. You know what to do.” Her hand reached down, bunching a fist full of hair within her grip, lowering your head down once again, causing you to continue focusing on her clit, whilst your fingers played lovingly around in her slick.

With the use of your tongue, you began from the bottom of her cunt, to her sensitive clit, working in attentive upwards strokes, collecting her sweet nectar onto your spoon appendage, and leaving none to waste. Then, you prodded at her entrance with the tip of it, sinking it in the private cavern, and reaching as far as your body part would allow you to.

Lizzie had her mouth pouted, as she breathed and mewled steadily. It served as encouragement, making you rock your tongue in and out of her successfully, your thumb finding a home on her clit, and rubbing with a passive goal. “Yes.” She moaned, her noise amplifying as she ground sensually down onto your face, rubbing her excess juices over it. “I’m close.”

That’s made you continue your administrations, the only thing of them that changed being your pace, which increased to a rapid tendency and urgency to get her to finish. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little brat face.” Her other hand also found homage in your hair, as she used it as leverage to rut her mound more directly upon your features.

A light scream evoked from her chest, as you felt her spill around your tongue, the liquid seeping out from her entrance, and softly drowning her thighs. After collecting as much as possible, and drinking it all up, you removed your face, feeling how your chin and such felt quite damp.

“I hope that teaches you to not touch yourself without permission.” Panted Lizzie, making no effort to get up from the bed, tucking herself under a blanket. She lifted up one of the sides, extending her arm upwards, and inviting you into her arms. And you were happy to settle down with her and get some rest after the thrilling and erotic night.

Being a brat wasn’t so bad. And at the end of it all, you always got to curl up with your girlfriend and find comfort in her gentle embrace, it was one of your favourite parts about having an intimate night.

[beaft]

well okay if you insist.

(go ahead and click "keep reading" if you want 1.3k of Some Guy Who Lives In My Brain)

Chanterelle is missing.

It’s not until someone offhandedly mentions his name that you even realise he’s gone. You try to remember the last time you saw him, and can’t. There’s a dim recollection of lavender skin and a puff of quiet laughter, but when you try to grasp the memory it runs away between your fingers, melting like wax.

He’s like that, Chanterelle: as hard to remember as he is to forget. You can hold a full conversation with him, and only realise afterwards that you have no idea what you spoke about. A room with him in it somehow still feels empty. And once, at dinner, you could have sworn he was sitting right next to you – but when you started to address him you looked up and realised you were alone. It’s like he’s not quite as there as other people.

This time, though, he is definitely gone. You make two full circuits of the camp, just to be sure. Wyll – who’s hanging out near the stream and seems in an uncharacteristically sombre mood – says he saw him go into the woods. ‘At least, I think I did,’ he says, frowning.

You leave Wyll to his brooding and slip away. Ordinarily, you’d respect Chanterelle’s need for privacy. But the noise is getting too much for you, and the wine is beginning to go to your head. You abandon the party and wander beyond the confines of the camp, towards where the forest darkens and deepens.

It’s a warm night. You let your cloak fall in a heap by the archway and kick off your shoes to better enjoy the feeling of the grass beneath your bare feet. The old ruins carry on further than you thought, half-tumbled walls of grey stone worn to smoothness by the years. What was it? A fortress? An outpost? Gale might know. You resolve to ask him later, and then the thought goes out of your head as the wall ends and leaves you standing at the edge of a clearing.

The moon is bright enough to show up a familiar figure sitting cross-legged, head bowed, hands resting loosely on knees with palms upturned. He’s not alone. Three rabbits are crouched near him, cropping at the grass. Two adults and a baby.

You try to move as quietly as possible, so as not to startle them – but your foot comes down on something sharp, a rock or a thorn, and you cry out. The animals whip round to stare at you, eyes wide and wild in the gloom. For a frozen instant they remain where they are, and then they flee, white tails bobbing, and vanish into the trees.

Chanterelle turns his head. A pale mat of hair hangs in damp tangles over his eyes, and his gaze is steady and calm. ‘Hello.’

They’re unsettling, those eyes; they certainly unsettled you when you first saw them. Those pupils, so far dilated that the red ring of the iris is scarcely visible. That film that covers them, turns them metallic and opaque in certain lights. The way he never blinks, or almost never. A magical mutation, he’d said when you asked, and you’d sensed there was more to it but didn’t pry further. Everyone here has secrets to keep. ‘Sorry,’ you say belatedly, limping closer. ‘Didn’t mean to scare away your… friends?’

Chanterelle shrugs. ‘They’ll be back.’

He doesn’t look angry, but then he never really does.

‘Not much of a party person?’ you say, testing the waters.

‘Not much of a people person.’

The dismissal seems clear. ‘Fair enough,’ you say, flashing him a quick smile to show there are no hard feelings. ‘I’ll leave you be.’

You’re already turning away when you hear him say faintly, ‘Stay if you like. I don’t mind.’

Coming from anyone else, you’d assume it was just politeness. But Chanterelle doesn’t do polite. ‘Thought you weren’t a people person,’ you say.

‘You’re not people,’ he says, like it’s obvious. Then his head tilts and his gaze sharpens. ‘What happened to your foot?’

You look down. There’s blood smeared across your skin. Whatever you trod on must’ve been sharp. ‘It’s just a scratch. I was careless.’

He gestures at you to sit. You obey. This close to, you can smell him – a damp but not unpleasant odour, like the inside of a rotting log. ‘May I?’ he says.

You didn’t know he had much in the way of healing spells. Shadowheart has always been your go-to for that. But he seems confident, so you sink down beside him and wait for the magic to wash over you.

It doesn’t happen. Instead he presses one palm flat to the earth and closes his eyes.

His hand is very near yours. The fingers are long and spindly, nails bitten down to the quick. You're so caught up in looking that it takes you a moment to realise what’s happening. There’s a hum rising, a buzz of energy that makes your teeth hurt. It doesn’t feel like Shadowheart’s magic. It’s older. Stranger. Chanterelle’s ears twitch, like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

And then the ground starts to glow.

You blink, wondering if you're tipsier than you thought – but no. This is real. A mesh of pulsing light is blossoming beneath the soil, a sprawling web that dances and flickers, every filament illuminated in exquisite detail. You should be afraid, but instead you’re mesmerised. It’s eerie. It’s beautiful. Like something from another world.

After a half-minute the web dims, and the hum goes with it. The sounds of the forest return: distant chittering of wildlife, the soughing of wind through trees. You examine your foot, marvelling. The cut is gone. All you can see is a white line, like a long-healed scar.

You stare at him. He avoids your gaze, ducking his head so his hair covers his face. ‘What was that?’ you say.

‘Mycelium.’

‘Your what now?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘Um. Your foot should be fine now.’

‘That’s…’ Weird as fuck. ‘Amazing,’ you say, because that’s more polite, and also true.

You see the tiniest flicker of a smile behind the curtain of hair. ‘You think so?’

‘Yes! How did you do it? Is a spell? A cantrip?’

Instead of answering, he leans back on his hands and stares up at the scattering of constellations overhead. A set of twin moons reflect in his eyes, like silver coins at the bottom of a well. ‘I remember the first time I saw all this,’ he says, gesturing vaguely at the sky. ‘I’d seen pictures, of course, star-maps and the like, but never the real thing. I wish I’d been in more of a condition to appreciate it. The journey to the surface rather took it out of me.’

‘I can imagine,’ you say. Except you can't. What must it have taken to survive in the Underdark for that long? Although you’ve never ventured down there yourself, you’ve heard stories aplenty – stories about burrowing monsters that explode out of the ground and tear you limb from limb, spores that cause terrifying hallucinations, poisonous plants that send you into paroxysms, enchanting lights that lure you away from the path…

‘It wasn’t all bad,’ Chanterelle says, as if reading your thoughts. ‘I’ve survived in worse places.’

‘Like where?’

Your only answer is another shrug. His expression has gone abruptly distant. You can sense him retreating again, turning in on himself, and although he hasn’t asked you to leave, it’s clear that the time for conversation is over.

‘I’d better get back to the party,’ you say. You stand and test your weight on your newly healed foot. It doesn’t hurt. ‘Thank you. It was nice to talk.’

He glances up at you, startled. ‘Was it? I mean – yes. Yes, it was.’ His ears have turned a delicate shade of indigo. ‘Enjoy the party. And try to watch your step.’

When you reach the edge of the clearing, you can’t resist the urge to look back. Part of you hopes he might be watching you go – but he isn’t. He’s sitting motionless where you left him, his head angled upwards, gaze fixed on the distant white eye of the moon.

random OC ask: say your OC is a love interest (in BG3 or a relationship-heavy game format of your choosing) — what does their first romance or "deepening the relationship" cutscene look like?

oc: chanterelle

so full disclosure: i got halfway through writing out an actual scene for this prompt until i realised my self-indulgence was approaching frankly catastrophic levels, so i will restrict myself to saying just this: the romance would be slow. it would be glacially slow. chanterelle is extremely guarded and touch-averse to the point where he won't even shake hands with people he doesn't know, so trying to date him probably looks a lot like trying to lure in a skittish stray cat.

first base for him - or first cutscene, i guess - would be a one-on-one hangout where he voluntarily talks to you about something that's not a) botany, b) magic theory, or c) juicy gossip from the local corvid community. if you pick the right dialogue options and pass your wisdom checks, you might get rewarded with a very tentative shoulder-lean. then again, you might not.

[mizunetzu]

can I request bakugou x male reader where femboyreader is smol, pretty quite and nice, and suprisingly are really ruthless on the battlefield and bakugou is just wondering where he got it from. Until next week bakugou meets his father's and brothers and all of them are tall and very manly men. But civil and nice. Hope you have a nice day,😊

LMAO THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE

——————

Bakugou x reader - My Cute Boyfriend and His Tough-Ass Family

⚠️warnings - femboy reader, if that’s a trigger?

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

Bakugou didn’t know where it came from.

One minute he was small and weak, wearing a new, girly hair pin everyday and complimenting one of the girls on their newly painted nails. The next thing he knew, he was just as batshit crazy as him during hero practice.

“Eat shit and die!” Bakugou flung across the air, sending a big blast over to (Y/n’s) location. (Y/n) sped away, dodging it with his quirk. He growled.

“Go to fucking hell!”

“Like hell I would, shit-for-brains! Suck my dick!” Bakugou landed on the ground, softening the impact with a blast pointed towards the floor. He stood there, a few good feet away from (Y/n). They were both breathing heavily, glaring down each other like they wanted to absolutely murder the other.

(Y/n) let out a piercing battle cry, before charging head first towards Bakugou and bringing his arms out to tackle him. Bakugou followed suite, charging towards him like a bull with his arm outstretched to deck him in the face.

They got closer and closer, Bakugou’s flashy explosions igniting in the air while (Y/n’s) quirk began to power up. Closer, closer, until-

“Times up!”

All might yelled over the intercom, and both students skidded awkwardly to a stop. Bakugou tumbled over with an angry shout, and (Y/n) sputtered, tripping over Bakugou’s torso making him fall to the ground as well.

“Get offa’ me, crossdresser!”

“I’m not a crossdresser, spiky bitch!”

“Your hero costume is literally a fucking skirt-!”

“Alright alright, young men! The battle is over, no need to keep fighting!” All Might awkwardly chuckled from the intercom. (Y/n) pouted, and swept himself off of Bakugou. Bakugou scoffed aswell, not even looking at (Y/n) as they both walked towards the observation building.

——

“Aaah! Katsuki! I’m sorry for yelling at you during hero training today!”

(Y/n) jogged up to Bakugou, gently clutching his backpack straps and slowing down to a walk. Bakugou huffed. There he went again, that totally insane side of him that came from absolutely nowhere was gone.

“Like I care, shit-for-brains.”

“A-anyways,” (Y/n) cleared his throat. “Do you wanna study at my house today? Or just...y’know, hangout?”

(Y/n) blushed as he ended his question. Bakugou stared down at him. If he told someone this was the same person yelling insults and profanities on the battlefield while fucking shit up, they’d think he was lying.

“(Y/n’s) house?” Bakugou mumbled to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there before...”

“Sorry, did you say something? You’re not really the type to mumb-“

“I didn’t say shit, shittyass! Go die!” Bakugou yelled. (Y/n) chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t think you’ve ever been to my house either.” (Y/n) sighed. Bakugou scoffed and shoved his hands further down his pockets. “You better make a good impression on my family, or they probably won’t let me hang out with you anymore.”

His family was probably just as fragile and dainty as him, was what Bakugou thought. He already saw the hugs and kisses and the “Hello, Mrs. and Mr. (L/n)” he’d have to choke out. He rolled his eyes.

“Whatever.”

——

“I’m home!”

A woman’s voice echoed through the house as (Y/n) and Bakugou both took off their shoes.

“Welcome back!”

“I brought my boyfriend over mom! Bakugou Katsuki-the one I was telling you about!”

He heard his mom gasp and timper into the entrance of the house, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon. Bakugou was right. Dainty, fragile mother; dainty, fragile (Y/n).

Bakugou cleared his throat, suppressing the gag that was about to come out.

“P-pardon the intrusion.”

“...Ehhhh? (Y/n), don’t tell me you brought one of your little dress-up friends over.” A different voice came from behind both (Y/n) and Bakugou. A young, male voice. Bakugou whipped his head around.

“Haaah?!”

“Ooooh! Feisty!”

The boy, who couldn’t be older than a middle schooler, cracked his knuckles. There was something so familiar about the way he talked.

“What’d you say to me, you extra?!”

“K-katsuki...” (Y/n) whisper-yelled, wrapping his arms around Bakugou in attempts to hold him back. The boy laughed in his face.

Just as the boy was about to say something, an older boy chopped him in the back of the neck, effectively subduing the smaller one.

“Shut up! (Y/n) said he was bringing his boyfriend over! Don’t scare him away like we do all of his other friends.”

Bakugou looked up at the older one. He looked about his age, but damn was he tall. And muscular too. The boy from before may have been at least athletic-looking, but this guy just...

“W-who the hell-?!”

“Now, now boys. Don’t need to get so physical.” A deeper, throaty voice came from down the hallway, it’s heavy footsteps growing louder and louder as it came closer. A tall, well built man came through the hall, crossing his arms. You could clearly see his muscles bulge through his office shirt. “Did you all come back from school? Welcome back.”

All three boys chorused out a string of hellos. Bakugou looked from who he assumed was the dad, then the two boys, than (Y/n).

There was no way in hell they were related.

“Are-“ Bakugou croaked. “Are you adopted or something?!”

“Katsuki!”

His mother laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand. (Y/n’s) mother was the only one who Bakugou would assume was, well, his mother. But these...men?

“You’re probably the only person who didn’t go running once they saw these boys in our house, Katsuki. A lot of (Y/n’s) little friends go running because Natsu teases them too much or Kaito and his father scares them off.”

“This one’s different, mom!” (Y/n) intertwined his hands with Bakugou’s. “Sometimes I yell and get all bwaaah during training-but he doesn’t mind!”

“Oh, well that’s good,” (Y/n’s) father ran a hand through his hair. “That explains why he hasn’t ran off the moment we walked in.”

Bakugou blinked. (Y/n) leaned in close. “Trust me, it happened before.”

(Y/n) timpered off to greet his brothers. Bakugou looked between all 3 boys. Despite how built and tall these testosterone-soaked males were, the way they talked and carried themselves gave off the same energy (Y/n) did during hero training. Was that where he got it? From these...men?

(Y/n) was forced into a headlock, his brother laughing scrubbing at his forehead as (Y/n) groaned. He thrashed around, albeit laughing, and tried to pry off his brothers hands.

“Come on-I thought you were training to be a hero! Where’s your muscles, huh?”

“I could easily throw you into the sun, don’t start. You’re just jealous I look better in skirt than you do.”

“Bullshit! I’m sexy as fuck!” His grip was temporarily loosened, giving (Y/n) the opportunity to slip out. “It’s not my fault none of your skirts fit me!”

“...But you know who it would fit?” (Y/n’s) other brother, the middle schooler, turned mischievously towards Bakugou.

“Hell no.”

——

“I’m going to fucking murder you.”

“Hey, now. That’s not very hero-like.”

“Yeah Katsuki! Not very heroic of you.”

“Murder is no good. You’ll get (Y/n)-nii’s dress dirty.”

Bakugou shook with anger as he stood in (Y/n’s) room. He sported a pink, frilly, strawberry-pink dress, that had small strawberries littered around it and stopped below his knees. His muscles peeked through the soft thin material of the dress, and the way he stood with his legs spread apart angrily was hidden under the layers of pink.

“Oh! Oh! Wait!” (Y/n) stepped into his closet with an excited smile. After a few seconds of rustling and shoving away hangers, (Y/n) popped back out with a matching dress on. His dress, however, had a baby blue tint with small blueberries scattered across the fabric.

(Y/n) did a little twirl. “Don’t I look pretty, Katsuki?”

Bakugou, crossed his arms, doing whatever it took to suppress the blush growing on his face. “Sure...whatever.”

(Y/n) happily stood next to Bakugou, smoothing out the crinkles in his blueberry dress and grabbing hold of Bakugou’s hand. “Tada~! We match~”

“You guys look like the strawberry and blueberry milk boxes I buy from vending machines at school.”

“Haah?!” (Y/n) gripped Bakugou’s hand harder. “What’d you say?!”

Bakugou stole a glance at (Y/n’s) angry face. Not gonna lie, he thought it was a bit attractive when he looked like he was gonna beat up his own brother in a frilly blue dress. He pursed his lips.

These guys taught (Y/n) well. If (Y/n) wasn’t as intense as he was during hero work, he didn’t think he’d ever fall in love with him, not the same way he is right now, at least. He felt sorta glad his family wasn’t a soft, fragile family of extras. Bakugou closed his eyes, and smirked.

“Yeah! The fuck’d you say to us, you lil punks?!”

——————

[fruitcoops]

hii would you write a coops fic that takes place before they’re out when they’re still sneaking around but have like a sweet date night at remus’s apartment

Of course! This is a continuation of Newcomers and Nargles, where Remus babysits Luna Lovegood. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Thank you for having me over,” Sirius said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. The only light came from his kitchen, which was far enough away that they were left in soft shadows on his couch. “Really, Re, this is wonderful.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he laughed, though Sirius could see the pink flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just pasta and my apartment.”

“I love your apartment.”

The flush deepened. “Moody calls it my hamster cage. You had to duck to get in the door.”

“Details.” Sirius leaned forward for a proper kiss to his lips; they had set a timer for the pasta and had a while yet, if his memory was correct. Plenty of time to settle himself more comfortably in Remus’ lap and kiss him until he got the glazed look in his eyes that Sirius adored.

He wanted this all the time. To come home with Remus every night, without fear of the wrong person (or anyone, really) seeing them. He wanted to kiss him in public and keep his hand in Remus’ back pocket like a cliché movie couple and watch Remus light up when he held his hand. He wanted.

Remus made a soft noise and slid his arms around his waist, holding him light and cozy while he traced small swirls on the small of Sirius’ back. It sent goosebumps racing along his spine—Sirius cupped Remus’ jaw in his hands and hummed his approval. The room was so wonderfully warm, filled with the smell of cooking pasta and sauce on the stove. They had made it together; shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, trading kisses in the steam.

God, he wanted it so much it ached.

Remus trailed light kisses along his neck, taking pauses to nuzzle Sirius’ skin and nibble his collarbones. Sirius buried his face in honey curls and let himself believe this was his everyday life. Their everyday life.

A quick knock at the door shattered the illusion. Sirius felt the blood flee his face as they both froze. “Who is that?” he managed.

“I don’t know,” Remus whispered. His pupils were dilated with fear and, with a pained look, he guided Sirius off his lap so he could stand and turn the rest of the lights on. His slender hands smoothed his sweater and jeans in methodical movements, but Sirius saw their tremors.

He distracted himself from panic by looking around the apartment and all its knickknacks; the feeling of being surrounded by Remus in his most distilled form was unparalleled. A little granite wolf figurine sat with its wooden counterpart on the table by the door; dozens of pictures of family and friends scattered the walls with no rhyme or reason to their placement. It was cluttered in the best possible way, and Sirius wanted his whole life to look like it.

The door clicked open. “Hello?”

“Remus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m so glad you answered.”

Sirius glanced over and saw Remus’ whole body relax as he opened the door further with a smile. “Hey, Pandora, how are you?”

“Doing fine, doing fine. It’s Phil and I’s anniversary and we’ve got dinner at 7:18, but Luna’s babysitter came down with a cold and can’t make it. We just got the text an hour ago and we were hoping you could watch her while we’re out.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “I—well, I have a friend over for dinner, but we made plenty of pasta for one more, I s’pose. Sirius, is that okay with you?”

It took him a moment longer than was prudent to get over the fact that Remus—kind-hearted, friendly, beautiful, so beautiful—was asking his opinion on letting a kid join their date. Their top-secret, possibly-life-ruining-if-discovered date. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so rude!” the woman gasped. She poked her head around the doorway and waved to Sirius—her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder in a messy plait, and her dress seemed to be made of a variety of beads. She was pretty, with a combination of angular features and a heart-shaped face that nudged a memory in the very back of his mind. “I’m Pandora Lovegood, from 7A. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” He padded over and held a hand out to shake, but to his surprise she took it turned it over, furrowing her brow at his palm.

“Well, that’s quite the love line!” She smiled and patted his cheek. Her eyes were glacial blue, but somehow still as warm as a crackling hearth. “Good for you. Your life line isn’t bad, either. I’ll be back with Luna in a moment!”

“Have a good night, Pandora!” Remus called as she fluttered away. “Say hi to Phil for me!”

Sirius was still standing in mild shock when the door closed. “Pandora, Luna, and…Phil?”

“Xenophilius,” Remus said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Her husband, and Luna’s dad.”

“Hell of a name.”

“We can’t really judge, can we?” Some of his amusement dimmed and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his cheek until he smiled. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus looked a bit sad as he looked up despite his smile. “Yeah, but this is our only time together.”

“It’s not the last time I can ever come over to your apartment,” Sirius reminded him as he ran his hands up Remus’ arms. “I think it’s great that you’re doing this for your neighbors. It shows how caring, and sweet, and wonderful—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he laughed, cutting Sirius off with a vivid blush.

“Besides, I agreed to this.” He nudged their noses together. “I’m pretty sure my impressive love line can handle another date sometime soon.”

Remus grinned as he leaned in. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

A tumbling sound came from outside, followed by a peal of giggling and a sharp pattern of knocking. “I did a cartwheel!” a tiny ball of blonde curls announced as it launched itself at Remus’ legs the second the door opened. “Hi, Remus!”

He caught her with a slight wince as Sirius tried to calm his pounding heart. “Hey, sunshine, are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She wriggled down from his arms and gave her mother a bear hug, beaming when her face was covered in kisses.

“Be good,” Pandora said as she set Luna down and brushed her hair out of her face. “Listen to Remus and his friend. We’ll be back by ten at the latest. Thank you both again for doing this. I’ll bring over some cookies tomorrow, Remus.”

“That’s very sweet, Pandora.” Remus’ eyes tensed at the edges, as if he was in pain at the very thought. Pandora whisked herself toward the stairs again and Sirius shut the door behind her. “Luna, do you—”

“I remember you!” Sirius turned and found himself staring into the biggest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. The memory came rushing back in a flood—Remus, frazzled and fluffed at the edges, with a little girl balanced on his hip. Luna stood on her tippy-toes and he leaned down so she could take his face in her hands. After a moment, she nodded. “You’ve done an excellent job of keeping the nargles away, Mr. Sirius.”

“Thank you.”

“Mama said you and Remus were making pasta. May I have some, please?”

“Of course you can,” Remus assured her, ushering her into the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady.”

Sirius waited until Luna had safely skipped out of earshot before bending toward Remus’ ear. “Why does she…?”

“Talk like a normal kid and then a Victorian orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno. I guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a chemist and part-time psychic and your dad owns The Quibbler.” There wasn’t a trace of judgement on Remus’ face as he raised his voice by a few degrees. “Be careful by the stove, honeybun.”

“I will!” Luna chirped back. Sirius couldn’t place why, but he held undeniable affection for the little girl, even after only two meetings. She was unapologetically odd; he was sure he could never get bored of talking with her.

Luna sat on the countertop while they served up dinner, happy as a clam as she recounted her and her father’s hunt for Fizzing Whizbees at the candy store. They were her mother’s favorite, apparently, but Luna had yet to see one in real life. Her conversational skills came to a sharp halt during dinner; it was so startling that Sirius grew concerned after two minutes without her high-pitched contributions.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her plate with a curious glance between them and gave Sirius a bright smile. “I’m making an octocapus.”

“An octopus?” Remus leaned over to look. “Wow, you got all the legs with your noodles! Way to go!”

“You’re a great artist,” Sirius agreed as Luna continued working on her masterpiece.

“Yeah, I know.”

He bit his lip to keep in his laughter and met Remus’ eyes; at first, he had been a bit worried about babysitting during a date, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the night. When their plates were clean and Sirius was warm and drowsy from carbohydrates, Remus collected the dishes and headed back into the kitchen despite Sirius’ offers for help.

Luna gave a wide yawn with her head propped on one hand and turned to Sirius the moment Remus turned the sink on. “Do you give Remus kisses?”

It took all of Sirius’ self-control not to accidentally spew water all over the literal child sitting across from him. Instead, he coughed and spluttered into his napkin while the alarms in his brain began to blare. Remus showed no sign of hearing their conversation while he rinsed out the large pasta pot. “What?”

“I’d like it if you did,” Luna continued with nothing but her usual dreamy expression. “Remus needs friends, and mama says he could use some kisses.”

“I think everyone could use some kisses,” Sirius said evasively. His heart galloped in his chest.

“Hmm. Yeah. How long have you been friends?”

“We’ve known each other a little longer than you’ve been alive, but we’ve only been friends for about two years.”

“That’s a good amount of time.”

“Oh?”

She put her chin in both palms, suddenly looking much older than she was. “I’ve been alive for four whole years. That’s a long time. If you’ve known someone for four whole years, you should give them kisses.”

Sirius stared at her. “That’s quite the philosophy.”

“What’s that?”

“An idea.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘idea’?”

“I…don’t know.”

She hummed a little under her breath. “Will you color with me?”

“Yes,” he answered as relief coursed through him. He had no clue how she had gone from blunt questions that could turn his whole world upside down to coloring, but he didn’t care. “Yes, I would love to.”

Luna slid off her seat and hopped over to Remus’ desk, then dug around in the drawers and emerged with a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. “I’m bad at outlines. Will you draw them for me?”

“Absolutely.”

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

Luna fell asleep halfway through coloring a Kneazle with Remus, which as far as Sirius could understand was just a cat that had its face squished. But it made her happy, and he would draw a million squishy cats to keep her questions about Remus to a minimum.

As soon as Remus finished tucking her in beneath a heavy blanket on the couch, he turned and crushed his lips against Sirius’ like a man dying for air. The kiss lasted long enough that Sirius was staring to get lightheaded before finding himself the (quite enthusiastic) recipient of a rib-crushing hug. They held each other for a few minutes, silent and swaying, before Remus let him go with a final kiss and they began to clean up the mess.

True to her word, Pandora returned just before ten pm with a blond man at her side and a big hug for her daughter. “Goodnight, Luna,” Remus whispered. They received a sleepy wave in response and then, finally, they were alone. “You are the best person ever.”

Sirius wound his arms around Remus’ waist and melted a little when strong hands combed through his hair. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can doodle. It’s nothing fancy.”

“You drew imaginary monsters based on descriptions from a four-year-old.” Remus cupped his cheek and rested their foreheads together. “You’re amazing.”

“This was a pretty awesome date,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to bask in their little bubble.

“We should do it again sometime. Preferably without the child, though.”

Sirius’ smile came all the way from his heart as he buried his face in the slope of Remus’ neck. “As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he could bring himself to admit, but for now, it would have to do.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Congrats on the followers my friend!! You deserve all of them and many more!

I'd like to request a little something with Javier Peña, with the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you" (from dialogue prompts to make readers swoon). I'll let you decide how sweet or spicy it is, just however it strikes you. 😘

Thank you, and congrats again!!

Oh my gosh, JEN!!!! I love you so much! I hope you enjoy this slow-burn, sprinkling-of-angst-with a happy ending!

Here is a sweet "confessional" story for Javier x female DEA agent under the cut!!

The bar was half-empty, or half-full, you weren’t quite sure. And maybe it didn’t matter anyway, since you only had eyes for the man with the mustache across the table from you. He stubbed out his 5th (or was it 6th?) cigarette of the night into the amber glass ashtray on the table. You watched him purse those perfect lips and blow the stream of smoke up and away from the booth. His coffee-brown eyes came back to yours, the depths of them muted in the blue neon lights. You stared just a beat too long, and then blinked.

You shifted your attention to the table and stirred the last of your drink with your straw, watching the half-melted ice swirl in a lazy circle. Maybe tonight you would tell him how you felt. You lifted your eyes just in time to see Javier turn his head away from you to watch a very attractive woman walk by. He followed her with his eyes until she was out the front door.

Maybe not.

Javier turned back to you and waved over your head at the waitress for another round.

“You really want to stay?” You couldn’t hide the little bladed edge of irritation in your voice. Whether you stayed at the bar or not, you didn’t want to be around Javier any longer than you had to. You saw enough of him at work, and you weren’t interested in being his ‘pity date’ on a Friday night just because Steve couldn’t make it out for drinks.

Javier frowned at you, “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating tonight, amiga. Big win with the arrest warrant this week, remember? Why are you so cranky?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, and then rubbed your tired eyes. “It’s been a long week, and I just don’t feel very festive tonight. Okay?”

The waitress brought your drinks and Javier tossed a few bills on her tray. You picked up your third drink (fourth?) and watched Javier watch the waitress walk away. You downed your drink in record time and stood. “Right, I’m going home.”

“Already? We just got here.”

You snapped, “No, you just got here, I’ve been here all night, watching you watch other women. Not as much fun for me as it was for you. I’m done.”

You made for the ladies room and peed, then sat there for an extra two minutes, hoping that Javi would be gone by the time you got back out. You only got up when another woman needed the stall. You washed your hands as slowly as you dared, then dried them carefully and reapplied your lip balm at a snail’s pace. The face in the mirror looking back at you was your own, just sadder and more tired than you had seen her in a while.

When you finally emerged, Javier was right there waiting for you. He was leaning back against the wall opposite the ladies room, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankle. Anyone who didn’t know him well would have thought he looked casual. You knew he was pissed off. The moment you swung the ladies room door open and stepped out, his dark eyes were on yours. It took your breath away, just for a moment, but that was long enough for him to unfold himself and take your upper arm in his strong grip.

“I’ll make sure you get home safe. I can’t let you travel home this late by yourself, Agent.” Agent. Fuck, he really was pissed.

You didn’t argue, partly because you knew he was in that mood, and partly because of the sensation of his hand, large and warm, wrapped firmly around your arm just above your elbow. It wasn’t painful, but something about feeling how strong his hands were, how he gripped you sent your mind running to the same places it had been running to for months.

Javier propelled you out of the bar to his car, opening the front passenger side door and standing like a sentry until you were tucked in and belted, then he closed the door with a pop. Neither one of you spoke until he parked the car on the ground floor of the garage at the DEA apartment block. Your apartment was just down the hall from Steve and Connie, two floors up from Javier. It was cozy, mostly. Nice to have neighbors who you already knew. Not nice when someone had a crush on someone else and couldn’t avoid them.

Javier turned the engine off and broke the silence first, “I’ll walk you to your door.”

You bit your lips together and nodded, sucking in a deep breath through your nose. Bad idea. The smell of Javier settled deep in your sinuses and stayed there: his cologne and cigarettes and the breath mint he was chewing, and something uniquely him, all of them mixing and intensified in the still air of the car. You blew the long breath out through your mouth and it took most of your hurt feelings with it.

You turned to him but you both spoke at the same time and chaos reigned for a moment.

“Why didn’t you want me looking at-”

“I’m sorry, Javi, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, you go first-”

“No, you can- Wait, what?”

Normally you would have laughed together and cleared the air, one of you deferring to the other to speak first. This time there was something tense. You had been on the verge of apologizing for snapping at him, a means of smoothing things over while sweeping your own discomfort under the rug. You’d hoped that if you could apologize for being sharp, you could get back to ‘normal’ and just be work partners. Like how it was before your heart got in the way. You thought maybe if you just did that enough, buried everything deeply enough, Javier would never guess how you felt.

And if Javier had been any other man, that might have worked. But he wasn’t the type to feign shyness to help ease your own shyness. Another man might have chuckled and looked away from you, played with his hands on the steering wheel to pass a few awkward seconds. Javier used those deep brown eyes to pierce your defenses and asked you the direct question you had been dreading since your outburst at the bar.

“Why didn’t you want me to look at other women?”

You paused, keeping your breathing even. You blinked a few times but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t care. Look at whoever you want. It’s none of my business.” A lie. And he knew it. And worse yet, you knew that he knew it.

“No amiga, you do care. Or at least you did half an hour ago.” You hated how intense he could be, so calm on the outside while he drew secrets out of panicked people via interrogation. “What is it that you don’t want me to know? What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” You put a hard backing to your next words. “Drop it.”

You turned and opened your door, not waiting for Javier to follow as you speed-walked from his car across the parking garage. You slammed through the door to the lobby and took the stairs two at a time to your floor, telling yourself it was necessary exercise, part of staying in shape for foot chases… not avoidance, not the fear of facing Javier and telling him your embarrassing truth. You heard his footsteps land a moment behind yours, and you didn’t bother holding the stairwell door for him. He caught it on the backswing and was just a step behind you as you approached your door.

“I can get inside from here just fine. Good night.” You spoke your words to the keys in your hand, to your doormat, anywhere but to him.

He reached a hand out to hold your wrist, and it was the most gentle touch he had ever laid on you. It matched his low murmur of, “Hey. Wait…”

You turned to face him, and you opened your mouth to repeat the lies, the denials, to try to say something that would brush over tonight’s embarrassment with a clean sweep and let you face yourself and him in the morning. But the look on his face, the way his eyes were soft instead of probing, the whisper of his touch on your wrist when normally he was rough with his high fives and his handshakes… suddenly your voice didn’t work.

Javier looked at you the way that you had hoped for months that he would look at you, but it wasn’t how you wanted this to go. This painful reveal of innermost secrets and feelings. You wanted him to want you, to be bowled over by you, not to pity you or treat you like an idiot. But still, that look on his face, it struck something deep within you and you decided that you would take that look however you could get it.

You opened your mouth to speak and so did Javier, but this time instead of speaking at cross purposes, instead of a jumble of words tumbling into each other, you both said the exact same thing...

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Heat rose in your face at your own admission, at your absolute sureness that he would peel away from you, be upset at you for feeling too much, but the minute you realized his own words had matched yours, you felt the heat in your face ebb away, and before you could process it, before you could think, Javier mumbled a quick, “Fuck it,” and then his hand was on your waist and you were being pulled into his arms and you just went limp and let him kiss you.

The instant his second kiss landed, your brain came back to life and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him as deeply as you could, not breaking off even when your next-door neighbor’s apartment door opened, not when it closed again with a soft bang, and not until you felt Javier’s erection grazing your hip.

You finally broke the kiss, breathing out a high-pitched, “Inside?”

Javier grabbed you firmly around the waist and pulled you tighter. “Inside.” His voice was nearly a growl, and you felt your panties get hot and wet.

You took Javier inside your apartment, slamming the door behind you. And you finally confessed everything, with your lips and your body and your legs wrapped around him until the small hours of the morning.

[asweetprologue]

deep in the coffin of your chest

Octoberfest 13: Possession (whumptober #15)

Something was wrong. Jaskier knew it instantly, in the way a deer knows when it’s been spotted by a wolf, the way a field mouse feels in the shadow of a hawk. Jaskier was sitting on the other side of the charcoal circle they’d drawn up, finishing the second to last of the runes. It looked like yrden, mostly, just a more permanent trap. Geralt had wanted to snare the wraith for easier dispatch, knowing that the fight would be harder without a talisman to burn. Jaskier helped as much as he was able, looking carefully over the lines Geralt had sketched out in his notebook before moving to fill in the runes on the floor. The smooth marble of the mausoleum accepted the marks easily, neat little lines of soot almost hidden from view. The air was still, the smell of damp stone and faint decay hanging around them. Geralt had finished his own side and looked over the work with a satisfied hum, and then something in his posture had changed. 

He looked the same, was the thing. Nothing had changed. There were no flickering lights, no rush of wind, nothing to indicate that a malevolent force had arrived. But the way Geralt was holding his head was suddenly a little off, his expression when he looked up at Jaskier just a bit too flat. Something wasn’t right. Jaskier had barely one more line to do before the circle was complete, but he hesitated. 

“Geralt?” he said, unsure. “Are you alright?”

It was like a switch being flipped. For a moment, everything was still, Geralt’s face utterly emotionless. And then, in the blink of an eye, rage unlike anything Jaskier had ever seen stole over his features and a growl filled the room. It rumbled through the room like thunder, echoing through the alcoves and into the vaulted ceiling above them. 

Jaskier dropped the charcoal. It clattered softly to the ground near his knee. 

“Geralt, what’s wrong? What -” Jaskier didn’t have time to finish, because Geralt was standing with all the fluid grace of a seasoned witcher and stalking towards him. Jaskier scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. He’d never felt scared of Geralt before, but something about the slow prowl towards him made the long lost prey part of his brain scream run run run! Geralt’s pupils were wide, black entirely swallowing up the lovely gold, and he looked angry. Jaskier turned, seized by a sudden panic, but Geralt closed the distance too quickly. The witcher slammed into him, shoving Jaskier back against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He floundered for breath as Geralt stepped towards him again, unable to get his bearings before fingers were grabbing his forehead and slamming his head back into the stone wall of the crypt. 

Jaskier’s vision swam. Spots danced in front of his eyes as pain exploded from the back of his skull, instantly making his stomach lurch. He gasped, reeling at the shock of the blow and the betrayal. Geralt would never hurt him. He wouldn’t. But whatever this was, it wasn’t Geralt. Jaskier could tell, squinting at him through watering eyes. Geralt would never look at him with such hatred. “Geralt, snap out of it!” 

There was a blow to his gut, not as hard as Jaskier knew Geralt could deliver but hard enough that he could hear the faint groan of his ribs. It bowled him over, one hand going to cradle his abused stomach while the other blindly reached for Geralt’s shoulder. Seeking support even when it was he who’d dealt the blow. It was a mistake; Geralt grabbed his arm and twisted, tackling Jaskier to the ground. He couldn’t keep his injured head from banging against the floor again, and the repeat impact made Jaskier’s vision go black for a long moment. Huge, warm hands were pinning him down, an ongoing growl reverberating through the chamber. 

Jaskier lashed out, blindly reaching to try and slap Geralt’s face or knee him out of the way. It must have come as a surprise, because both blows landed and the growl stopped with a startled huff of breath. Jaskier blinked his eyes open in time to see the witcher flinch back a bit, fury twisting his features. Seeing an opening, Jaskier tried to wriggle away. His head was swimming, but he tried his best to struggle free of Geralt’s grasp. Whatever was possessing him couldn’t do this. It couldn’t be allowed to use Geralt against him. 

It didn’t matter. Geralt recovered easily and grabbed Jaskier by the leg, pulling him back into place with a snarl. Jaskier met his eyes, looking for any recognition, but was met with hateful indifference. It hurt worse than any of the blows Geralt had rained down on his body, cutting through his chest like a blade. Geralt looked at him with impersonal vehemence, and Jaskier felt despair flood through him. Whatever had Geralt, it had him completely. Jaskier felt hot breath over his jugular as Geralt leaned down, violence in every line of the body above him. He choked on a sob. This was more powerful than either of them. Jaskier was going to die. And if he escaped with his own life, Geralt would be devastated. 

Jaskier's hands came up to clutch at Geralt's back, holding him close even as his body screamed for him to try and fight. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst in his chest. He'd never felt fear like this - Geralt's sharp teeth were inches from Jaskier's neck, ready to tear him open at any moment. Jaskier felt a tear slip down over his cheek, falling back towards his hair. Geralt's entire body was drawn tight above him, shaking. 

"It's okay," Jaskier gasped. He raised a hand to card it desperately through Geralt's hair, his thumb barely brushing over his clenched jaw. "It's okay, Geralt, it's okay. I forgive you. It's not your fault, I forgive you, okay? It's okay. I love you - i-it's okay, I love you, I love you." He was crying, but he tried to put all of his trust in Geralt into the words. Geralt was going to tear himself apart over this, Jaskier knew, and it was almost worse than the fact that he was going to die. 

Geralt's clenched teeth pressed against Jaskier's neck, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. One quick move and it would be over, Jaskier’s blood spilling across the floor and Geralt’s tongue. His fist slammed down next to Jaskier's head, shaking the ground. 

"It's alright," Jaskier said softly. He leaned his forehead against Geralt's temple, a parody of a lover's embrace. "I love you, Geralt. It's okay."

Geralt shuddered against him, a whine leaving him. He was fighting it, Jaskier realized, pushing back against the thing boiling his blood. It was a moment. A chance. 

The charcoal was still on the floor, inches from his face. 

His only advantage was surprise. Using the hand in Geralt’s hair, Jaskier suddenly pulled as hard as he could, at the same time twisting to shove Geralt’s knee out with his foot. It was a trick Geralt himself had taught him, one only managed successfully in the past because the witcher had allowed it. But this wasn’t Geralt, and the thing inside of the body above him wasn’t ready for it. Too distracted in a silent battle of wills, Geralt tumbled to the side.

Into the circle.

Jaskier scrambled for the charcoal just as Geralt began rising back up on his knees, none of the hesitance present in his face. He - it, whatever was playing host to Geralt’s body right now - was furious, absolute rage contorting his features. It was utterly inhuman. Jaskier threw himself at the edge of the circle, towards his last final rune, just as Geralt lunged forward. One line, a gentle curve, and a tiny dash off the end.

Jaskier held perfectly still, on his hands and knees before the circle. There was a sudden shift in the air, like the pressure change when walking up a mountain, and then Geralt gasped. Jaskier looked up just in time to see a half solidified form stutter out of Geralt’s body, peeling off of him in fits and starts. Geralt staggered when it was done, fumbling a few feet outside of the circle. The thing within lunged for him, but was stopped at the edge with an angry howl. It was no true color, barely there at all, more of a density in the air and a presence before them. So hateful. 

Geralt drew his sword, untouched throughout their own scuffle. It was a simple fight, which Jaskier watched from his slumped position on the marble tiles. Within a moment the creature was gone, dissipating into ash. 

Not a second later Geralt was beside him, sword flung to the side. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him in place, and another came up to cradle the back of his head. Jaskier winced at the throb there, flinching away from the hand. 

Geralt released him immediately, his expression pained. Jaskier swayed towards him without the extra support, catching himself on Geralt’s chest with one wide spread hand. “Sorry,” he said, still feeling woozy. “Hit my head. That didn’t seem like a wraith.”

“Demon,” Geralt said. He reached out again, more hesitantly now, and cupped Jaskier’s jaw. Their eyes met, and Jaskier was relieved to see familiar liquid gold staring back at him. Geralt’s eyebrows were creased in worry, guilt making his features tight. Jaskier spared one brief moment to be intensely glad that he hadn’t died. For both their sake. “You’re hurt,” Geralt said. And then, more quietly, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier huffed, even though the movement hurt his ribs. Definitely bruised. “None of that,” he said, tapping Geralt’s chest. “You didn’t do this. You know that.”

“I could see it. I couldn’t stop. It was so angry, it wanted to hurt you so badly. Why didn’t you fight back?” Geralt asked. He sounded wounded, his other hand coming up to hold Jaskier’s face in his palms. Searching his gaze for answers. “You just… gave up. You said -”

“I said I love you,” Jaskier finished for him, bringing one hand up to curl around Geralt’s wrist. He skimmed his thumb over the pulse point there, soothing. “It’s okay. I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“Guilty,” Geral repeated, his voice breaking. “Jaskier, I couldn’t - If you -”

“I know,” Jaskier said. He turned his head just slightly to press a kiss to Geralt’s palm. The movement made his head swim, but Geralt inhaled sharply at the soft brush of lips, so it was well worth it. “I know, darling. I’d never blame you.”

Geralt made a choked sound, and then Jaskier was being pulled into a gentle hug, mindful of his injuries. Geralt tucked him in close, pressing his nose into Jaskier’s throat in an echo of his earlier position. This time, Jaskier had never felt so safe. “I’m sorry,” he rasped out, pressing the words into Jaskier’s skin. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. You must know, that I - You -”

“I do. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier said. He brushed his fingers gently through Geralt’s hair, trying to sooth the guilty, fearful man before him. Who he loved so dearly. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt the press of slightly chapped lips at his jaw before Geralt pulled back. “Good,” he said, eyes over bright. He glanced over Jaskier’s features and frowned. “Shit. We should get you to a healer.”

“Ah, I’ve had worse after a night of hard drinking,” Jaskier said, offering Geralt a grin. “You aren’t all that tough, at the end of the day.”

Geralt frowned back at him, not rising to the joke. “I was holding it back,” he said absently, moving to run his fingers lightly through Jaskier’s hair. There was a sizable bump there, but Jaskier hadn’t been lying - this wouldn’t be his first knock on the head, nor likely his last. “You’re going to have a concussion.” 

“Good thing I’ve got you to take care of me,” Jaskier said, feeling woozy and bruised but somehow still warm and relieved. They were both alive. That was all he could ask for, at the end of it all. 

He expected to receive an eye roll and a dismissive hum at his remark. Instead Geralt just looked at him with an expression that made Jaskier ache in a too-pleasant way, deep in his chest, before he leaned in to press their lips together so, so gently. “You do,” Geralt mumbled, tipping their foreheads together. “You do.”

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part V [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

Ok, I promise there's a comedown from all the adrenaline after this! And very soon we will see characters other than Cristóbal lol.

Warnings: mentions of blood, drugs, and domestic violence; police interactions; language | Words: 1,900+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie @est1887 @mveggieburger

Part IV of Los Guardianes

As you thundered down the alley, you glanced over at a wailing Cristóbal, splashes of crimson quickly drying across his arms and t-shirt from where you had carried him.

“It’s gonna be ok, Cristóbal, alright? I promise. Just hang tight,” you shouted over the strained whining of the engine. He quieted, shaking violently in his seat, but you turned your attention back towards the road, quickly reaching the end of the alley. You made a sharp right, having no idea where to go, but hoping to find a main street quickly.

Luck appeared to be on your side. You kept your eye on the rearview, but you didn’t see anyone behind you yet. You came up on a main street, mostly empty of traffic, and made a sharp left, immediately flooring the accelerator again. Your eyes flickered to passing signs, looking for anything you recognized.

“Fuck!” you growled, squeezing the steering wheel as you passed a sign for the Sun Bowl, panic rising in your chest as you realized you were in El Paso, Texas. You had no idea how you were going to get all the way back to California without getting caught, either by your kidnappers or by police, although at this point, you would have preferred the police. But you also had plenty of experience with dirty cops, and if your kidnappers had brought you here, of all places, it seemed likely that the police would be in their pockets.

You whipped past a sign for I-10 northbound and made for the onramp, revving the engine to merge into traffic. You darted immediately into the fast lane. Traffic was relatively light, but you hadn’t yet decided if that was good or bad. Your eyes flicked keenly between the road in front of you, your odometer, and the traffic behind you, watching for signs of a tail. It seemed like you were clear for the time being, but you hesitated to get too comfortable. It wouldn’t be long before the shattered back window drew some kind of attention.

Taking stock of your surroundings, you realized you had an almost full tank of gas. You wouldn’t be able to make it all the way back to Santo Padre on one tank, and you had no idea how you were going to pay for another. But you relegated that to the back of your mind, a concern for later. There was a balled-up hoodie in the backseat, and you stared blankly at the rosary swinging from the rearview. The glove compartment was empty.

Your eyes tracked the nearest freeway sign, realizing I-10 would take you into New Mexico. From there, you could head towards Phoenix. You didn’t love the idea of staying on a major freeway for so long, but it was the quickest way to get where you were going. From just south of Phoenix, you could take smaller highways towards home, and that suited you better. But the feeling of being chased propelled you forward; you were constantly pushing the odometer and scanning of your surroundings.

You reached New Mexico without a problem, but without a solid plan in place, you sped through it. As you careened down the highway towards an empty desert horizon, you heard Cristóbal’s breathing begin to calm. There was no chance of your pulse slowing or your body settling; you sat on the edge of the driver's seat, your thighs and core constantly clenched, ready for hell when it came.

Around two hours after you left El Paso, you were rapidly approaching Deming, New Mexico, and by then your brain was shouting at you to stop. You wanted to try to find a gas station to get yourself and Cristóbal cleaned up, in case you did get pulled over. You also wanted to check the trunk. While you had certainly been making good time, a sneaking suspicion nagged at you, one that questioned why no one had come after you or appeared to have reported the car stolen.

On the far edge of Deming, once you had passed through the center of the city, you followed signs for a gas station that looked, from the highway, to be mostly empty, in the middle of an empty stretch of commercial buildings and vacant lots. You guided the car towards the back of the gas station lot, behind the building, where you breathed a sigh of relief that there were bathrooms on the exterior of the building. You pulled into a parking space and only once you had scanned your surroundings did you get out. You went around to the passenger side door and guided Cristóbal out, grabbing the hoodie from the backseat.

The lock on the bathroom door was broken, so you pushed your way in, gagging a little at the stench. The sink was filthy, but the water ran clear, and you quickly rinsed your skin, watching the pink-tinged water swirl down the drain. Flashes of the man you killed flickered behind your eyes whenever you closed them, bile rising in your throat. The gnawing in your stomach reminded you that you hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. The adrenaline had kept the hunger at bay, but suddenly you were so hungry you felt nauseous. You helped Cristóbal wash his face and hands, then pulled the hoodie over your soiled shirt, zipping it all the way up.

Back at the car, you popped the trunk and your mouth fell open.

“Oh, fuck,” you groaned. Six bricks of cocaine were packed into the back of the small trunk, along with a duffel bag. You supposed that was why no one had reported the car stolen. It made you feel a little better that the cops wouldn’t necessarily be looking for you, but if you did get pulled over, you’d be fucked. You dug through the duffel bag, finding it full of clothes, and your heart lifted when your fingers skimmed smooth leather. You pulled out a black leather wallet, flipping it over in your hands. There was no ID, but there was a singular twenty dollar bill in it, and that would have to do.

Cash in hand, you tugged Cristóbal into the gas station store with you, grabbing a couple of protein bars and a large bottle of water, wanting to hang on to enough money for gas down the road.

You planned to dispose of the cocaine out in the middle of the desert, so you hightailed it out of Deming. A little less than an hour later, you took a tiny offramp and followed a deserted road past a dilapidated gas station out into the barren desert. You pulled the car off into the dirt, sending a cloud of dust up around you.

“Wait in the car,” you told Cristóbal gently, who nodded at you with wide eyes.

Pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands, you dumped the clothes out of the duffel bag and packed the drugs into it, zipping it up. Careful not to touch anything with your bare hands, you slung it over your shoulder and hauled it towards a thick patch of scrub brush several yards from the road. Dropping the bag behind a clump of brush and prickly pear cacti, you booked it back towards the car, heading immediately back towards the highway.

You were approaching Gila Bend in Arizona as dusk gathered over the skyline. You had already gotten off of I-10 and onto the smaller highway that would take you to Yuma. From there it would be an easy drive to Santo Padre, one you had even made before. You had every intention of driving through the night, desperation fluttering in your heart at the thought of home. You were hungry again, and you could hear Cristóbal’s stomach grumbling from the passenger seat, but you were dangerously low on gas.

Pulling into a small gas station in Gila Bend, you went inside the store to pay, bringing Cristóbal with you. When you came back out, your breath hitched in your throat and you froze. A police officer was standing beside the car, inspecting the shattered back window. Flashbacks flooded your brain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force them out. Through the rapid swirling in your mind, you felt Cristóbal squeezing your hand hard, the touch pulling you out of your trance. Immediately, your mind went into overdrive, laying out a plan.

You approached the car, schooling your features into a timid expression.

The burly, dark-haired officer looked up curiously at your approach, and you caught the slightest softening in his eyes as he studied you and the child clinging to you. He looked young and green, fresh on the job, and you wanted to use that to your favor.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said, hands authoritative on his hips.

“Evening,” you murmured, dropping your gaze meekly.

“You know it’s illegal to drive with a busted window?” he asked sternly.

You let all of the stress of the last couple of days pour into your brain, breaking the dam behind your eyes. Tears tumbled freely over your cheeks as you looked back up at him and he startled slightly at the sight.

“I’m so sorry, officer,” you sniffled. “My son and I, w–we came from El Paso, trying to get away from my husband. He smashed it as we were leaving. I’m just trying to get us to California so we can stay with my brother.” Your voice caught on a sob, cracking on the last syllable.

The officer’s stance softened and your heart lifted just slightly. His inexperience was showing.

“Who is this car registered to?” he asked.

Your chest tightened as you prayed he wouldn’t run plates or ask to see documentation. “It’s mine, sir,” you whispered, meeting his eyes with your most sorrowful look. “He just didn’t like that we were leaving.” You hoped that you looked wretched enough to prevent him from asking too many questions.

The officer pursed his lips, his thumb lightly tapping his utility belt. “Where you headed to in California, ma’am?” he asked.

“Palm Desert,” you lied smoothly, letting your lower lip tremble for good measure. “I have family there, sir.”

The officer hesitated as he considered what to do next. “And you’ll be safe there?” he asked. “Does your husband know where you’re headed?”

“Probably, sir. Th–they’re the only family I have. But they’re going to help me file a protective order against him. And... start the divorce process,” you mumbled, shuffling your feet in the dirt. You felt a quick pang in your heart as you said the words, ones that weren’t too far from true in another time.

Perhaps sensing that it was a good time to lay it on thick, Cristóbal tugged on your hand. As you glanced down at him, he reached his arms up and you pulled his weary form into your arms, depositing him on your hip.

The officer studied the pair of you intently, then sighed. “Alright. I’m not going to write you a ticket, but once you get to Palm Desert, you need to get that window fixed, do you understand me?”

You nodded fervently. “Thank you – officer, thank you so much,” you stammered, hugging Cristóbal tight. The officer tipped his hat and turned on his heel, making his way towards his police cruiser. Your body felt limp as the rush wore off yet again. Your mind reeled, pushing the limits of what you could handle without sleep. You needed to get home, and soon.

You slid into the driver’s side seat and slid Cristóbal over, helping him buckle his seatbelt.

Praying for an uneventful last leg of your journey, you pulled away from the fluorescent lights of the gas station, headed yet again towards the moonlit horizon.

Part VI of Los Guardianes

[enviedear]

liability → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which y/n slips herself weak love potion daily to get through the wretched sadness she feels she can’t escape. in her mind, she’s a liability. and unbeknownst to her, draco malfoy feels the same.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 3.2k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

tw for depression ; something i have so please know i understand if you’re going through it. my messages are always open if you need a friend. be good to yourself and if this may trigger you pls don’t read it. all the love, olivia <3

pls enjoy this angst, and also please ignore the science behind love potions in this fic.

after cedric had been killed, life for you wasn’t the same. the two of you were the best of friends. you did absolutely everything together. cedric helped you be the very best you. 

after him, life seemed grey, dull, and monotonous. you didn’t have anyone to talk to.

your friends pulled back from you and said they made a mistake thinking they could take you on, and you understood. some days you could be so happy and carefree and the very next minute you drifted into the dark abyss that was your mind. you were a little much, for everyone. 

over the summer you began reading to take your mind off of cedric. well, not him, just what happened. you forced yourself to read every book in your home. from books about the stars, to poetry, to books on theories, and finally your textbooks.

it was one of the hottest days of summer when you came across the chapter on love potions. it gave you an idea. the chapter clearly stated that the drinker of the love potion would become infatuated with the person who gave it to them. who’s to say you couldn’t become infatuated with yourself.

of course you didn’t want to become a narcissus, so you brewed a very weak version.

it worked. for a whole day you were happy. you ate, laughed, and were so good to yourself. you were in love with the girl you were. you found yourself slow dancing alone, stroking your own cheek, being there for yourself. 

of course, it didn’t last and by night time you were back to feeling all too much. the type of feeling where you’re silent and unmoving, the world a blur but your thoughts in a deathly focus. 

it was that night you decided that you’d take a weak love potion everyday until your bad feelings went away on their own. you were tired of being the girl people pushed away because they didn’t understand. 

so you did exactly that. your entire fifth year consisted of flying under umbridge’s radar. thanks to harry potter and the order, that proved easier than expected. no one suspected you.

now, you’re in sixth year. everyone is convinced you’re happy again and they don’t treat you like some sort of liability. of course, they don’t know that every night you cry and feel exactly like you did in fourth year. but that’s ok, you can handle the nights as long as the days are good. you find it to be a cycle now. in the mornings you take the potion and it’s almost like the best part of yourself fights the whole day to take care of you, but by night, she looses to the worst part of yourself.

“y/n would you like to go to hogsmeade today?” your friend, cece asks.

“i would love to, but i have to study for transfiguration.” you sigh, giving your friend a sorry look.

“ah it’s ok, you’re taking advanced this year. you’re right to study. mara and i will make sure to bring you back some things from honeydukes.”

you smile and thank your friend before making your way to the astronomy tower. cedric was the one to introduce you to studying here, and you never stopped. 

you take a seat on the steps and begin studying multicorfors.

just as you were getting up to practice the spell, a body runs into you, causing the both of you to tumble to the floor.

you look to your side and spot draco malfoy, who, besides being herbology partners one year, you didn’t really talk to.

“are you okay, draco?” you ask, helping the boy off the floor.

he smoothes out his suit jacket, “yes, l/n.”

you scoff a bit and raise your eyebrows at him, “are you sure because it’s unlike you to stumble about. you’re just too good for that.”

draco glowers at you.

“okay i’m sorry. i didn’t want to be here anyway,” you gesture around the room, “the astronomy tower is now yours.”

he doesn’t say anything as you exit the room and you shrug it off. 

‘as if draco malfoy could be pleasant’, you think to yourself, annoyed.

once you approach the hufflepuff common room you feel the effects of your potion begin to wear off. you curse yourself a little for not drinking enough potion to last you until dinner and decide to run by the kitchens to grab something before bed. there’s no way you can sit through dinner like this.

by the time you make it to your dorm room you feel heavy with thoughts. you curl into your bed crying and stare at the stone wall until you fall into a dreamless sleep. like most nights.

the next morning is a saturday and you wake up early, before your dorm mates, and grab the bottle of love potion under your bed, hidden in a locked trunk. you down the small bottle and watch it refill thanks to the spell you placed on it, and put it back, hidden away.

you decide to head to breakfast early and grab a muffin to take with you to the astronomy tower. you need to master multicorfors before your test on tuesday.

a half hour into your practice, you’re doing the spell almost perfectly. though, changing your skirt into pants proves to be your downfall. you just can’t get it. 

“i need the astronomy tower.” a voice says from behind you.

you turn to see draco malfoy, again wearing a fitted suit.

“you can study while i’m here draco.” you say pointedly.

“i don’t want to.” he scowls.

you roll your eyes, “then study elsewhere.”

“no. you can leave.” 

“listen draco, i can argue with you all day, but i’m not moving until i’ve mastered multicorfors. so either you stay here with me or you go somewhere else.” you groan.

he doesn’t reply but takes a seat on the steps, taking out his wand and transfiguration book.

you smile to yourself, happy to win the argument, and go back to trying to change your skirt into a pair of pants. 

“you’re too rigid with your movements, l/n.” draco tells you.

“can you show me then? i can’t figure it out.” you ask.

“no. just flick your wand more. it’s not that hard.” he says.

you give him a deadpan look, “please. this is the last part of the lesson i need to get. if you show me i can leave sooner.”

draco groans but gets up and walks over to you.

“give me your hand.” he instructs. 

you do as you’re told and he grabs your hand, showing you the correct way to move your wand. his hand is warmer compared to yours and you like the way he warms you up. it’s also extremely soft, almost as if he’s never had a single callous. 

“you have soft hands.” you tell him, grinning.

surprisingly draco lets out a small smile, “you’re supposed to be paying attention.”

“i can’t. you have baby soft hands.” you joke looking up at him.

“i just use lotion. you should try it sometime, your hands feel like a house elves’.” he teases.

you let out a deep laugh, “who knew draco malfoy was such a comedian?”

he feigns shock, “i made those hilarious ‘potter sticks’ badges back in fourth year for nothing then?”

you suck in a unnoticed breathe at the mention of fourth year before smiling,“okay i suppose that should have been a hint. but it was mean.” 

draco and you continue to talk and practice transfiguration up until dinner. the time flying while the two of you are together.

“would you like to eat dinner up here? i can grab us some things from the kitchen.” you ask him, packing your bag up.

“i actually have something to do, but maybe some other time. let’s meet here again tomorrow though, i can help you with transfiguration.” he says.

“draco malfoy fraternizing with a muggle-born hufflepuff. tsk tsk.” you joke before agreeing and heading to dinner. 

you don’t miss the eyeroll he gives you for that remark.

“where were you all day, y/n?” mara questions as you sit down beside her.

“astronomy tower. i was practicing transfiguration. you’ll never guess who ended up helping me either.” you beam, grabbing a plate for yourself.

“who helped you? i’m guessing cormac mclaggen, he seems to have a crush on you.” cece says.

your face contorts in disgust, “no, definitely not. that guy is a creep. it was malfoy actually, and he’s surprisingly funny.”

mara and cece give each other a look before mara speaks, “you do know people are saying he’s a deatheater, right?” 

you roll your eyes, “malfoy is not a deatheater. i think a deatheater would oppose to helping a mudblood.”

your friends shrug and dinner continues on with normal conversation.

“cece and i are going to study in the library before bed if you want to join us.” mara says, grabbing her books.

“i’m okay, plus i’m super tired. i’ll see you at the dorm.” you smile, before parting with your friends.

slipping into your bed you begin to feel the come down of your potion. tonight your pain hurts even more than usual. you feel so trapped and can’t seem to catch your breath. you keep thinking back to the last time you had spoken to your best friend.

it was a week before the maze and he was sitting with you by black lake.

“y/n i promise you once i win, i’m taking you and cho to the fanciest restaurant i can find and we’ll all celebrate.” he had grinned, leaning against a tree.

you giggled and shoved him playfully before saying, “if you don’t win i’m still expecting that dinner.”

“i’ll win. i’ve been practicing so much.”

“i know, you barely ever have time to see me now.” you had sighed.

“y/n i’m sorry. i promise that after all of this is over, you and i are going to see each other everyday. i can’t live without you, kid. you’re my best friend.” he soothed, giving you a hug.

you had leaned into him, “forever?”

he laughed, “of course.”

that memory was etched in your brain. you knew it would never leave your mind. 

you laid silently crying in your bed as your dorm mates entered to room, ready for bed. they said goodnight to each other before getting into their own beds, assuming you to be drifted off by now, and after a few minutes, their snores are the only sound in the room. 

the emptiness of your being feels too much and you’re desperate to escape. you need air. you need something to remind you that you’re alive.

you quietly sneak out of your room, out of the common room, and up the stairs to the astronomy tower.

as you quickly enter the doorway of the tower, a body collides into yours, knocking you back a bit. 

when you look up, tears falling out of your eyes, you’re greeted by teary grey ones. draco’s.

he sniffles and steadies himself before asking, “what’s wrong, l/n?”

you can’t seem to find the words. no one has asked you this question in years, and so much is wrong.

all you can do is cry harder.

“you have to breathe l/n. you’re going to upset yourself more, just breathe.” he says, voice breaking.

you try to calm down but nothing is helping. nothing feels real. cedric should still be here. you shouldn’t be this broken. life should be how it was. now it’s just too much.

“i hate it, draco.” you finally cry out.

he wipes the tears from his own eyes, “what do you hate, l/n. talk to me.”

“i hate that i haven’t been the same since fourth year. i hate that my best friend is gone. i hate that i have to worry that everyone around me is going to die, just because of some evil dark wizard. and i hate that i take fucking love potions everyday just to feel okay. i hate it all.” you breathe, finally. 

draco raises his eyebrows, “you’ve been taking love potions?”

you nod, weary of your confession.

“i’m sorry y/n.” he mumbles.

your eyes meet his at the mention of your first name. coming from him it seems so genuine. he’s never called you by your first name before.

“you won’t tell anyone will you?” you ask, eyes searching his.

“no, i won’t,” he pauses. “but you should get back to your dorm, i’ll walk you back. a walk might help you calm down.”

you nod and let the boy lead you through the dark castle, lit only by the moon. draco’s steps are lighter than yours, and it causes you to wonder how he learned how to be so quiet. it’s unlike him.

when the two of you reach the hufflepuff entrance you whisper to him, “thank you for calming me down, draco. it means a lot that you would help me.”

in the shadows you see him smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. you bid the boy goodnight, and walk back to your dorm. of course you’re still sad but the sadness is somewhat diluted, thanks to none other than draco malfoy. 

you continue to meet with draco daily throughout the months of your sixth year. the two of you finding comfort in each other. 

by now, you’re becoming far less dependent on love potions. having someone to confide in proving immensely helpful.

but although you’re getting better, draco only grows worse. you never ask him what’s troubling him. maybe because you’re scared he won’t tell you or maybe because you’re scared to loose the person helping you the most. either way, you still try to help him as much as possible.

today, may the eighth, draco and you have plans to go to hogsmeade to look for a new notebook for you, since your old one is completely used up. you really loved mcgonagall, but the woman sure stressed you out with all the notes she commanded your class to take.

you’ve been waiting patiently for twenty minutes, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.

maybe he’s still at breakfast? you think to yourself, before heading into the castle to search for your friend.

you peer around the dining hall, coming up short. so you decide to go to the astronomy tower. if you needed draco you could usually find him there.

when you enter the sixth floor, ready to head further up, you hear shouting. curious, you walk toward the noise, which is coming from the boys’ bathroom.

you hesitate going in but once you hear a defensive spell being cast, you draw your wand and bound into the bathroom.

in front of you stands harry potter. he’s crouched behind a wall, clutching his wand and panting. you furrow your brows, and go to question what he’s doing before you see draco emerge and cast the cruciatus curse at him.

before you can tell them both to stop, harry yells out a curse you’ve never heard of before.

“sectumsempra!”

almost instantly, draco falls to the floor, blood pouring out of him.

you’re shocked, and don’t even feel yourself run to him. you don’t hear harry’s apologies. you don’t hear when professor snape rushes in. you don’t hear a thing other than draco’s pained cries.

it reminds you all too much of the chaos of cedric’s death. everything happening too fast.

when snape finally stops the bleeding he instructs you to get back to your common room and keep quiet. you don’t try to fight him on it, and do as you’re told.

after a few hours of worried overthinking, you leave the hufflepuff common room and head to the hospital wing. when you enter the large room, you notice draco immediately. he’s the only one.

“draco?” you call his name, standing beside his bed.

the boy opens his eyes and stares right at you, causing you to cry.

“i was so scared draco.” you cry, placing your hand on your friends chest, feeling his heartbeat. it’s comforting.

“i have to tell you something, y/n, before it’s too late. you just have to promise you won’t tell a soul.” he tells you, voice weak.

“draco you’ve kept my secret over these months. i would never hurt you by telling anyone.” you say.

your friend gives you a weak smile before sitting up in the bed and pulling up his left sleeve, exposing a black ink that contrasts so much from his pale white skin.

“they’re coming here in june. i don’t know the day yet but when i find out i’ll tell you. you have to stay safe, y/n. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.” draco advises.

“you’re a deatheater.” you breathe out, eyes locked to the dark mark on his arm.

you can’t believe the scene in front of you. your draco, a villain that you’ve been so deathly afraid of for years.

“i’m so sorry y/n. it wasn’t my choice. but please promise me that you’ll stay safe. i need you here with me, not gone by the hands of a dark wizard.” the boy pleads, grasping your hand.

you look him in the eyes, “i promise draco.”

he doesn’t let go of your hand and brings it back to his heart.

“i care so deeply for you, y/n. you’re so good. thank you for everything.” he says, faltering.

your eyes are teary when you say, “i love you draco.”

with that you slip your hand out of his and walk back to your dorm. your thoughts seem to be invasive that night. you contemplate grabbing the bottle of love potion you haven’t taken in a month, but decide against it.

you feel cheated. everything had been so perfect. all the excitement you had from running through the nights with the boy you love begin to eat you alive.

it’s not fair for it to turn out like this. the two of you so dependent on each other, but on two separate sides of a war. there’s no way this can end well.

you realize you love draco, as more than a friend. that scares you and so you’re back to thinking that you’re better off on your own.

draco still sits with you in the astronomy tower daily, but the two of you don’t speak much. you, scared of falling deeper in love. and him, too focused on his task. 

of course you find yourself loving the boy more and more everyday. the two of you are always embraced when together, and even though it’s unspoken, you know draco loves you too.

it’s the thirtieth day of june, you’re in the astronomy tower alone when draco comes rushing in.

“y/n you have to go, they’re here.” he warns, checking the stairs behind him.

you freeze at his statement. you knew the day would come but you still weren’t prepared.

“y/n! are you listening to me? you have to go.” he shouts.

this is it. this is the final time you’ll see draco before the war officially starts, after this there’s no more innocent days spent together. here you are again, loosing your best friend.

you get up from the floor and walk to draco. you cup his face gently, “take care of yourself. i love you.”

he eases a little and places his hand on yours, “i love you more. i hope you know that.”

and you do. of course you do.

[oasis-for3v3r]

Chivalry and Chiffon <3*

Freddie Mercury x Black! Reader

Prompt- Reader gets stood up on a date constantly, and feels like a joke.

A/N- This was an idea I had and recently I need some self-love. Of course anyone can read this and enjoy it as well! 

Warnings- Mentions of nervousness/ anxiety, self esteem issues.

You should’ve known this would have happened. After all this is the 3rd time. 

You would meet someone, at a coffee shop, bookstore or record shop. They showed some liking to you and then say a flowery promise of meeting you on x corner of y street. You would then wait 10 minutes, turn into 20, turned into 30 which then turned pathetic.

This time was another one of those moments of false hope. Except now it started to rain. Which was sad since it meant that you had to wash your hair and it was ruining your favorite dress.

On the good side it meant that it would cover your tears

Your chest started to hurt from your racing heart and the lights from the streets began to blur like paint spots on a canvas. You had so much energy from the dissapointment and anger, that you nearly tripped on the stairs leading to your apartment.

Which is why you nearly had a heart attack when you saw Freddie open the door.

“Freddie!!! Jesus! Don’t scare me like that! I thought you were a mass murderer!” you exclaimed, pushing him to the side a bit.

“I’m sorry dear, I just got back from a studio session with the boys and I didn’t want to go that far to my fla-Darling are you ok?” He said concerned.

“Im fine Freddie,just got caught in the rain that’s all.” you said as, you had a lump in your throat.

Why doesn’t anyone like me? Why am I a joke. 

Your thoughts were ricocheting of the walls of your brain each one more harsher than the last. Your chest was getting tighter and your hands were shaking. 

You were so wrapped up in your head, that you didn’t notice that Frieddie wrapped you in a blanket and sat you down on the bed.

“Y/N” Freddie said in his deep voice, while also turning your chin to face him.

“What happened” he said in a way that made you think you had no other choice but to answer him.

“ He stood me up again.” you said, trying to have your voice even. “it’s a pattern that happens, I meet them, they show a liking to me, then they never show up. it’s like Im one big joke to everyone!” with the last few words you sobbed into Freddie’s chest.

“Oh my darling you don’t deserve any of this.” He said holding your head to his chest. 

Freddie was one of your closest friend; you meat him in a study group for graphic design and have been glued together since. His band Queen was taking off with a bang so far. Everyone knew and loved of his confident and charismatic persona on stage. He was like that only on stage. Off stage he was a bit more introverted and he was more to listen than to talk. To everyone he was “FREDDIE MERCURY” in capital bold letters. To you he was just your Freddie. In letters that scream comfort and loving.

“May I ask you a question, dear?” He said, suddenly standing up.

You nodded, head gently rested against a pillow.

“What wee you going to do on your date?” He said going over to your grand bookshelf that held not a single book, instead a plethora of records. Filling your bookshelf with colorful thin strips. His finger ghosting over rows of them.

“Dancing. We were supposed to go dancing.” You said fighting back the tears.

You got spooked when you heard the sound of a trumpet from your record player.

It was Lousiana jazz, Soft and smooth and it reminded you of home. 

“Tell me how you want to feel when I dance with you” Freddie said approaching you with an open hand.

“I want to feel soft and dreamy, like Im walking on a cloud. I want to feel close with someone and together. I honestly just want to feel loved and feel happy with someone else as I am with them.” You said, not really thinking about the words one tumbling out after another. 

He took your hand and pulled you close dancing- rather swaying along in a sweet and simple two-step. Your ear began to vibrate as Freddie began to sing.

Oh, I used to be your baby Used to be your pride and joy, hmm You used to take me dancing Just like any other boy But now you've found another partner You've left me like a broken toy

Well this is making me feel more like shit- You thought but didnt say anything because you loved his voice. 

Oh, it's someone else you're taking Someone else you're playing to Honey, though I'm aching Know just what I have to do If I can't have you when I'm waking I'll go to sleep and dream I'm with you

Freddie was a surprisingly good dancer, well you shouldn’t be surprised you did know that he was a boxer so..

Oh take me, take me Take me to the dreamers' ball I'll be right on time And I'll dress so fine You're going to love me When you see me I won't have to worry Take me, take me Promise not to wake me Til it's morning, it's all been true

You just let the tears fall at this point letting yourself feel emotions.

Which you haven’t done in a long time.

What d'you say about that, hey honey? You gonna take me To that dreamers' ball? I'd like that Right on that 42nd street Way down, downtown dreamers' ball

When he said this he was doing his best impression of an Lousisanan Accent, spinning you around repeatedly, thus making you laugh.

Oh take me, take me Take me I'm your plaything now You make my life worthwhile With the slightest smile Or destroy me with a barely Perceptible whisper Gently take me Remember I'll be dreaming Of my baby at the dreamer's ball

With this he dipped you and gave you a kiss on your hand.

“Because you are a lady and you deserve it. You deserve all of the good things.” He said as a matter of faculty.

“Thank you Freddie, you truly are wonderful.” 

“So are you my darling.” 

-

[icefire149]

30! Deancas, its cold so cas insists on a scarf instead of his tie

Char I'm so sorry this took a million years to write. Work and life kept me extremely busy, and then this lovely fic kept going in a different direction (which seems like a theme in every prompt I tackled). I really hope you enjoy this one, and have a lovely day :D

#30 - I love you mumbled into a scarf

Dean had his head buried so deep in thought about the impala’s winter maintenance that he almost missed the familiar foot steps breezing past in the garage. His eyebrows pressed together as he pulled his head out of the car. “Cas, buddy, where are you going?”

Cas stopped dead in his tracks, and turned on his heels. “Oh, Dean.” His gaze nervously glanced around the garage. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Are you okay?” Dean leaned against the side of the impala now, and crossed his arms. “You look kinda spooked.”

Cas’ gaze flitted around the car. “Do you happen to have Jack with you?”

“Nah,” Dean answered, scratching the back of his neck. “He went on a grocery run with Sam about a half hour ago.”

“Oh,” Cas exhaled, and visibly relaxed some. “That’s good. He’ll enjoy that greatly.”

“Did you need him?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Dean walked around the car and stopped closer to Cas. “I’m gonna need more than that. What’s up?”

“I need to go Christmas shopping.”

Shaking his head slowly, Dean blinked. “Are….are we celebrating Christmas this year?”

“I’d like to,” Castiel confessed. “I know you and Sam have your own traditions and this is your home, but I’d like to give Jack his first Christmas since….last year he wasn’t here.”

“Oh.” The word tumbled out of Dean’s mouth. He was going to need time to process every verbal hit Cas pummeled him with. In a daze, he pointed at the impala with his thumb. “Do you want a ride?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Cas answered genuinely surprised. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He was still sorting Cas’ words when he found himself opening the impala’s door.

The angel slid into the front passenger seat, and they were off in the direction of the nearest shopping mall. It wasn’t until they hit their second red light that something finally clicked into place in his brain. “Is that why you tend to disappear around the holidays?” Turning, he kept his eyes on Cas long enough to see the twist in his expression.

“Maintaining customs, holiday traditions in this case are incredibly important to humans. I didn’t want to overstep or interfere.”

“You do realize I leave probably a dozen voice mails the closer it gets to Christmas, right?”

“Yeah, it’s quite irritating having my phone going off so often when I’m trying not to take from your time with Sam.”

“Cas,” Dean said exasperatedly. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, but the blaring honk of the car behind him momentarily cut off his train of thought. When traffic settled so did Dean, “I already get enough of Sammy, and I’m sure he’s more than sick of me too, especially around the holidays.”

“Oh.”

“And yeah, I’ve been wanting you to join us….since forever. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a pained tone in his voice that startled Dean down to his core. He shivered involuntarily. Glancing over at Cas, he saw that the angel had his eyes glued out the window. It bothered Dean not being able to pin down what was bothering Cas. It felt like so much more was hidden in that apology.

Turning back to the road, Dean reached a hand out blindly until it connected with the sleeve of Cas’ coat. “There’s nothing to be that upset about, your heart was in the right place.”

Cas didn’t respond, and Dean didn’t loosen his grip. Instead, he tightened it, but spoke with a note of levity. “And how many times do I gotta tell you that the bunker is your home too?”

“Once more, perhaps?”

Dean could feel the constriction in his chest loosen at the faint smile he could hear in Cas’ voice. He shook his head. “Giving Jack a real first Christmas is a great idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it months ago.”

“I think we’ve all been a bit too preoccupied.”

“Yeah.” Dean withdrew his hand and turned the car down the nearest exit. “You’re not wrong.” Basically since Jack was born they’ve been non-stop busy. The past few months in particular were miserable, for all of them.

“I know things aren’t one hundred percent safe with Michael still out there,” Cas started. “But I’m glad that you’ll be home for Christmas. I fear I would’ve ruined Jack’s holiday if you weren’t here.”

“Nah,” Dean argued, feeling his eyebrows pinch together. “My presence shouldn’t make that much of a difference.”

“Dean.” He could feel the angel’s stare sliding under his skin. “I left Jack with Sam so I could chase every whisper, blade, bullet, and trap that might lead to you. And from what I’ve gathered, Sam did much of the same passing Jack off on whoever was willing to keep an eye on him. That wasn’t fair to him, and I’m not proud of my behavior.”

“Hey,” Dean tried cutting through Cas’ frustration with himself. “You had no idea what Sam was gonna do.”

“Jack was never meant to be Sam’s responsibility. I-”

“You did the best you could at the time.” Cas didn’t answer, and Dean couldn’t risk taking his eyes off of traffic in that moment. “I mean it, and besides we’re well past that tunnel now. And we’re gonna give Jack a real Christmas.”

“Thank you.”

Dean hummed in response, and spotted what he was looking for: the sign for the mall. “Don’t tell Sammy, but-” He glanced at Cas’ curious expression. “since we found the bunker, I’ve always wanted to make it look like Christmas threw up all over the place.”

And to Dean’s genuine surprise, Cas laughed. It was happy and light, and when Dean turned for a heartbeat, the image of Cas with his head tilted back was branded into his memory. The corner of his mouth curled into a grin. “After growing up watching every Christmas special imaginable as a replacement for actually celebrating the holiday normally...I think it’s like making up for lost time if we go overboard.”

Another hearty laugh rocked Cas. “Makes logical sense to me.”

“Besides the kid will get a massive kick out of it.”

“I hope so,” Cas muttered, as the car came to a stop in the parking space.

“Oh trust me, he will,” Dean said throwing an arm behind the back of his seat and turning to face the angel. “Soooo….where to first?”

Cas observed their surroundings before letting his stare rest on Dean. “I’m not sure.”

“Well we can just check out whichever store is closest and work our way around. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Cas smiled softly.

Dean’s hand rested on the door handle, but the movement next to him made him pause. He watched Cas dig a hand into his jacket pockets until he pulled out a long, dark blue scarf. “Traded the tie out for a new accessory?”

The angel snapped his hands to his chest in order to hold the scarf tightly. “It’s new,” he said defensively.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Dean grinned. “Did you go out of your way to buy something the same exact shade as your favorite tie?”

Cas’ eyes trailed down to the fabric between his fingers. “Maybe,” he answered after a short, meditative pause.

“It’s nice,” Dean said pushing his door open. “I was wondering where the tie was today.” He got out of the car and Cas quickly followed him on the other side.

Cas hooked the scarf behind his neck. “It felt redundant.” His expression quickly twisted in frustration as his hands failed to wrap the scarf in a way that would be comfortable.

“Need some help, buddy?”

The angel’s gaze pierced him like a knife, but that didn’t stop Dean from circling around the impala to stop directly in front of Cas. He held his hands out. “Just let….”

Cas’ hands fell to his sides, and the frustration slowly smoothed out of his face. His gaze locked onto Dean’s.

“-me help.” Dean started wrapping the scarf properly so Cas could duck the lower half of his face out of the chilly, winter air whenever he wanted.

There was something magnetic in Cas’ demeanor. As it circled and grew in his eyes, it filled Dean with a soft warmth that drew him a step closer. His skin burned, but on his brother’s life he couldn’t remember in that moment why he would normally never let himself get this close.

Dean could feel the puffs of Cas’ breath caressing his face, sending goosebumps across every inch of his skin. Despite this, he reached forward and finished laying and puffing the scarf up.

The apples of the angel’s cheek’s appeared pinker when Dean’s gaze slid up from the blue fabric that was still caught between his fingers. Cas’ bottom lip twitched for a second, and then he sunk his face into the scarf.

Thoughts slid back into Dean’s head. Louder than ever. The tips of his fingers clung a little tighter to the scarf. This feeling wasn’t new. Everything that had to do with Castiel, it was like a Gordian Knot. There was too much to sort and untangle. The fragile thing they had was too important to him to destroy completely. The solution was simple and staring him in the face, but he’d been teetering on that decision for a decade now.

Before he could move, a simple vibration resounded up his fingertips. And before Dean could ask what the angel had said, Cas broke the moment.

His hands slowly and shakily unhooked Dean’s grip, lowering them. The scarf slid down Cas’ face as he momentarily glanced around the parking lot. Dean quickly forgot about the brief indescribable look in the angel’s stare, when a glimpse of Cas’ teeth caught his eye.

The tension eased in Cas’ shoulders. He released Dean’s hands with a widening smile. “Let’s go. I’m not sure what would be suitable for a Christmas tree. Any ideas?”

“Yeah,” Dean grinned, losing himself in this new moment. “We’ll have to go elsewhere and grab your truck, but I have several ideas.”

The prompt was from this list. I'm not expecting any more prompts from this one, but if there's one you really want me to try please ask! (and specify the prompt list).

[roundtableknight]

Suptober Prompt 8: Leather & Lace

Hope you all enjoy my *checks time* five minute late fic for today, but I still got it done! This one is more for a mature audience but nothing graphic (sorry...or not sorry depending on your enjoyment of that kind of stuff). Anyway I hope you all enjoy 1.5k of football player!Dean and EMT!Cas, both college students. 

~

Dean was fucked. Or, more aptly, he wasn’t going to be fucked. Metaphorically and physically different and all that yada yada. 

The point was that Dean Winchester, star quarterback for his college’s football team, had a concussion now and wasn’t going to get fucked by his roommate/best friend/friends with benefits. 

‘Fuckin’ hell’ Dean thought, trying to sit up from the bench situated behind his teammates, ‘Could that dick Roman hit any harder.’ He snorted at his joke, disgusted by his mind and pleased to see it was in working condition after the hit he took half an hour ago. The EMT on scene had checked for any signs of internal bleeding but signed him off fresh as a daisy with the note not to do anything strenuous for the next week or so. Dean wouldn’t have been so worried about his boyfriend sliding past that note from the medic if it wasn’t for the fact that Cas was a trained EMT as well and knew the precautions, and treated Dean like a boyfriend should: attentive, caring, and everything Dean didn’t deserve. 

Okay, Dean may have some underlying trauma to parse out, but he was getting there. Hey, just last month he had finally confessed to himself and Cas that he had been in love with him since their freshman year when they had met; Cas having a studious air to him but blushing way too easily for Dean’s own good (though that blush turned out to be decidedly not innocent in the bedroom), and Dean acting like a full blown jock, hiding his love of fixing cars and other mechanical items. 

Cas had been pissed when he found out that Dean had been hiding that from him for the better part of two years, and then had proceeded to say that he wanted to fuck Dean in his 1967 Chevy Impala while he completely and utterly caused Dean’s brain to fucking elevate beyond this dimension into the ether or some shit by giving him a blow job. 

So yes, Dean had needs to attend to and a law-abiding fucking boyfriend who needed to get off his high horse and realize that Dean had put way too much effort into this Homecoming game for Cas not to ravish him. 

He shifted on the bench, his jersey scrunching up behind his head acting as a pillow, so his lace underwear wouldn’t twist into an uncomfortable position; he had ordered them two weeks ago after he had first seen a pair on sale at Target and bought them, clearly seeming like a misogynistic asshole of a boyfriend for buying his supposed girlfriend a pair of underwear to wear in his liking, when in reality they were for his eyes only. Well, until Cas had seen him. After that he needed another pair since the first could barely make it through the wash until they needed to be washed again. 

Moral of the story: he was wearing lace underwear because they felt nice and because Cas seemed to really enjoy them (a lot), but it wouldn’t happen anytime soon ‘because of this fucking concussion.’

Dean groaned, moving his head to the side. He heard footsteps approaching and smiled: “If you're going for payback against Dick, I suggest outside the locker room, I saw him doing some shady dealing with someone or the other, possibly with sugar. I don’t know what the fuck that guy is doing but he sure as hell ain’t worrying about me.” 

“I’ll definitely look into it,” a voice replied, smooth and low, causing shivers to cascade up Dean’s spine. He opened his eyes to see his lover dressed in a leather jacket and skinny jeans; glasses were perched on his nose and he had a look between concern for Dean and annoyance that he just had to get in a tumble with Dick. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault, babe. You should see the other guy.” Dean reached his hand out, realizing sometime between his internal monologues and past memories his teammates had moved him into a smaller area, complete with actual walls for privacy and quiet. 

Cas quirked his lips. “I think I’ll pass for now. I have something more pressing at hand.” He bent down and gave Dean a kiss on his forehead, letting his lips linger and make sure that Dean wasn’t burning up on his forehead or anything (and, Dean found out not that long ago, to ground himself as Cas was an anxious and worrying person sometimes most of the time).

“So doc,” Dean started, leaning into the feel of Cas’ lips on his forehead, “what’s the diagnosis?”

“Hmm, well, considering it’s a concussion, you have to leave off the more strenuous activities on your body and mind.” Cas took back his lips from Dean’s forehead, and Dean whined at the loss of contact. Cas’ mouth softened and he gave Dean a small but brilliant smile. “It will be okay, Dean. I’m right here and I’m not leaving you for the rest of the game.” 

Dean routinely questioned how he got so lucky with snatching Cas up before literally anyone with two competent eyes could see how good he was, both inside and out. Hell, the man took training for becoming an EMT just because he knew Dean was in football and wanted to be prepared if anything happened. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t help but drive Cas a little wild. 

“But it’s all going to go to waste now,” Dean said with a sigh, both faking it and finding out his statement was true. 

“What will?” Cas sat on the edge of Dean’s makeshift bed he was laying on now, his fingers intertwined with Deans. 

“The lace panties I put on for later.” Dean could feel the moment Cas stopped breathing; his thumb, which had been rubbing the top of Dean’s hand in circles, had stopped its movement. 

“What?” Cas swallowed, Dean could hear that much, and shifted how he was sitting. Dean smiled a knowing little secret on his lips and could almost hear the cogs of Cas’ inner morales stutter to a stop with what he knew Dean wanted and would continue to hark on him about as long as this concussion continued. 

“And beyond that,” Dean continued, skipping past Cas’ question, “how will I occupy myself since I have no football practice now?” He laid his thumb on Cas’ pulse point on his wrist and felt his heartbeat, a fast-paced rhythm courtesy of one Dean Winchester. 

“Dean,” Cas said, knowingly and darkly. He narrowed his eyes at Dean and his tactics, to which Dean smiled his charming little innocent smile and started to move his thumb back and forth across Cas’ pulse point. 

“What?” Dean repeated Cas’ question from earlier, not knowing what exactly was going to happen but couldn’t help the excitement thrumming through him. Dean wasn’t exactly expecting Cas to ravish him right them and there, they were still near the football field of course, but maybe a talk that left Dean worse for wear or Cas doing his own, ahem, check on Dean, even if he star—

Instead Cas slipped his hand free from Dean’s own and walked out the door, leaving Dean high and dry. 

That bastard. 

Dean couldn’t believe Cas would just leave him, but then again he didn’t exactly give Cas any other option (well, except all the excellent ones he had just been thinking about) besides that. He huffed, vowing to make Cas’ next few weeks a living hell, when he reappeared in the doorway. 

“Couldn’t stay away could you, babe?” Dean said, wanting to rile Cas up, but he stayed unaffected by Dean this time, instead going around to pick up Dean’s various clothes thrown about. 

“You’re lucky you’re a mechanic and I don’t just walk out the door again for that remark,” Cas replied, and Dean gave a burst of laughter. Cas helped him upright from the bed. “Come on, we are leaving.”

“What? Where are we going?” Dean questioned, “Coach said I have to stay after to have a quick follow-up.”

“Well,” Cas said, putting on Dean’s socks for him one at a time, “I just talked to your lovely coach and he approved of me taking you back to my place for proper evaluation.” 

“A proper—you sly dog!” Dean exclaimed, causing Cas to give him a pointed stare. “Have I told you how much I adore you? ‘And love you’” Dean thought the last part. Cas just shook his head. 

“Come on, lumberjack, before I leave you here.” 

Dean was about to make another remark on that (he wore an acceptable amount of flannel, thank you very much) but shut up for his own good. 

His teammates were just making their way toward him when Cas helped him out of the small area he was in, wishing him good luck with his concussion. They didn’t need to worry though, Dean got a thorough examination back at Cas’ place, and another load of laundry to add to his to-do list. 

~

Fic

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Your version of sick, then?” 

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. 

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam. 

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed. 

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. 

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”