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sohnric · 1 year ago

Text

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.

#bjnet #the boyz #eric sohn #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #eric sohn fluff #eric fluff #eric x reader #eric sohn x reader #tbz scenario #tbz fic #the boyz scenario #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #sohn youngjae #youngjae x reader

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 months ago

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Guarded Desires: Part 5

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Padawan!Qimir x Princess!Reader

Summary: After an assassination attempt on your mother, she’s asked a favor from the Jedi Council to watch over you and your family until the assailant has been caught. As a result, your mother’s old friend, Master Vernestra, has her padawan, Qimir, be your bodyguard. Based off my imagine here.

Series Masterlist

Your sisters had calmed down, but your hold on them hadn't loosened. With each distant bang of explosion and shake of the walls, you held onto them tighter. You're not sure how long you three had been in the hideout room. If you were to spend the rest of the night there, you'd be fine. There were rations stored there in case any of you got hungry.

But that didn't ease the worry in your heart.

Eventually, you'd drifted off to sleep. Your sisters' heads using your legs as pillows.

You then hear the distant knocking. Three knocks, then two, then three again. You stir from your sleep when you hear the sequence again. Realizing that it was Qimir, you shake your sisters awake and scramble to unlock the door.

Your legs had fallen asleep so you lean onto the wall to keep you up as you place your hand on the scanner and the doors slide open.

Your parents immediately rush in, "Are you alright?" your mother asks, she's covered in soot and looks disheveled.

You nod, "We're alright. Mama...what happened?"

She looks down and shakes her head, "Too much. I-We just wanted to make sure you girls are alright."

You look to your father who's holding Ada and Aspen in his arms. Their little arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"How many are-" you begin to ask, but your father shakes his head. His eyes telling you not to discuss it with the girls in your presence.

You nod and turn back to your mother, "Are we staying still staying in the palace?"

Your mother sighs, "Vernestra insisted we stay at the Jedi temple on planet for extra guarded protection. She'll have more Jedi sent here to help with the investigation. We'll leave in a few hours so start packing your things. Only the essentials."

"Yes, mama." You step out of the hideout room and see Qimir standing there waiting for you. His robes are ruffled, covered in soot. He stares at you with sad eyes. You want to hug him right there, but figured it's best not to. Not when your parents are there.

You nod for him to follow you and you exit your sisters' room. You gasp when you see debris every where. Holes in the ceiling and walls. You feel Qimir's hand on your shoulder, "Come on," he murmurs and guides you down the hall to your room.

It's a wonder that your room and your sisters' room was left unscathed yet everywhere else in the palace seemed to be hit with destruction.

You immediately sit on your bed, slumping forward. You look at Qimir, "Tell me what happened."

"I ca-"

"Qimir, please! My home, my family, and my people, everything that I hold dear was attacked! Don't hide the truth from me."

Qimir hesitates but he relays what he knows, "Apparently one of the groups from the civil war heard about your family wanting to provide refuge to those displaced from the war. They didn't like that so-"

"So they attacked us. I can only assume they're also the ones who tried to assassinate my mother since she's been so vocal about providing aid for the refugees?"

He nods, "From what I've heard from the Jedi investigating."

You run your hands down your face, "You know my father wants to remain neutral through all of this? 'Let them handle it themselves,' he said." You scoff. You let out a deep breath, "I'm tired of being forced to stand by while people get hurt. They're our people!"

Qimir walks over to your bed, sitting beside you, "How did the war start?"

You snort, "Pride and unrequited love." You glance at Qimir and his brows are furrowed in confusion. You explain, "On the other side of the planet, there's two villages: Qorath and Drellis. The son of the village leader in Qorath is in love with the daughter of the village leader in Drellis. However, she doesn't feel the same.

"Still, the son proposed to her and she rejected him. In retaliation, he and his men attacked Drellis. Drellis fought back and things grew from there. Each side gathering neighboring villages for aid. A lot of blood has been spilled and so many have lost their homes. On both sides. But it ultimately all started due to pride and unrequited love."

Qimir sees your hand on your bed. It's nearly touching his. Slowly, he moves his hand to rest on yours, "You're very passionate about this."

You look at his hand on yours, "I care deeply about our people."

"Even if caring for them brings you pain and distress?"

You shrug, "We all should have the freedom to feel whatever we want to feel. Even if it brings us consequences." Under his hand, you turn your palm up and intertwine your fingers with his. It's a dangerous move, but you can't help it. After he kissed your cheek and you worried for him, you just wanted to give him a sliver of an idea of how you felt.

You watch him with careful eyes, ready to pull away if he shows any sign of rejection or being uncomfortable.

He gulps and slowly locks his fingers with yours. He slowly leans in, eyes glancing at your lips, and he whispers, "Y/N, I-"

The moment is broken when Ryker walks in, "O-Oh! Am I interrupting something?"

Qimir immediately pulls away and stands, "No. Did you need something?" he locks his hands behind his back, giving off the image of professional and stoic.

Ryker cocks a brow at you and Qimir, "...yes. Master Vernestra would like a meeting with all of us, in preparation for our departure."

"Alright," Qimir nods then turns to you, "I will be back, your Highness. I suggest you start packing."

"Okay," you mumble, watching the two men exit your rooms.

The door closes behind them and you fall back onto your bed, hands covering your face, "For kriffing sake's!" You two almost kissed. You almost kissed Qimir. Qimir almost kissed you.

You groan, "I'm screwed," you say out loud, speaking out to no one but yourself.

#qimir x reader #qimir imagine #princess!reader #padawan!qimir #star wars #the acolyte #star wars imagine #the acolyte imagine

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empressgeekt · 1 year ago

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Trolls - Burning Branches AU part 1

Or alternate title, I have now been sucked down the sudden black hole that is this fandom and now the troll plot bunnies are running ramped around my Fanfic farm, because the creators of this franchise has added my weakness...Sibling relationships... Now I have plans for a two story saga in this fandom of which I wouldn't have glanced at with interest at all a month ago.

Well, that's enough rambling, Time to get into the meat of the fic plot.

So, while browsing on Ao3 I noticed that there was this Rock!Branch au, where Branch is separated from the pop-trolls as a kid and ends up being raised by Barb and Thrash of the Rock Trolls. I love this concept, more then some relatives of mine. But I want to put a little spin on it. I've been a big fan of amnesia/memory loss fics, and I noticed there was a lack of them in this fandom.

Brozone breaks up and Grandma dies like in canon, same old same old. However, in this AU Branch is forced to leave the Troll Tree as a kid, because there is a larger sigmatism about trolls who went grey. The Trolls are very clear that they want nothing to do with Branch. They are all already living with death at their door step and they don't need a grey child to constantly break the false image of happy paradise that the adults try to maintain in the Tree to keep themselves sane. Branch, with nothing else left for him in the tree, packs up and tries to leave to find his brothers, though he does worry if they would even want him now that he was grey.

After successfully escaping the town, (the bergens don't notice if a small troll vanishes in the middle of the night, they didn't notice the whole village packing up), Branch spends a terrifying night in the woods. Running away from what are "predator's" in the eyes of a small child. Until he accidentally, stumbles in the a wormhole. The wormhole sucks Branch away from, Pop territory to the outskirts of the Rock badlands. But in this new hot volcanic he is still far from safe. (I'm adding that their are harsh powerful dragons that roam around the Rock trolls territory, as there has to be some type of reason behind they turned their own music and instruments in the to energy weapons while the other tribes didn't. Not to mention the active volcanic activity everywhere!) While running away from some of these actual predators and dangerous lava pools, Branch gets shoved over a cliffside, and falls into one of the few rivers nearby. In the raging rapids, the little troll strikes his head against the rocky river bed. Knocking him out.

Meanwhile, Still-King Thrash is leading an expedition to the river to fetch water for the people of Volcano Rock City. Being the very soft and caring Father he is, once he sees a small child floating in the river he jumps in without a second thought, and pulls the child to the shore. He leaves the expedition in the hands of another Troll and brings the some how still alive child back to the City and into the care of a capable doctor. While waiting to hear if Branch will live, Thrash goes through the little sack the kid had with him. There's enough evidence for the king of rock to come to the conclusion that Branch was running away, and needless to say Thrash is furious. Who would be so cruel that dared to make a child in his kingdom feel so scared and unwelcomed that they would run away! (at this point due to Branch's greyness and the high emotions of the situation Thrash hasn't realized Branch is from Pop yet, not that it would matter in the long run he's still ticked off).

Eventually, the doctor (an old friend of Thrash's whom they have a deep trust between, I haven't named them yet), calls Thrash in. Thrash finds Branch unconscious on the medical bed with his head bandaged. The doctor tells Thrash that's its a miracle that Branch is even alive, but it would take a bigger one for the child to wake up. The underneath the blood of the wound was a skull fracture and possible brain damage. Then he mentions it would probably be better if Branch never woke up, and further explains Branch's nature as a pop troll, and his greyness. Thrash takes this information in with a sad heart. Stigma against pop was still running high in the Rock kingdom, despite Thrash wanting to believe his people could spare their bias to care for a wounded child, he knows that no foster family would take a pop troll in. He asks the Doctor to keep quiet about Branch, and that if the boy would wake up Thrash would take him in himself. He goes home and hugs Barb after an exhausting day, and asks her if she was open to having a little brother.

After a few weeks, Branch wakes up, but he has no memory of anything. Not his name. Not where he's from. Not how he got there. At this point the medical staff that were allowed to know about him, have taken to calling him Charcoal, or Char, after his perfectly black and shiny hair, and it just kind of stuck after that. Thrash has taken to visiting Branch, even before the boy was conscious, quickly growing fond over the boy and until he'd recovered enough to be taken to the royal cavern. Barb takes to having Char around very well. Having a younger sibling, gives her something to put her protectiveness towards. Thrash makes and announcement, claiming Char as his own to Rock, and putting the boy as second in-line for the throne.

Still it isn't all cupcakes and rainbows with Char in his new home. He has lasting effected form his head injury in the form of migraines and fainting spells. The child is plagued by nightmares, of Giants coming to eat him and old ladies. They frighten him so much he draws and designs traps and bunkers to keep himself safe. Some of the designs Thrash actually considers building in case of emergency. Music brings him to tears if it's too loud or sudden, or if Barb asked him to sing-along. His room is sound proofed, and he has a pair of headphones to block things out if needed. Thrash also finds that his new adoptive son, is far more book-smart then him or Barb, the rarely used Rock library becomes Char's second home. The child become well educated in History, engineering, math, sciences and politics.

It would take two years before, Barb managed to talk Char into coming to her music practice, where the kid learns that music is more then just noise that makes him feel scared/unsafe. Seeing the weapon music can be, something he can learn to protect himself with, Char becomes hooked on the idea of learning it. Too everyone's surprise, it comes to boy like second nature, and his voice is like that of an angel's.

Eighteen years pass, and Branch grows up to be, Prince Char, second born son to Thrash King of Rock. He's a known expert with a guitar, both as an instrument and a weapon, his reputation is that of a eerily smart and organized strategist, who is loyal to his family and people to a fault and ruthlessly protective. With Thrash's health, both physical and mental, in rapid decline, Barb is forced to take on the mantel of Queen earlier then she wanted, but this time she has a brother to lean on as an advisor. Which is a good thing, because between the two of them Char is a much better planner.

Pressure is turned up on the royal rock siblings, when an unexpected earthquake destroys the farmlands that feeds the city. Sure, volcanic soil can been great for growing plants, but rivers of lava and giant fresh trenches don't help at all. Barb flies off the handle, and begins to panic in quiet about what she needs to do to protect the people of Rock, while Char looks into historical records to see if the past king ever had to deal with issues like this. Eventually he stumbles on the knowledge that during ancient times if one of the tribes was in trouble they would call upon their sister tribes for aid.

"Oh that's great advise your books have, let's ask for help from our sworn enemies!" Barb would exclaim, "Wait...the other tribes! If they lasted as long as we did, then they must have resources! But they wouldn't help us...not unless they were just like us. We could use our string to convert..."

"Barb! I'm going to stop you right now. First one our string isn't powerful enough to over-write someone's genre, believe me I looked into it-"

"But if we get all the strings..."

"You mean steal them?"

"Yah!"

"No, if we were to fail that would only sour relations between genres further and our people would still be starving. We'd be better off forging an alliance with a tribe, rather then wasting already limited resources conquering one."

"URGH! Why are you always right....So, alliance...that's our best plan?"

"Currently yes."

"With people that hate us! Are we sure we can't conquer them?"

"Barb, were trying to make a harmony. You can't make harmony with everyone using the same voice. They all need to be different, and they all can't be forced into something they they aren't or it all falls apart."

"Whoa, that's deep. Where'd ya learn that?"

"I-I don't know...but the point still stands we need to befriend another tribe not conquer one!"

"Okay, so how do we do that?"

"Well, apparently theirs more ways then one, all of them include paper work, so leave that to me, but one of them we actually have a unique opportunity to ally with."

"Oh? And how do we take advantage of this unique opportunity?"

"You're not going to like this...but we use me..."

Branch would go on to explain his plan to ally the Rock kingdom with the Pop trolls...through an Arranged Marriage between him and the Pop princess. Barb hates it, especially after all the pop trolls did to her brother when he was young, but she can't argue the logic. The pop trolls live in a forest rich with food and plant life, and water sources. However, they have zero defenses other then how deep they live in the forest. (how he knows all of this Branch has no idea) If the alliance managed to go through, the Rock trolls could get the needed food supplies, and the Pop trolls could gain the knowledge of how to use musical weaponry.

Barb still hates it, it feels like her little brother is throwing away his future. But Char assures her that he's okay with it, and that it's his turn to take on the burden of the crown he supposed to wear. As a bio-pop troll the possibility of an heir from the alliance marriage is higher then if they use a random Rock citizen, and as Rock Prince that will give more creditably to the pleads of their people to Pop. He tells Barb to just take care of Dad when he's gone and that they always have debbie to talk to each other through letters.

So they send a message to Pop Village...requesting to consider the marriage.

At Pop village, Poppy is busy with her new duties as a fresh coronated Queen, caring for the village needs and further establishing peaceful relations with the Bergens after the fall of Chef. When the message reaches her, delivered Via Debbie and Biggie, Peppy tries to take it from her before she cane read it. And then she demands that he Explain why she just got a proposal in a letter from a Rock Prince?

Peppy reluctantly explains the history of the Tribes, and how some times they would form alliances between the genres by wedding members of the royal families together to ensure peace. He makes it very clear that He doesn't want Poppy to even think of answering the Rock trolls even if to decline the proposal, but she fights back saying hat this might be their only chance for peace between the genres for years to come if its taken this long for them to reach out this time. Peppy then tries to argue that if Poppy were to accept the proposal that she would have to marry this prince, this stranger, and he never wanted that to happen to her. He knows Poppy is queen now and he can't order her to do anything, but he asks her to think about this before making any kind of decision.

Poppy needless to say, deeply contemplates the proposal. She wants to help reunite the tribes, but bonding herself to a stranger she never met was a daunting thing. She talks with Cooper and Bridget who are surprisingly helpful with everything, and decides that she'll accept the proposal with the condition that she and her future groom have the chance to meet and get to know each other before the wedding.

Barb and Char readily accept the condition, and calculate that they can give one month of courtship before the Rock kingdom is without food. They respond back to Poppy, and tell them that Char and a few others would arrive in Pop Village a few days after she would receive the letter that confirmed the betrothal.

Char arrives at Pop Village with much fanfare from his travel companions, but shushes them quickly and addresses Poppy and Peppy in a polite manner. Poppy is kind of thrown off by how grey her future husband is, not that she shows it. Char is just as shocked about how bright and colorful she is.

The romance is awkward at first. The cultural differences get in the way sometimes. But eventually a connection is formed. Char learns to feed off of Poppy's energy and Poppy learns that there's more to this grey prince then gloom. With the wedding scheduled for the end of the month, Poppy decides to introduce Char to her BFF Bridget.

Needless to say, it doesn't go well.

Char's underlaying trauma comes back in a panic attack and flashback upon seeing the Troll Tree and bergens. The memory of his Grandmother's demise suddenly becoming clear as day in his mind. In the panic he accidently fires his guitar at Grisle and Bridget, with makes Poppy panic and angry at him. So he runs off into the woods.

Bridget and Poppy end up having a heart to heart where Bridget says that Char looked scared. Having heard about how Char was acutualy a pop-troll and was adopted into the royal family, Poppy connects the dots rather quickly. Realizing that Char used to live in the Troll Tree but didn't escape with the others. the whole visit was triggering for him.

She runs back to Pop Village looking forh im, only to find that Queen Barb had arrived to help set up the wedding, and she wants to know where her Brother is. Poppy blurts out what happened while trying to defuse the situation, and that only serves to rile Barb up further. Until Poppy snaps, yellling at Barb that they need to go looking for Char not fight here! This impresses Barb into agreeing.

Poppy finds him and they end up having a heart to heart, and confessing...

The wedding goes on as planned. On the neutral ground of the Troll Tree, allowing Char to visit his late Grandmother's home for the first time in twenty years.

All seems well...Until one John Dory screams, "Stop the Wedding!"

...

I will post part two in a separate post because this is long!

Part two, and Part three

Edit: The prolog for this fic, which is basically Char's child hood is now posted on Ao3. Link

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sheigarche · 8 days ago

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girl shut up

I'm going to assume this is about Life is Strange because that's what I've been talking about the most in the last 2 months and I don't think any of my other fandoms would be bother by my posts.

So here are some hot take ideas for LIS posts I've never made because I thought it might upset some fans, but maybe I shouldn't be so quiet about it after all.

Pricefield vs DE

It seems like everything in Double Exposure was deliberately written to justify Chloe breaking up with Max.

Chloe showed that she was paranoid that Max may be using her powers to manipulate the relationship to make it work and that's exactly what Max did to Amanda and got call out for it in the end.

She also expressed how Max is unable to let go of the past and is haunt by it. So most of the game we see Max (and the player) holding on to it and struggling to move on until the very end. Some fans still can't do it and doesn't want Max to do it, but that's exactly why Chloe left.

Many people didn't realize it, but Max was struggling to establish herself as a real photographer in the years she was with Chloe, but quick became famous and recognized in the years after they broke up.

To me that's the game trying to sell the idea that they are better off without each other.

Chaseprice

Victoria and Chloe's posts in DE don't show anything explicitly romantic, it could just be friendship, but the intention to make it look like something more is pretty clear to me.

The writers chose sentences like "can you handle it, Chase?" and "I'll buy you a beer" on purpose and know exactly what the players will think of it.

Besides Victoria shows a desire in going from wherever she lives to see Chloe, and then Chloe makes plans to do a little detour to go see Victoria. Whatever this relationship is, they're making it work long distance with effort on both sides. Mutual interest.

I wouldn't be surprised if in the sequel we see one post or two subtly hinting that they're actually together. A picture on Crosstalk, maybe a comment from someone else on their posts.

Hell, I can even imagine an art gallery event of some sort where Max is invited and can bring her chosen love interest and Victoria is there with Chloe as her date... And that's how the devs manage to have a natural last conversation between Max and Chloe in person to give closure to their relationship.

And I kind of expect Victoria to come to them at some point, a little jealous or just proud of her girlfriend.

Langfield

Some people keep saying that Max wouldn't be interested in Vinh... But that's wrong.

The reality is that it was the first game's choices and Max's journey is what makes them fit together so well.

Yes, okay, maybe 18-year-old Max wouldn't like this emotionally dry 28-year-old Vinh. Maybe 18-year-old Max would have liked way more to know the enthusiastic drama student 18-year-old Vinh, who dreamed of being an actor.

Now this 28-year-old Max, full of traumas and complexes knows enough about life to see through 28-year-old Vinh's walls and realize that he is not dry, but afloat and barely keeping himself together. That's why she can really connect with him, as a friend or more.

It was the traumas and secrets that made her interesting to Vinh, just like his traumas and regrets are what make Max interested in him.

They fit together because they share some similar emotional experiences and they know how the other might be feeling in certain situations. And when they are together, they can laugh about it, have fun and be themselves, even if just for a moment.

Amberprice

Honestly I left this fandom years ago without shipping Pricefield or Amberprice, because of some reservations about Chloe's character. But now I'm back because of DE and I decided to finish Before the Storm... I can't get Rachel out of my head!

Seriously, what's this magic in their scenes and why can't I stop watching them on loop?

I always thought I had a crush on Max, but I actually have a crush on Rachel Amber of all characters. Maybe I am Chloe Price all along 😂

You know a ship is good when it changes your perception of the characters.

#max caulfield #chloe price #victoria chase #rachel amber #vinh lang #life is strange #langfield #chaseprice #amberprice #pricefield #life is strange double exposure #ask

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 6 months ago

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The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 2, 3, 4, 5 (WIP)

AO3 Link

For @whatishowedyouinthedark because she wondered when we were going to get a Pretty Woman AU. Well, my dear, that day is today.

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Chapter One

If I Got Me a Wealthy Man

Feyre tried not to let the dread and panic choke her as she walked down the street.

Everything had been fine until that text. The one from her landlord informing her that no, she could not extend her late payment any later, and yes, she would be facing eviction if she didn’t cough up the now three thousand dollars she owed for both this month’s and last month’s rent.

And, at any other time, this might’ve been doable. Difficult, but doable. Normally her sisters were there to help pay their fair share of the rent and cover for each other any time one of them was a little short. But now that Elain had moved out to live with her boyfriend, and Nesta had disappeared to lord knew where again, their little sister had suddenly found herself on the hook to cover everything herself.

And she was struggling.

She was already working two jobs and even then she was just barely getting by. Even if she managed to fit in a third job somehow and started today, by the time she received her first paycheck she would’ve already been booted onto the streets.

How did one even make that kind of money in a few days? Become a hit man? Did she need to become John Wick for a night? She briefly considered drug dealing…until she realized that she didn’t actually know any illegal drug suppliers. Which was, you know, probably important.

She ended up going with the next best (and illegal) thing.

Which was how she ended up here, on the street corner on the bad side of town, wearing the shortest, sluttiest thing she could find in Nesta’s closet. After all, how difficult could it be for a nineteen year old to find some horny old men to pay her for sex?

Rather difficult it turned out.

Three hours in and she was now beginning to regret her hasty decision. Three hours and she hadn’t seen a single man wander past and give her so much as a creepy stare. Instead, she’d had the local corner shop owner ask her four times in the last hour if she wanted to come inside.

“You look cold dear,” the woman insisted for the fifth time as she closed up shop for the night. Feyre suppressed a shiver as the early spring air gusted over her bare legs.

“I’m alright,” she said while trying not to let her teeth chatter. That probably would’ve been a dead giveaway that she was not, in fact, alright. God, why hadn’t she thought to bring a coat?

Because coats hide the goods, that infuriatingly rational part of her brain supplied.

Not that anyone besides Mrs. Nosy had seen the goods the entire time she’s been out here.

“It’s fine,” Feyre continued. “Really. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

This might’ve been convincing if it hadn’t been the exact same story she’d given this woman every time she’d asked. Said woman looked at her disapprovingly, but seemed to sense she wouldn’t be winning this battle and so left with a parting, “If you say so dear.”

Forty-five minutes later, Feyre wondered where she’d gone wrong in her life. If it hadn’t been apparent before that she was ill-dressed for the weather, then it certainly was now that the sun had set. It had to be near freezing.

And still she hadn’t seen hide or hair of a single horny man ready to throw money at her. She’d barely seen anyone out here really, save for passing cars and the odd homeless person muttering to themselves. God, had she picked the wrong day or something? Did she miss the memo? Was there a prostitute group chat she wasn’t a part of that told everyone which street corner was the busiest? Did prostitutes even have group chats?

These were the questions she was asking herself when he appeared.

“Excuse me, do you know the way to the Four Seasons?”

Feyre startled.

A man had joined her under the flickering street light. A man who was talking to her. And asking for directions.

A handsome man.

…Maybe even too handsome.

“Oh, umm…” she blinked at him stupidly.

“I’m sorry to ask, but I seem to be a bit lost. I swear I was downtown an hour ago but now I’m not really sure how I ended up here. I’d just call an Uber but unfortunately I left my phone at the hotel so…” He smiled at her sheepishly as if to say, ‘what can you do?’.

Feyre studied him thoughtfully. He was tall and impeccably dressed. He certainly looked like someone who could afford to stay at the Four Seasons so that part of his story was likely true.

Which also meant…the wheels started turning in her head.

“…And what’s that worth to you?”

It was cruel. Normally Feyre would’ve just walked the poor man to his hotel herself or offered for him to use her phone….but she was desperate. And from the looks of his shiny shoes and expensive peacoat…he could afford it.

The man looked at her then. Really looked at her, with her ill-fitting cheap dress and haphazard attempt at gaudy makeup…and something suddenly seemed to click in his brain.

“I see.” And he did. His entire demeanor had changed. Where once he had seen a young college student who could give him directions now he clearly saw her for what she truly was.

A whore.

Even if only for the night.

“Do you?” Feyre lowered her voice as she straightened her spine a little. Anything to make herself appear older. Sultry. Unconcerned. As if she weren’t about to be homeless in five fucking days.

“How much do you charge?”

The question caught her completely off guard when it absolutely shouldn’t have. This was exactly why she was here. And yet, when actually faced down with a living, breathing man ready to pay for her services she couldn’t think of a single fucking number. What did sex workers usually charge? It’s not like she knew a lot of prostitutes she could ask. And what if this was the only man she managed to snag in the next five days? She needed to get as much out of him as she could. She needed…she needed…

“Three-thousand dollars.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she desperately wanted to take them back. Was she fucking insane? Nobody was going to pay three-thousand dollars for her!

“Three-thousand,” the man repeated. His face was infuriatingly blank. Was he angry? Upset? Convinced this was all a joke?

“Yep,” Feyre confirmed, figuring she was already in too deep. Might as well commit.

After all, the worst thing he could say was no…and then she would have to go ask that nice homeless man who’d been circling the block for tips on how best to survive on the streets.

“Per?”

She blinked. “…Purr?”

Like…like a cat? Was that something he was into? Was he seriously asking if she would be willing to purr in his lap like a kitten for three grand? Because if so, the answer was definitely-

“Per hour? Per night? Per week?” The man clarified, face still blank.

“Oh…” She suddenly wished lightning would strike her dead right then and there. “Umm, per night?” It came off as a question even though she hadn’t meant it to.

“Three-thousand dollars for the entire night.”

Feyre was deeply annoyed by his ability to make his questions not sound like questions. As if question marks didn’t even exist in his vocabulary.

“That’s…what I said.”

Maybe she needed to revisit the drug dealing idea again. Surely that was easier than standing in front of this stranger and negotiating her worth like she’d never done it before. Which…she hadn’t. But still.

He stared at her for a moment with those intense dark eyes of his. She couldn’t really tell under the flickering light, but she thought they looked almost…purple? Violet maybe? Which was stupid because neither of those were actually a real eye color.

“Tell you what,” the man said pulling his hands out of his pockets. In his right he held a leather wallet that looked as if it were brand new. He plucked several bills out and held them out to her. Her heart stuttered when she saw the number 100 on each of them. “I’m afraid I don’t have three thousand dollars on me at the moment, but I do back at my hotel. I’ll give you five-hundred now if you agree to take me there and the rest when we get back to my rooms. Do we have a deal?”

Feyre felt faint.

She hadn’t actually believed he’d give her three-thousand dollars! That was just…a Hail Mary! A dumb, impulsive shout into the void!

“Just to get you back to your hotel?” She asked, eyeing the bills greedily.

“Just to get me back to my hotel,” he confirmed.

She took the money.

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

As they made their way downtown, Feyre thanked her past self for having the foresight to wear her ratty converse instead of squeezing her feet into Nesta’s too-small heels. Not exactly the sexiest shoes ever, but they were saving her from the blisters she likely would’ve had by now after walking the last six blocks so she wasn’t about to complain. And it wasn’t like men were going to be staring at her feet all that much anyway. Or, at least, that’s what she had assumed.

Because he was staring at them.

She’d caught her strange companion (Rhys, he had introduced himself as shortly after she’d snatched the money out of his hand) staring at her shoes at least three times now. If she were anywhere else, doing anything else she might’ve confronted him about it, but he had also just paid her five-hundred dollars and was planning to pay her another two and a half grand more once she got his ass back to his ritzy hotel so she was willing to bite her tongue.

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my coat?” He asked her for the second time in the last twenty minutes.

And even though she was freezing her tits off she was just stubborn enough to give him the same answer she had last time.

“I’m sure.”

He kept doing that. Offering her things. Asking her questions. Normal questions. Like how old she was and how long she’d lived here.

It was kind of freaking her out.

She had lied of course. She couldn’t exactly have some strange man knowing who she was or where she lived. This was only temporary after all. What would Nesta think if she knew her baby sister had dressed up like a hooker and propositioned a man on the street corner? What would Elain think? No, better none of this got back to them. Better she got her money from him as soon as she deposited him at his destination and then went home and forgot all about this hare-brained adventure of hers.

Thankfully they wouldn’t have to travel much further. The buildings had gone from old and neglected to shiny and new rather quickly. Once upon a time Feyre used to come here often to visit her father in his swanky office in the financial district, but those days had come to a very sudden close after the market crash. Now she was lucky to come here whenever her job at the local bistro needed extra help on the weekends.

She spied a passerbyer give her a judgmental look as if to illustrate just how much she no longer fit in here anymore. Or, you know, it was probably the skimpy dress she was wearing in freezing temperatures. Who could say really?

The entrance to the Four Seasons wasn’t all that difficult to find amongst the busy streets of downtown. Honestly, Feyre sort of wondered how on earth Rhys had managed to get lost when all he’d really done was walk in a straight line away from his hotel for about a mile. It almost felt a little unfair to be taking so much money from him over something he could’ve easily figured out himself but, then again, any man willing to throw three-thousand dollars away over something so minor probably deserved to get scammed.

The man in question stared up at the entrance and then back at her curiously, as if surprised she had actually kept her word and done what he had asked. Then, without a word, he opened the door and waltzed inside.

She stood there for a moment, not sure what she was supposed to do now. Did he expect her to follow him up to his room? Or did she wait outside and hope he returned with the money? Thankfully, he saved her from fretting for too long because she saw him reappear, holding the door open for her.

“Aren’t you coming?” He arched an eyebrow at her as if to say ‘well?’.

She supposed that was as good an invitation as any and followed him inside.

The lobby was enormous. That was her first thought. Her second thought was that she absolutely did not belong here. Everything looked so…expensive. And white. Spotlessly white. White walls. White marble floors. White furniture and decor. White, white, white. Rhys, however, seemed completely unfazed by all the luxury around him and headed straight for the gold elevator, Feyre scrambled after him and desperately hoping her grubby shoes weren’t leaving dirty shoe prints on the pristine floor (they were).

They were quiet on the ride up and she watched the number slowly rise and rise and rise the higher they went. Just how far up was his room? When she saw the number go past forty her mind really started to boggle. What on earth was past the fortieth floor?

The fucking Presidential Suite, it turned out.

No wonder he was willing to throw thousands of dollars around for some directions. This place had to cost at least three times that just for a single night!

Rhys, oblivious to her inner turmoil over his clearly considerable wealth, wandered in almost aimlessly, dropping his coat on the back of a chair and loosening his tie as if returning home after a long day at work.

“Make yourself comfortable. Give me a moment and I’ll grab the rest of your money.”

Your money. As if it were already hers and he was just returning it to her.

She just nodded dumbly, but he was already disappearing around the corner into what she assumed was the bedroom. She tried to do as he said and briefly sat down on the couch…only to shoot back up moments later, afraid to sully the spotless brocade with her…with her what? The miasma of poverty she carried with her?

“Here,” Rhys reappeared carrying a large stack of crisp hundred dollar bills and handed them to her without fanfare. “That should be twenty-five hundred but feel free to double check. I wouldn’t want to cheat you out of what you’re owed.”

He was right. She should count the money just to be safe. She needed it to keep the roof over her head after all.

She didn’t.

Because it suddenly occurred to her…she had the money now to pay this and last month’s rent…but what about next month’s rent? And the one after that? She still had to cover Elain’s portion of the rent now that she had moved out. And Nesta was still M.I.A. and thus unavailable to pay her half. So where did that leave Feyre? Stuck covering the entirety of their fifteen-hundred dollar rent bill all by herself for the foreseeable future, that’s what. She needed some sort of buffer to fall back on while she waited out the last few months on her rental agreement and Nesta figured her shit out.

She needed more money.

And, she thought as she looked up at the handsome man before her, it looked like she might just have someone willing to give it to her.

“Is that all you want?” She tried to sound sultry but Feyre had a feeling she sounded less like Jessica Rabbit and more like Velma from Scooby Doo. Awkward. And incredibly young.

Rhys gave her a strange look. It wasn’t turned off exactly, but it also wasn’t exactly turned on. He seemed…searching. Like he was trying to figure her out.

“Isn’t that all you want?” He asked, turning the question around on her.

“I could…do more,” she said clumsily. “For a price of course…”

He didn’t answer her, just hummed thoughtfully. She pressed forward, hoping he just needed more convincing.

“You could have me for the whole night this time. I can do whatever you like…”

“How old are you?”

The question caught her completely off guard. He had already asked this on their walk and she had already given him an answer. She’d told him that she was twenty-four but it was clear now that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said. And, looking up at his inflexible features, it was even more clear that this time he wanted a real answer. A truthful one.

Feyre glanced down nervously. Would he continue if he knew her real age? Her real name? Her real reason for being here? Or would he kick her to the curb?

She really, really needed the money.

“Nineteen.”

He nodded, as if this were what he’d been expecting.

“And is your real name Vivian?”

“…No.”

“And would you rather I called you Vivian?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered meekly.

“Why were you on that street corner Vivian?”

She hesitated. Did she tell him the truth? She’d already divulged more than she likely should have…but he was being strangely sweet to a random stray he’d found on the side of the road. So what was the harm in giving him at least a little more? Not all of it though. She wasn’t that stupid.

“I was going to be evicted and needed the money. I still need the money.”

“I see,” and just like before, he did. He wasn’t pitying exactly, but he had a look of understanding. “And do you want to have sex Vivian?”

The answer to that question should’ve been ‘no’. She absolutely should not have wanted to have sex with a much older man just so she could pay her rent. It was wrong. It was illegal.

And he was really hot.

And nice to her.

“Yes.”

Shockingly, he didn’t immediately turn her down. He just said, “Are you sure?”

“Will you be paying me?” This was, after all, why she was here. Even if she also selfishly wanted to know what he looked like without his clothes on. If she had to earn her paycheck on her back, at least it was underneath somebody who wasn’t a completele asshole and looked like he stepped out of a perfume commercial.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Then I’d rather earn my money, if you don’t mind.”

He just nodded.

And that was that.

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

They didn’t immediately jump into bed, as it turned out.

As she soon discovered, there were negotiations to be made. Prices to agree upon. And limits to discuss. Honestly it felt a lot like that Fifty Shades movie she had guiltily watched on her laptop and then told everyone she hadn’t seen.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

Truthfully, her sexual experience was rather limited so it was hard for her to answer that question. She’d only ever had sex with two people a handful of times before deciding that maybe she just wasn’t that into it. But he was also paying to use her body so it really didn’t matter what she was into. Just what she absolutely wouldn’t be able to stomach.

“Just…no kissing.”

In hindsight, it seemed like a stupid rule but it felt right to her. Sex was sex. But kissing made it…real. Like feelings were involved.

He didn’t argue. Only gave her a curious look before moving on.

Finally, he handed her an even larger stack of bills than before.

Five-thousand dollars.

Between that and the money he had given her previously, she was officially eight-thousand dollars richer. It was enough to make anyone feel a little faint.

“So you just…have this kind of cash on hand?” Feyre blurted out, a little breathless.

It was still mind boggling to her that anyone would throw this sort of money around willy nilly, as if it weren’t life-changing. Because that’s what this was for her. It was a life preserver. He was saving her and he didn’t even seem to know it.

Rhys raised his eyebrows.

“Not always. Usually I just use credit cards.” She noticed he hadn’t actually answered her question but knew better than to push. He probably thought she was planning to rob him or something.

As if you aren’t already? Her brain screeched, still unable to process that anyone was willing to spend this kind of money just to get inside of her. If you asked her, she was worth like…a hundred bucks and maybe a pizza. Maybe. Not…eight-thousand fucking dollars. And for only the one night!

Feyre took the money and held it in her hands like a live grenade. It felt wrong to just stash this in her purse instead of immediately dashing to a bank or ATM to deposit it but she’d made an agreement and, damn it, she was going to stick to it.

“So…how do you wanna do this?”

By now, Rhys was lounging on the couch in the living area, watching her intently as if she were a fascinating creature and not a very broke and awkward teenager.

He patted his lap. “Come here.”

Whelp. In for a penny, in for a pound.

She sat on his knee and shifted clumsily, trying to find a more comfortable position, but Rhys fixed that quickly by pulling her against his chest so she could hear his heart beating against her ear.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, as if they hadn’t just spent the last forty-five minutes discussing exactly that.

“Of course.”

He could’ve touched her anywhere. Her breasts. Her ass. Between her legs. And yet it caught her completely off guard when he went for, not any of those, but for her hair.

He was…stroking her hair.

She went still.

Bit by bit she felt her muscles go lax and limp. She felt a bit like a cat being stroked into a nice, long nap. It was…nice. Soothing.

“Good girl.”

They were such simple words. So normal. A little condescending even. But god, they lit up her brain like a fucking Christmas tree.

Oh, she thought as gooseflesh broke out along her arms. So it’s like that then?

Feyre pressed her nose to his throat and filled her lungs with the scent of salt and citrus and expensive cologne as she tried to suppress the shiver that suddenly took hold of her.

She felt…restless.

Squirmy.

That hand kept stroking her hair, unconcerned with the bomb he had set off in her brain.

“Look at you,” Rhys murmured into her ear. “I knew there was a sweet girl under all that bravado.”

She felt his other hand skim down the length of her, the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her waist, before coming to rub innocent circles into her thigh.

“Are you going to be my good girl?” He whispered, petting her hair with one hand while his other finally began to sneak under the hem of her skirt. “Are you soft and wet for me?”

Her heart thumped against her ribcage like a hummingbird trying to fly free.

Oh she was certainly wet alright, a fact he soon discovered when she heard his pleased groan as his fingers made contact with the gusset of her panties.

“My good sweet girl. You need this don’t you?”

Feyre shivered as lust crawled through her veins like fire. He hadn’t even really touched her yet and she could already feel her heartbeat throbbing away in her cunt.

“Please,” she begged against his neck.

Those fingers petted her over her panties. Softly. Gently. Like she were a wild animal that needed taming. Her clitoris felt flush with blood and heat. Jesus, this was already hotter than anything she’d ever done and he’d barely even touched her.

“That’s it…”

She just sighed.

Between one moment and the next she felt his fingers slip under her panties and brush against the curls there. Self consciousness suddenly gripped her. Should she have shaved?Didn’t men hate pubic hair? Her last two partners had. Perhaps there was still time to make an excuse and then go find a razor in the bathroom and-

“So soft for me here.”

Okay. So maybe he didn’t mind it so much.

His fingers sifted through her pubic hair until they found the burning seam of her. They dipped inside and she tried hard not to gasp when they brushed over the pulsing little bead of her clitoris.

“And so soft for me here too…” She felt ready to combust when two of his fingers burrowed their way inside of her.

His erection pulsed underneath her, hot and hard, but shockingly Rhys, unlike every man she’d ever met, seemed in no hurry to attend to it. Perfectly content to whisper in her ear and plunder her insides while he ground his palm against her clit.

“Don’t…don’t you want to have sex?” Feyre gasped against his throat.

She felt a gust of laughter against her skin. “My sweet girl, what do you think we’re doing?”

And then, just as if to prove his point, he curled his fingers inside of her.

In theory, Feyre knew what the g-spot was. She’d heard it spoken about in whispers in the girl’s locker room, as if it were a myth. She’d read about it in the romance novels she told Nesta she totally didn’t steal from her. And yet, none of that could’ve prepared her for what it felt like to actually find out that it was very real and ohJesusohGodohfuck-

Her body seized. Her legs kicked out. Her toes curled.

“There you go,” Rhys crooned sweetly, petting her through her orgasm. “Such a good girl. You’re so pretty when you come.”

She was shivering.

Why couldn’t she stop shivering?

Rhys lifted her as if she weighed no more than a kitten. Only moments later she found herself laid down upon a plush white bedspread. His room. He had taken her to his room.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” She whispered, suddenly sleepy.

“Is my sweet girl so desperate for my cock already?” He asked, amused. He pulled the covers out from under her and then laid them over her, cocooning her in a cloud of warmth.

“Why don’t you come over here and…uh…find out,” Feyre replied with a yawn.

“We have all night for that,” he pointed out as her eyes began to droop.

“Yeah…that’s true…”

Maybe he was going to let her nap and then wake her up later? It was getting late after all. And his bed was so very comfortable…maybe just a quick power nap first…

She was asleep long before he kissed her on the forehead goodnight.

#take care of business for me #my fanfiction #my fanfics #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feysand #fanfiction #fanfic #pretty woman au

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aworldinsideaperson · 1 year ago

Text

Candy Cane Kisses

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Plus Size!AFAB!Reader

Summary: Candy Cane Kisses takes us to a Texas ranch on Christmas night, Jake “Hangman” Seresin is watching his sister’s best friend from across the room as he nurses the bottle of beer in his hand. His Bambi is somehow more beautiful than she’d been when they met three years prior, the last time they’d seen each other until only two nights before and he wonders if she can still taste him like that candy cane between her lips.

Warnings: 18+, No use of Y/N (Reader is nicknamed Bambi), No happy ending (for now). There is talk of food, relatively explicit talk of sex as well as some pretty graphic foreplay/kissing with the reader being described with vaginal anatomy but the actual smut happens behind closed doors.

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N:

First: This is part of @sailor-aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge but it is also a companion piece to a longer story/series I’m working on so while there is no happy ending in this piece the overall story, once completed, will have a happy ending. But once again, THIS PIECE DOES NOT HAVE A HAPPY ENDING so read at your own risk.

Second: The smut was supposed to be in the story but I felt like it didn’t need it but if people want to read it separately I might consider finishing it and posting it.

Third and probably most important: Anything you’d like me to tag as warning or in a description or anything please let me know. I haven’t really posted anything longer than a couple hundred words since like 2016 so it’s been a while and I know fandom and fanfiction has changed quite a bit since I’ve been an active member of it so please bear with me while I get my bearings.

Sailor-Aviator’s Christmas Writing Challenge

December 23rd, 2013

Sometimes he replayed that kiss in his head. Sometimes he berated himself for not giving more. Sometimes he imagines pressing his lips to parts of her that he’d never seen. He knew She was older now, they both were, he’d seen the pictures on instagram and facebook, the occasional snapchat with drunk hazy eyes and the same smile she’d had the very first time he’d met her. It’d been more than three years since they’d seen each other in person but even from across a crowded bar with Christmas music blasting and chatter at an all time high, Jake could still hear her laugh and when his eyes shot in the direction of what had once been his favorite sound he knew then and there he was a goner. Even as he makes his way across the room to stand beside her at the bar he knows it’s a mistake but he’s thought about her for three years, and how much hurt could a conversation really do.

“Bambi.” A simple word, a nickname given to her that very first day as she watched the movie for the very first time with tears in her eyes. At the sound her eyes drifted closed, tension leaving her shoulders as she let out a breath before looking over to him with a smile.

A conversation. That’s what he’d told himself. What harm could it do to just say hello, just ask how she was doing, just talk like the old friends they were. It wasn’t until an hour later when he stood inside her bedroom with his hand in her hair and his cock down her throat that he realized maybe his first instinct had been right. Maybe he shouldn’t have followed the sound of her voice, maybe he should have left the bar the second he heard a laugh that made his heart skip, maybe he shouldn’t have come back home at all.

December 24th, 2013

Jake sat on the arm of the couch, his cousin Isaac standing over him gesturing wildly with his unoccupied hand as he recounted a story Jake assumed would be interesting if he could pay attention to anything other than the sound of that laugh from across the room. The cold bottle swung between his fingers nearly empty. If he finished it he’d have to get another, if he went to get another he’d have to walk past her, if he walked past her he was sure she’d smell of that sweet gingerbread lotion she’d slathered on her hands, the same as the night before. He’d have to come face to face with her and that candy cane between her soft lips. He tried not to think about those lips, tried to listen to Isaac talk about the latest ponzi scheme he’d gotten himself involved with, tried not to remember the way her lips felt wrapped around his-

“Dude I’m serious this would be a great investment opportunity! And I know you’ve got some capital, what with that military salary and all.”

Isaac’s eyes were wide with excitement but Jake’s face was contorted in pity as he sighed. “I don’t know Isaac.”

With that his face fell. “Why not man?”

Opening his mouth to give the older man an answer he really didn’t have, except to say that some guy name Brad has Isaac by the balls, Jake was saved by the voice of his mother as she quickly approached the pair.

“Jacob,” She started, laying a hand on his shoulder and looking softly at him, usually a sign she was about to ask for physical labor. “Do you think you could help Bambi bring the rest of the cookies from the basement? We’re running low up here and you know if someone doesn’t go down with her she’s gonna try to carry them all up by herself.”

He sighed but he didn’t argue. “Sure thing Mama,” He stood and clapped his cousin on the shoulder as he walked away. “I’ll catch up with you later Isaac.”

“Okay but seriously think about what I was tellin’ ya.”

With his back turned Jake nodded as he rolled his eyes. “Absolutely.” He knew would absolutely not be thinking about it as he took a few long strides towards the basement door and made his way down the steps.

The Seresin’s basement had never been a place to fear. Finished long before even their first child arrived Jake had always known it as a playroom, a game room, a movie room, whatever his family had needed it to be. He could hear his nieces and nephews to the right of the stairs, no doubt playing with the collection of toys new and old that lived in the too big toy chest in the corner of what could have been a third living room. To his left he could hear the rustling of plastic and clanging of aluminum in what was originally intended to be a second full bar for his dad but his mother had taken over as christmas cookie and bulk grocery storage. Once fully down the steps he could see her then, his back to him as she tried to stack two trays of his mother’s treats on top of one another and he smirked, that was just like her. “I know you’re not trying to carry all those containers up by yourself.” He made his way toward the woman maneuvering the stack to goodies to get the best angle, gently laying his hand on her lower back.

Relaxing at his touch Bambi looked up at Jake with a smile of her own. “I’m an independent woman who only takes one trip, especially with stairs involved.”

“Well as independent as I know you are imagine the hell mama would give me if she knew I let you carry them all up yourself. So will you spare me the wrath?”

Bambi rolled her eyes, replying with a sarcastic chuckle. “Well I suppose I could take pity on you given how well you ate pussy last night.”

The man’s shoulders dropped, “About last night,” He started, the room becoming thick with silence. “It was-“ He couldn’t finish, taking his hand off of Bambi and placing both of them on the counter as he turned from her slightly. He didn’t even know what he should say, didn’t know what the truth was, didn’t know if he should tell the truth even if he knew it.

Bambi nodded and sighed, back straightening as she toyed with the edge of the wrapped cookie trays. “A one time thing, yeah, nothing, I get it and I don’t plan on telling anyone. Not even Mary. She’ll lose her mind if she found out we almost fucked.”

‘Fucked’ the word didn’t feel right. She’d never felt anything like what she felt the night before, memories of his hands and lips trailing over every inch of her body, every square of skin an erogenous zone with his touch. Fucked was something that happened after heated arguments and on couches in frat houses and in the back of cars. She wondered if last night, even though he’d never been inside her, she wondered if that’s what sex was supposed to be like, still making her feel a need for him almost 24 hours after the fact.

“Good. I mean. I just didn’t want to give you the impression that it was more than it was.” He felt sick at his own words. ‘More than what it was’ what was it exactly? Two people who once knew each other, who’d once been friends, giving each other pleasure? No feelings? As if he didn’t still think about her once a day from sharing one single kiss three years prior.

The silence feels heavy around them but continuing to plaster a smile on her face Bambi looks up at her best friend’s brother. “I get it.” She starts. “I’m not a teenager with a crush anymore. You may have been the first person I loved but there have been others since. Other kisses, other blow jobs, other sex partners. There will be others after you too.”

Every muscle in his body was tight as he nodded. “Okay then. It’s all sorted then.” Jake’s stomach churned as he tried not to think of her underneath, on top of, in front of, with other men. He wasn’t neive, he knew last night that the blow job she’d given him had been too good to be the first time she’d done it, someone had instructed her in the past. She knew where she wanted to be kissed and touched and she hadn’t been afraid to move his hands or his mouth or ask for more or less. He knew those things came from experiences. He just hated hearing her say it. Or maybe he hated the thought of after, that there was now an after him. That someone else would touch her and be touched by her and she’d instruct them on how to make her feel the way he had. Make her feel the way he had when he knew no one would ever make him feel the same way she did.

“Yeah, now let’s get these treats up there before people start nibbling on your mom’s gingerbread houses.” With a smile on her face Bambi grabbed the top tray and quickly turned her back to Jake and made her way back upstairs.

She was trapped. Completely and totally trapped. There was no possible way out of the conversation with the man in front of her. She’d tried everything, giving uncomfortable responses, not responding at all, she’d even tried walking away and he’d just followed her. Bambi had met Billy Seresin a few times. He was always too loud and too touchy, he smelled like he smoked 3 packs a day and he never ever shut up. All she had done was give him a polite smile as she was walking past him and into the sitting room, intent on cornering Mary-Ann to pester her about the man who’d shown up to the party as her boyfriend and left 30 minutes prior seemingly losing the title. That had been her plan but of course things hardly seemed to work out the way she expected these last few days especially and nearly 45 minutes later Bambi was sure that if Billy Seresin laid so much as a finger on her again she was going to vomit. But as he raised his hand another slide along her lower back and pulled her closer to him.

“Hey Bill, I’m gonna steal the pretty girl away, hope you don’t mind.” And without waiting for a response Jake led Bambi to the front door, his hand still resting gently on her back.

As they passed the threshold out to the porch her shoulders relaxed as she took in the borderline cold night air. “You are a real hero Jake, if the navy thing doesn’t work out I could whip you up a cape and some spandex, you could go around saving the world from conversations with creeps.” Bambi chuckled as the two settled beside each other on the porch swing, Jake pulling a large blanket from the basket beside them and wrapping it around Bambi’s shoulders.

“Well I’m contractually obligated to the Navy for another few years but afterwards we’ll team up.” His hand rubbed up and down her blanket covered arm a few times before leaning into the back of the swing, his body turned completely towards the woman beside him. “Besides, how was I supposed to let him keep eye fucking you right in front of me.”

“He was not eye fucking me.” Bambi voiced with a roll of her eyes.

“He was,” Jake argued. “I can tell since I’ve done it.”

Turning lifting one knee onto the seat of the swing she turned to completely face Jake. “He’s married to Sarah who’s a fucking dream, no way he’s trying to fuck that up.”

Propping his elbow on the back to their seat, Jake smirked, resting his head on his hand. “You’re way hotter than Sarah.”

“Oh now that’s just a flat lie.” She replied, throwing her head back in laughter.

Lifting his head, Jake let his fingers reach out to slide over a piece of her hair. “I disagree. You’re the hottest woman in any room.” He smirked, giving Bambi an exaggerated wink.

Lulling her head to the side she said his name with a mildly warning tone.

He sighed, throwing his hands up in defense. “Fine I’ll stop saying it. But you can’t make me stop thinking it.” A full genuine smile spread across his face, all the way up to his eyes.

“Sometimes I think you’re too much of a flirt for your own good.” She gave him a gentle shove and her exaggeratedly leaned backwards before sitting up with a laugh.

As the sound of laughter faded Jake admired the woman before him, he’d always thought she was beautiful but the glow of the twinkle lights surrounding the porch made her look ethereal. Even three years later, he’s never gotten over the way he feels around her. For several moments the silence surrounded them, nothing but the light creak of the swing chains and nature. The peacefulness he didn’t expect to be surrounded by was somehow terrifying to him So he filled it. “How’ve you been?”

“Good.” She started, looking at her hands in her lap as she began to pick at the polish. “Mom has been seeing this guy Randy and he’s really nice to her. They’re talking about getting married and moving in together. And Mary bought this new camera and we’re setting up a studio space in the third bedroom of the loft. She’s not sure if she’s going to go back to college with me next fall but I still have plenty of time to convince her.” A soft smile turned up the corners of her lips her eyes still trained toward the fiddling fingers in her lap.

Jake reached out, rubbing his hand slowly over the blanket covering her shoulder. “That’s all great Bam but I asked about you.”

She sighed and then nodded. “Oh, well yeah, yeah. I’m good. I’m good.”

‘You sound unsure.” He pushed.

She reached out her hand to place it on his knee. “No, I'm good. Really.” She assured. “Just not totally used to thinking about it I guess.”

Reaching down to take her hand between both of his, stroking his thumb along her skin. “When’s the last time someone ask how you’ve been doing?”

“About 30 seconds ago.”

Jake looked at her with a warning glare. “Before that, smartass.”

Bambi rolled her head and smiled, her thumb sliding back and forth over Jake’s own calloused knuckles.“You’re the one in the Navy, doing big important things, shouldn’t I be the one asking you how you’re doing?”

Squeezing her hand tightly he gave Bambi a serious look. “You can ask but how you’re doing is no less important than how I’m doing. I’m of the opinion that it’s more important. How can I be okay if I know you’re not?” His question was met with silence and so with a sigh he continued. “I’ve been really good. Made some friends, made some non friends, and I love flying. Have pretty much everything I could ever want. Now you.”

Bambi smiled, giving Jake’s hands a squeeze of her own as she kept her eyes trained on their connected fingers. “I’m good, really. I’m getting my degrees in social work and criminal justice. Victim advocacy is the goal, helping people in similar situations to what Mom and I went through. Things are stressful and I’m scared I’m gonna fail like all the time but I want to help people so badly.” Finally she looked up, tears began to surface in her waterline as she willed them not to fall. “Somewhere out there is a child or a spouse who is going through some of the worst pain of their life and I think about how it felt to be helpless like that and I know I can’t give up.”

Again, Jake reached out to her, one hand still holding tightly to hers, the other gently brushing a fallen drop from her cheek. “You amaze me Bamb, stronger than me that’s for sure.” A comfortable feeling fell over them as he continued the questioning.“You still in therapy?”

With a smile she nodded, her hand still gripped tightly in Jakes. “Yeah but I’ve been in a pretty good place for a while now so we’ve cut back to once or twice a month with the option for more when I need it. It really helped me to work through a lot of the guilt and anger and sadness. And I can think about it now without wanting to throw up. I still have nightmares but nothing like it used to be.”

Jake grinned at that. “That’s really great. I’m proud of you for sticking with it, I know you were really nervous to be starting it in the first place.”

“Thank you for encouraging me back then, I don’t know if I could have done it without that extra push.” 3 years ago she’d been a girl often afraid of her own shadow. She’d thought she needed to be saved back then but Jake hadn’t been the one to do it. Instead he’d loved her and broken her heart and pushed her to help herself.

“Of course Bamb I’ve always cared about you, always wanted what’s best for my Bambi.” His hand cupped her cheek, eyes unable to break from hers.

“Jake-“

“I know, I know what we said I just,” He sighed, thumbs gliding softly over the skin of her hand and of her cheek. “I just really miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“Yeah,” Again, silence surrounded them, Jakes eyes dropping to her lips as he continued. “Bambi, about earlier I didn’t-“

“There you are!” Mary-Ann’s interruption pulled the two apart, hands now cold and cheeks warm. “Jake, I told you to interrupt my conversation with Isaac after 3 minutes. I was stuck there forever listening to him talk about whatever bullshit he’s on now. I swear that guy doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.” Mary plopped down in the rocker closest to the swing.

Jake now sat with his feet planted firmly on the porch. “Says the girl about the drop out of college.” He teased.

Mary gasped, turing to her best friend who still had yet to stop reeling. “You told him!?” She exclaimed.

Bambi replied with a soft shrug. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”

With the most sincere puppy dog look she could manage Mary-Ann turned to her brother. “Please don’t tell daddy, he’d be so disappointed in me.”

Jake dropped his shoulders and stood up, placing a hand on his sister’s shoulder.“Oh don’t worry Mary-Ann, he’s already disappointed in you.”

From then on the conversation was nothing but a fit of giggles and insults between the siblings, Bambi still swinging back and forth in a fog as she wondered what he’d been about to say.

The night had slowed, most of his extended family had been long gone before it reached ten and parents retiring upstairs not long after. The house was quiet, the only light coming from the twinkling bulbs strung from corner to corner in every room in the house. Jake sat at the dining room table, his chair cocked slightly in the direction of his companion. He’d had more to drink since earlier in the night, giving his mind a soft haze. At least he thought it was the alcohol, could just as easily be the woman sitting beside him in her red dress, glowing in the soft light. He’d convinced her to have one last drink with him before she walked to Mary-Ann’s apartment over the garage. It’d been nearly an hour ago and the clock was ticking closer to midnight as the two each prolonged the last sip of their drinks.

Bambi reached over, gently patting his hand. “It’s good to have you home Jake. I worry about you a lot.”

Turning his head to look at the table Jake nodded. “I worry about you a lot too.”

“Me?” She chuckled and just like the night before he forgets how to breathe. “I’m not the one spending my days in a flying metal death trap.”

“I still worry about you. We should keep in touch more.” He traces his finger around the opening of his bottle, trying not to make eye contact as she continues to barely laugh at a memory.

“What, my occasional snapchat not enough for you?” She asks.

“Not when I want to hear from you every day.” It then when he finally looks back at her, if he didn’t know her so well he’d think maybe that smile was real and not the fake one she plastered on to keep others at a distance.

“Every day?”

He sighs and nods his head as he once again looks away from the woman beside him. “Yeah. I think about you every day.” He thinks he must be drunk, there is no other way he’d admit something so agonizing, not to himself and certainly not to her.

The silence is palpable as she throws back the last sip of her drink as she stood. “Well I should probably head out.” Her voice is quiet, if he hadn’t been standing beside her so closely he might not have heard it.

“Bambi,” Jake lifted his hand to her cheek, gently stroking her with his thumb as her eyes closed. “I wanna kiss you so bad.”

Opening her eyes she watches him through her lashes as she turns and presses her lips to his palm. “How’s that?”

“Not really what I had in mind.”

She smirked, “Disappointed?” She asked, thinking back to the very first kiss they’d shared so long ago, her first.

“Just thinking maybe you don’t know how to kiss, someone should really teach you.” He lifted his other hand, steadying her face to look up at him.

“I seem to recall my first teacher being awfully strict about what kisses he could and could not give me.”

His right hand lifted to brush the stray hairs for her face and he nodded. “Let me make that up to you?”

“I thought that’s what last night was supposed to be.”

One side of his mouth twisted up into a smirk, his hand now moving to caress the side of her neck. “I don’t remember finishing the job.”

“You made me cum, your job is done.” The memory of his lips and tongue making her knees weak.

“But it was only once.” He argued.

She was staring at his lips now, heart pounding with anticipation. “Once is more than most.” It was a true statement. She knew too many people lying about orgasms for it not to be.

His thumb stroked between her jaw and ear, eyes watching her as her eyes moved from his lips to his own chartreuse orbs. “I’m not most.”

Voice hardly above a whisper “Jake?”

“Yes?”

“Just fucking kiss me.”

Four words. Four fucking words and Jake’s mind had gone blank of all thought. All except one. ‘Bambi’. Slowly he dipped his head, gently pressing his lips to her, the familiar taste of candy cane still on her lips from his mother’s christmas cocoa cocktail. He almost pulled away; almost did the exact thing he’d done three years prior, sparing both of them the heartbreak but as she sighed and he felt her melt into his touch he needed just a little more.

Their lips moved together, slotting her bottom lips between his and gently sliding the tip of his tongue across it. Her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, the velvet locks sliding through her fingers as he began to pepper kisses first at the corner of her mouth before moving down over her jaw and down her neck causing her to moan at the feeling of his lips against her bare skin.

He smiled as he continued to kiss and lick and gently nip at her neck. Bending slightly at the knee he wrapped his arms about Bambi and lifted her to rest on the dining room table where only hours earlier his family had been gathered. She gasped and her high heels dropped to the floor and her arms now draped over his shoulders. Jake’s smile grew as he dropped his lips to hers once again, slotting himself between her thighs and pulling her to the edge allowing her to feel his length pressed between their bodies. “Do you feel that baby? Do you wanna feel it inside you?” Arrogance heavy in his voice, his lips barely brushing over hers.

Bamni’s face contorted and she whined. “Yes. Jake please please please.”

“No need to beg Bambi, whatever you want, it’s yours.” He spoke with a slight chuckle in his voice though the sound of her begging made him twitch. Again his lips trailed over the skin of her neck then to her shoulder, his hands sliding up her thighs under the red dress he’d spent the night imagining on the floor. His fingers traced over the nylon, attempting to feel every bump and curve and dimple of the flesh underneath.

”I want you to touch me.” Her tone is still begging with his lips trailing over her collar bone. Smirking Jake pulled his mouth from her skin and licked his lips, moving the fingers of his right hand to her core, touching her gently through the layers.

“Oh fuck.” He groaned, feeling her slick against the tips of his fingers. “You are so wet I can feel you through your panties and stockings.” Again he pressed his lips to hers, swallowing the moans the escaped from her lips at even his light and obstructed touch. “Stay the night with me?” He asked, lips still brushing against hers.

With an eggar nod and jagged breath she responded with a simple yes that had Jake’s heart pounding as he pulled her from the table and kissed her deeply before quietly leading her up the stairs and down the hall. He pressed her against the door of his bedroom, his thigh between her legs and her lips against his throat. “Come on baby,” He whispered. “Let me make you feel good.” And with that he pushed his door open and the two stumbled into his childhood bedroom and with a click, locked the door behind them.

It was nearly 5:30 in the morning as the lovers laid in each other's arms, fingers trace patterns over the other’s skin. Jake’s mom would be getting up soon to start Christmas breakfast. His mind reeled with thoughts, a carousel of anxiety, of leaving Bambi, of breaking her heart, breaking his own. Thoughts of his mother’s smirk if his sister’s best friend bound down the stairs with his hand in hers still smelling of sex. His mind filled with thoughts of run, and run, and run. So he ran.

Pulling his arm from around Bambi Jake moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her. “You should probably get going before everyone gets up.”

She sighed before throwing the covers off and throwing her own legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, I’d hate to have Mama Seresin see me do the walk of shame. She’d probably start planning the wedding before I made it to the end of the driveway.” She laughed as she gathered her dress and undergarments from the night before, slipping them on with little effort. She felt lighter, tension gone from her shoulders and a permanent smile plastered to her face.

“Bambi, last night, it-“ Jake started but Bambi cut him off, leaning in close for a kiss.

“Was great? I sure thought so.” She said, attempting to finish the sentence in a way he hadn’t meant to.

Jake pulled away, his eyes trained directly to his feet as he spoke. “It shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

Silence again filled the space between them, the inches beginning to feel like a cavern as she pulled further away from him. She didn’t recognize her movements as she walked to his door, her fingers wrapping around the cool metel of the handle. With a deep breath she let the truth fall into the chasm between them. “I lied last night, when I told you it didn’t mean anything? It meant everything.”

She stood there, hand on the knob hoping her words had changed something but Jake didn’t even move “I’m sorry Bambi. I wish-“ He sighed and his head dropped into his hands. “You deserve more than this, more than a single night.”

Bambi nodded and turned the handle. “Merry Christmas Jake.”

Her words were quick though even with the speed he could hear the crack in her voice. His door was shut tight before he responded. “Merry Christmas Bambi.” And only when he heard the front door shut and the turning over of her car did he reveal his own truth.

“I love you.”

151 notes · View notes

fairy-writes · 8 months ago

Text

THE STORY OF US

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing(s): Dazai Osamu x Reader

Word Count: 4k (PLS READ, I’M BEGGING YOU)

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Pretty Heavy AU (idk what to call it tho), Female!Reader, Time Traveler!Reader, Time Traveler!Dazai, Reader is shorter than Dazai

Taglist: @underthetree845 | @nezuko-kamado-cute-demon

Notes: I don’t know what I’m doing

VERY HEAVILY RIVER SONG INSPIRED (find my quotes lol)

I might write part two from the Reader’s POV (don’t get your hopes up tho, I’m notoriously bad with writing part two to things, but if I get requests I’m more likely to do it!)

I just now realized that the title is also a Taylor Swift song, but I don’t wanna change it

Also, I’m just saying this now, this is not every scene I had in mind. A lot of scenes got cut for my sanity.

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Osamu first discovered he could time jump when he was eleven.

It had been an accident, really. Well, maybe not a complete accident. Osamu wanted to escape everything—his parents' arguing, their fights. But, of course, he had nowhere to go. As an eleven-year-old boy, there wasn’t anywhere that would hire him. He had no other family that wasn’t across the other side of the world.

He was completely and utterly alone.

The shouting was reaching its peak. Osamu shoved his pillow further over his head as if trying to suffocate himself as his mother screamed something at his father. Something about his lies.

Ha. If only she knew how much Osamu lied.

Lied about his day at school. (Anything to get her off his back.)

Lied about having friends. (Anything to make them not suspicious.)

Lied about everything.

The screaming grated on his ears through the pillow, and he ground his teeth until his mouth hurt.

Couldn’t they just shut up?

Couldn’t they just go away?

Suddenly, something was different. Osamu felt a tugging in his stomach. It was as if someone wrapped a string around his middle and yanked. Almost like he was being squeezed out of a tube of toothpaste.

And then he could hear… water? The sounds of a river that should not be audible even through the open window. Did they even live near a river?

Osamu peeked out from the pillow over his head and was blinded by sunlight. He sat up and realized his pajamas were covered in scalding hot sand. Golden sand stretched for miles and miles, a long twisting river just visible in the distance. On the horizon, he saw pyramids being erected high into the sky.

What the hell?

And the rest was quite literally history.

December 31st, 1925

New York City

The air was cold. Snow fell in flakes as Osamu watched the snow fall outside the bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks as he paid no mind to anyone around him. He had aged since his first trip through time. Though he could never remember how old he was. He looked to be in his early twenties, but everyone looked so different in different time periods, so he could’ve been thirty, and that would’ve made sense.

“Mind if I sit?” Comes a sweet voice. He looks to his left and sees you.

You’re dressed to the nines in a silver slip flapper dress with black beads decorating the length of the gown. Your hair was cut in a neat bob, a feather headband decorating the up-do. The kohl around your eyes only accentuates the pretty color.

Osamu plasters a grin across his features, and you shift. He gestures grandly to the stool beside him,

“I could do with a gorgeous woman’s company.” He quips, and you laugh good-naturedly before sliding onto the stool beside him. He can feel your warmth through the woolen fabric of his suit coat, and he takes a sip of liquid courage, suddenly feeling somewhat hesitant to talk to you.

There was something about you. Like you knew all Osamu’s secrets already.

You lean your cheek on the palm of your hand, smiling with ruby-red lips and brilliant teeth that were ahead of their time.

That should’ve been his first clue.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Where are we at now?” You muse, and he frowns as he sips at his whiskey. This was one of the only bars that still sold alcohol through the prohibition.

“Sorry, I’ve never seen you before in my life.” He says, and you cock your head, eyebrow raised, as you pick at the seams of your silken gloves. You abruptly stop picking and reach into your clutch purse that rested in your lap, pulling out a worn notebook he didn’t recognize. It was well-loved, with pictures stuffed in between the pages.

“So we haven’t done France yet?”

“France?” You lean back giddily and hold your notebook to your chest.

“What a night that was! Dancing in front of the Eiffel Tower? That ring a bell?” Osamu shakes his head.

He had yet to go to France. In all his time jumping, he hadn’t seen the point in going to France, much less the City of Love.

Now it was your turn to frown, flipping through your little notebook, and he spies neat handwriting in various languages. English. Japanese. German. Latin. And were those Egyptian hieroglyphs? All throughout the pages, he spies his picture scattered across the ink.

Just who were you?

And why do you have all those pictures and drawings of him?

“What about picnicking at Versailles?”

Another shake. Another page turned.

“The Titanic? What a messy time that was!”

“What is that?” He eventually asks, and you quickly flip it shut before he can actually read anything.

“Spoilers.” You say quickly, and when he arches an eyebrow, you sigh, call the bartender over, and order a glass of champagne. The two of you wait in silence until you get your drink. Eventually, you speak after you’ve downed half of your champagne flute. “It’s all of our adventures. Time travel gets complicated, doesn’t it?”

As soon as he connects the dots, Osamu is floored.

Another time traveler? He thought he was the only one!

It’s clear you pick up on what he is thinking because your face falls. You look heartbroken. As if he just ripped your heart out of your chest and smashed it into a million pieces. As if you were a lonesome star falling from the sky and drowning in the sea.

“You truly don’t have any idea who I am, do you?” Osamu shrugs,

“Who are you?”

Osamu didn’t know it was possible, but you looked even more upset. Tears welled up in your waterline and smudged your kohl as it dripped down your cheeks. You swallow thickly and sniffle, pulling a handkerchief from your clutch to dab at your watery eyes and ruined makeup.

For whatever reason, Osamu feels his heart ache.

“I suppose this was bound to happen sometime.” You say eventually, and he looks over at you from where he had just downed the last of his whiskey. You’re leaning both of your arms on the counter, running a finger around the rim of your champagne glass.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you huff, look at him out of the corner of your eye, and your finger stops

“We always meet out of order. Hence, the diary. But… I just never expected it to hurt this much.” You sniffle again, and Osamu realizes he wants to make it better. He realizes he doesn’t like to see you cry.

But he doesn’t even know you!

Why should he care if you cried or not?

“If it’s any consolation… I’m sorry…” He says quietly, and you bark out a laugh,

“There’s nothing to be sorry for! I suppose this is just a chance for me to get to know the younger you.” You sniffle, but that bright smile that makes his heart race lights up your face once again. You seem to think something over before standing and offering Osamu a hand.

“Care to walk with me?” You tease him with a flirty wink, and he finds himself unable to say no.

So, as the clock chimes closer and closer to midnight, the two of you leave the bar, with you each paying for your respective drinks. Osamu offered to buy yours as an added apology, but you just patted his shoulder with a knowing smile and said, “I know you’re awful with money.”

Which… You weren’t wrong.

Just how much did you know about him?

How much had he told you in the future?

You walk next to him, bundled up in a trench coat not unlike his own and with your hands stuffed in your pockets. Osamu pulls his own (matching) trench coat over his suit coat and slacks and follows you out into the sprinkling snow. You both walk side by side in a surprisingly comfortable silence. At least until you hear people counting down in the streets.

10…

You blink and turn to look at him.

“What day is it again?” You ask, and he looks up at the snow.

“December 31st, 1925.” He replies, and you gape in surprise.

9…

“Y’know, I’ve never celebrated New Year's with time travel and all. Never even had a New Year's kiss.” You muse, watching couples get together on the streets.

8…

“Would you like one?” Osamu blurts, and you nearly trip in surprise. Osamu almost follows suit when you stop abruptly to look at him with wide eyes.

7…

“But you don’t even know me.” You say hesitantly, but you turn to face him nonetheless. He finds himself smiling, a soft, genuine sort of smile.

When was the last time he smiled like this?

6…

“I’m giving my future self the benefit of the doubt and trusting his judgment.” He teases, and you relax, hanging your head with a soft giggle. But you don’t pull away when he slowly pulls you in close to him.

5…

Your coat flaps open, and he sees his father’s initials stitched on the side and realizes you don’t just have matching coats—you have the exact same coat.

When did he give that to you? He swore he’d never give it up to remind himself to never return home!

4…

Your soft arms around his neck catch his attention, and you’re suddenly much closer, standing on your tiptoes in your kitten heels.

3…

His arms pull you close by your hips, and he leans down.

2…

Your noses brush.

1…

The kiss is like the fireworks going off above him. His eyes flutter close, and he pulls you impossibly closer. Your lips are soft with the lipstick, and he doesn’t care that it’s likely stained on his mouth.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The kiss deepens, and you soak up his affection greedily. Like you had been waiting for this forever. Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding him close oh so tenderly.

Like a puzzle piece being fit into place, his heart sang like a choir in a church.

Were you what he was missing all this time?

Could he finally have this?

Could he—

BANG! BANG! BANG!!

You jolt and fall to the ground as a car screeches around a corner and out of sight.

What?

What happened?

Osamu looks down and feels his heart stop.

You’re crumpled against the cement, blood seeping out of bullet holes in your abdomen. Your dress is ruined. But that doesn’t matter.

Osamu falls to his knees, not caring about the cold, wet concrete soaking his slacks. He pulls your upper half into his lap and applies pressure. You cry out and push his hands away.

“I need to put pressure on your injury. Hold still for me, love.” He whispers to you and turns to where people are still celebrating. “AMBULANCE! SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!” He cries, but they’re so wrapped up in their excitement that they don’t hear him.

Your hand touches his face, and he looks down to see you giving him a bloody smile. Crimson leaks from your mouth, and he can tell that you don’t have long.

“Hold on—Hold on, I’ll get a doctor—I’ll—” He stammers in an attempt to calm you (himself) down, and you just spit up blood in a choked laugh.

“We both know I’m not going to survive this.” You wheeze, and he can see the color draining from your face as you lose blood and warmth.

“Then I’ll jump back in time! Time can be rewritten!” You cut him off abruptly with more strength than he thought you had.

“Not those times. Not one line. Don’t you dare.” You say, hand falling to grip his hand as tightly as you could muster.

“But you’re dying.” He says, unable to explain why his heart is breaking to pieces inside his chest. You cough once more and smile that brilliant smile that he finds that he loves so much.

“It’s not over for you. You’ll see me again. You’ve got all of that to come.” You slur your words at this point, and he grits his teeth. Your hand goes weak in his, and he holds it even tighter.

“You and me. All those adventures all over time. You watch us run!” You whisper, and he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead just as you close your eyes.

117 AD

Rome, Italy

The crowd roars louder than Osamu has ever heard it. Bored, he watches as gladiators fight in the ring. The arena is bathed in blood, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He hasn’t cared about much since you died.

He wasn’t even sure why. He barely knew you. But he keeps thinking back to the kiss you shared on New Year’s. He thinks of your words.

“You watch us run!”

“Is this seat taken?” A voice yells over the crowd, and his heart stutters to a halt. He turns, eyes wide to see you.

Oh, how cruel this life was.

You’re dressed in a fashionable, long tunic that goes down to your ankles with a shawl of sorts around your shoulders. Your hair is longer than Osamu remembered. It is no longer a bob but instead curled at the front and with a braided crown in the back. You hold that journal under your arm and smile brightly before scurrying over and sitting beside him.

“Where are we at now?” You ask excitedly, pleased to see him.

But all he can see is your dead body in his arms.

Was there some god up above watching this cruel exchange with glee?

What had he done to deserve this?

“‘samu? Is everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

‘samu?

The last person to call him that was his mother. Before she and his father began to fight. Back before he could time jump.

Back when things were simple.

Your hand on his arm has Osamu flinching away, causing you to cringe back as well. You look worried, panicked even, and all for him.

So you didn’t know yet. You didn’t know you were going to die.

So, he doesn’t tell you.

“Sorry, my love, I thought you were a monster here to gobble me up!” He chirps, and your panic melts away quickly. You lean back into his side, and he takes the chance to wrap a bandaged arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You giggle and open your book.

“Where are we now?” You repeat, and he shrugs,

“You tell me.” He says, keeping his eyes off your book out of respect and on the gladiator games below.

“France?”

“Not yet.”

“The Wild West? That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Nope.”

You two go back and forth for a moment before you ultimately sigh and clap your book shut.

“It’s very early for you, isn’t it?” You say, mildly exasperated. Osamu nods silently, heart twisting when you set your book down and lean heavily into his side. He trickles his fingers along your neck, feeling goosebumps rise along the skin, and you shiver.

The games end, and you shuffle out of the Colosseum and through the streets of Rome. You boldly take ahold of Osamu’s hand as if this was regular for you. He can’t bring himself to let go, so he instead makes you laugh by swinging your arms between you, occasionally twirling you in a circle. His chilton feels suffocating despite it being made of linen.

But he can’t bring himself to time jump away. To leave you alone to spare his own feelings.

Perhaps it’s the overwhelming guilt he feels?

Perhaps it’s because he finds himself enjoying your company.

Either way, he allows you to pull him around the ancient cobblestone streets of Rome. Enjoying the markets and public museums that were beginning to pop up all over the city.

The entire time, he doesn’t let go of your hand.

August 8th, 1912

The Wild West

It’s hot.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

Osamu peels off one of his gloves and fans his face with it as he climbs the steps to the little cabin he had been staying at. His bandages itch with the heat, and he has a sneaking suspicion that they’re slowly soaking with sweat underneath his borrowed button-down, vest, trousers, and chaps.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he liked this place sans the heat. The people in this little settled town were kind, barely batting an eye when he suddenly appeared in their home. The people he was currently staying with, an older couple named Buck and Bonnie, welcomed him with open arms. They claimed it was because he reminded them of their son, who was out settling the rest of the West.

“Osamu? Are you done already?” Bonnie asks where she’s putting a pie on the windowsill to cool. Apple, by the smell of it, and utterly delicious.

“Just taking a break, Bonnie. Buck works me to the bone!” He says and collapses on the couch, his spurs jingling as he kicks his feet up over the edge of the sofa and leans his head back, tipping his hat down over his face. He hears Bonnie say something, but he’s already halfway to dreamland.

Despite only intending to sleep for a few minutes, Osamu naps for the better part of an hour. He only wakes up when he hears the whinny of an unfamiliar horse and quick steps up to the cabin door. Then, an excited set of knocks.

“Can you get that, Osamu? I’m busy with supper!” Bonnie calls from the kitchen, and he calls back, saying that he would.

Only to come face to face with you.

It had been ages since he saw you. He had yet to see you at any significant historical events that he time jumped to. The Titanic, the moon landing. Hell, he hadn’t even seen you during World War Two when he was accidentally drafted!

“You!” He jabs a finger, and you grin adoringly, stepping under his arm and skipping to the kitchen.

“It’s me, Granny!” You chirp, and he hears a delighted squeal.

“Dearest! It’s been ages!”

So you’ve been here before.

Several times by how familiar Bonnie seemed with you.

Osamu meanders his way into the kitchen, where Bonnie is wiping her hands on her apron. She grins at the sight of him,

“This is Osamu! He’s been helping Buck around the farm for the last few weeks!” She says, and Osamu tips his hat with a wink.

“We’ve met before.” He says, and you jump up from where you had been sitting at the dining table and throw your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

“‘samu!” You cheer, and he returns any affection greedily, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He’s still unable to get the sight of your corpse out of his mind. But he vowed that if he ever saw you again, he’d accept any love you’d give him.

You’re dressed the part of a cowgirl. A long calico skirt and long-sleeved button-down. Your hair is longer than he remembered, tied back in a braid, and a bandana around your neck to protect you from the harsh sun above. Your hat sits on the table, and so do your gloves.

Your skin is just as soft as he remembers.

It isn’t long before Buck is called in for dinner, and the four of you eat together. You sit to Osamu’s right, with Bonnie to his left and Buck across from him. You chat happily with the couple, and Osamu is content with just sitting and watching. You tell an obviously edited version of your adventures, with grand sweeping gestures and voices to accompany your tales.

Long after Bonnie and Buck go to bed, Osamu finds you on the swinging bench on the front porch. You’re writing in your journal, about halfway full, and sketching a picture of him.

It’s an incredible likeness to his face and rather impressive to look at. You even got his cowboy hat right.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks, and you jump, slamming your journal shut and looking up with wide eyes. But you realize it’s him, relax, your shoulders sagging, and nod with a smile. The wood creaks as he sits at your side. His arm stretches along the back like it belongs there, and you lean into his side. He relished in your warmth.

“Have we done Rome yet?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“I was thinking of going there next, though!” You say, and he nods, leaning his head against yours.

“How come you never go to big events?” He asks next, and you hum with a shrug,

“I like the little days. I like seeing how people live their day-to-day lives.” You say, and he can’t help but laugh.

You were truly the exact opposite of him.

You swat his chest,

“Don’t laugh at me!” You cry with mock anger, but a smile curls the corners of your mouth. Like you liked hearing him laugh. You give him pause when you lean up and press a kiss to his nose. He freezes, blinks several times, and stares down at you.

“I love your laugh.” You say, and his smile falters just the slightest bit.

No one liked hearing him laugh.

Not since he left home, at least.

But you were his home now.

October 31st, 2012

Yokohama, Japan

Fog rolls through the streets of Yokohama. Osamu strolls the streets, hands in his pockets. He was alone. At least for the time being. At least until you showed up again.

If you showed up again.

No… You would… Osamu had faith. You usually did on the small days.

Whenever his nightmares got particularly bad, he’d time jump to a place he thought you’d like. This time, it was Yokohama, Japan. Notably, it was Halloween. Nothing ever happened on Halloween. Well… except for that one time…

Oh, whatever.

He had been here for a few months, finding himself at peace in modern-day Japan. He discovered his parent’s graves and realized he was home.

At least… when he wasn’t with you.

Until he saw you crossing the street.

You looked younger than he had ever seen you before. Another young girl walked beside you, both of you dressed in Halloween costumes and laughing amongst yourselves.

But the longer he watched you, the longer he realized something.

You wouldn’t know who he was. No, no, no, it was much too early for that. He had never seen you so young before. Not even in pictures when you had shown him at Versailles.

Was this before you began to time jump?

Suddenly, a hand smacked the back of his head, and he flinched, turning to see his newest acquaintance, Kunikida Doppo. He was shouting something. Something about being a bandage-wasting machine. Something about being a lowlife. He didn’t bother listening.

Instead, he looked back to see you looking at him. There isn’t the faintest glimpse of recognition in your eyes. Nary a clue of who he is.

You genuinely don’t know who he is at this point in time.

You lift a hand and wave with a friendly smile, unknowingly making his heart crack in two.

So, he turns, walks past Kunikida without a word, and heads back the way he came.

“Dazai!” Kunikida’s voice, and he hears his acquaintance (He doesn’t have friends. He’s utterly alone in this world.) running up behind him.

“What is it, Kunikida.” His voice sounds oddly monotone, and he knows he has to get you out of his head before he breaks down. He can’t ever come back here, not without causing a paradox and ripping Yokohama apart.

And that would mean he would never see you, ever.

“Are you okay?” Kunikida’s voice makes him stop. He spins with a plastic smile on his face and his heart threading to pieces.

“Of course I’m okay! What makes you think otherwise?” He titters with an all too fake-sounding laugh. Kunikida looks uncharacteristically solemn.

“Well… For instance, you’re crying.” He says, concern seeping into his tone.

Osamu reaches up and touches his cheek, finding that it is indeed wet and glistening with tears.

#dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #osamu dazai x y/n #dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #fairy writes #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd

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gerec · 1 year ago

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Gerec’s Favorite Fics - 2023

Here's a list of some of my favorite fics posted this year. A great big thanks to everyone still writing for this fandom; I know I'm very grateful to have all these amazing stories to read and to share!

Repeat Offenses by populuxe

“Prickly bits aside—hell, for the two of them, prickly bits included—it almost felt like a date. Which is stupid on multiple fronts. Grudgingly buying your ex a meal after he grudgingly bails you out of jail is obviously not a date.”

Five times Charles bailed Erik out of jail—and one time he didn’t.

melt your headaches, call it home by joshriku

Two decades later after the last time he saw Charles Xavier, Erik's children lead him right back to him.

Of course, it's never easy to look at the ex love of your life and realize you're not over them, not even in the slightest.

superposition by borninsideatornado (wip)

erik is a race car driver coming off the worst year of his life. charles xavier may be his last hope.

The Plus-One by populuxe

When Erik grudgingly agrees to play Raven's boyfriend at her terrible family's holiday party, he'd thought the biggest challenge would be staying sober enough to make it convincing. But then he meets Raven's extremely hot—and extremely infuriating—stepbrother, and everything starts to get complicated.

my heart knows your name by borninsideatornado

Once they’ve finally got him in bed, Charles works up the courage to ask if he might stay for a few days, because being rejected can’t be worse than seeing Erik in pain. But Erik only says, “I think that would be good.”

or: charles and erik have been broken up for years, occasionally falling into each other. things might change for good when erik lands himself in the ER where charles works. it’s all a bit of a hanukkah miracle.

This Terrible Desire To Be Loved by riais (jeriais)

Erik clings to his past, Charles detaches from his present. Somehow, they meet in the middle. Modern Au, no powers.

the pride and disgrace by ballantine

I am grand, said Charles. Did you know, I can make people think the sun is shining? I am giving them the most beautiful weather they have ever seen. They don't feel the wind or the rain, only the love of their companions. I am fostering the brotherhood of man, one heart at a time.

“Okay,” said Hank.

twenty four hours from tulsa by intentation

After having self-emancipated (aka run away), Erik's been holing up in a shitty motel while he figures out his next step. When Charles Xavier moves into the room just down the hall, Erik discovers his new favorite pastime: sex.

the pain will remind us of each other by borninsideatornado

It’s always felt alien, the way he feels about Erik. Too big for his body, too much to hold in his heart. But finally, finally, it makes sense.

Because at the end of the world, it’s him. It’s always going to be him. —

when logan lets charles see his future in days of future past, he talks to erik instead.

rendezvous by inthebelltower

“Tell me no,” Erik says. “Tell me to leave.”

Heartbeat by druswriting

People say that it’s a bad idea to be friends with your ex. People say that it’s an especially bad idea to be friends with your ex, if your ex is Erik Lehnsherr.

Unfortunately for him, Charles is an optimist. Unfortunately for him, Charles believes he can make friendship work with anyone. Unfortunately for him, Charles believes no one is beyond repair. Fuck, he’s such an idiot.

Well, at least the sex is good.

Dead Box by ByCandlelight

“We should keep moving,” Raven said softly, and so Erik rose to his feet. There was an ache in his knees that didn’t used to be there.

“Charles would love this planet,” he said unthinkingly, and something shuttered across her face.

Travels with Charles, in Search of America by midrashic (wip)

The world ends, but life goes on—until it doesn't.

Seventeen-year-old Erik Lehnsherr has never left the underground shelter that protects a small band of survivors from an Earth wracked with radiation as its magnetic poles reverse. When the settlement encounters a deadly threat, he embarks on a dangerous odyssey with new arrival, walking encyclopedia, and enormous pain-in-the-ass Charles Xavier in the hopes they can find what they need to save the settlement—before the coming winter or unpredictable magnetic storms bring death to not just them, but everyone they love.

Weak by Sotano (comics cherik)

For an hour he keeps himself alive without a heart, pumping his own blood with his powers. It was never going to last. Magneto dies on the Red Planet.

He's the only mutant in history Charles can't bring back.

Containment by feathershollyandgolly

Guilt swirls within as Charles watches the concrete door slide open. As he enters a hollow prison, both modest and intimidating. He is well aware that what he is about to do is a terrible thing.

Detours Along the Way by AndreaDTX (wip)

Erik Lehnsherr has been elected as the President of the United States of America, the youngest in history and the first ever known Mutant. Charles Xavier, his mate, is right by his side. But as Erik's first term begins, the couple braces themselves, knowing that getting elected is the easy part.

twice saying pardon (In Every World There Is You and Me Remix) by winter_hiems

After the events of X-3, Erik is powerless and alone. By chance, he ends up in an alternate universe – in Genosha, where mutants rule and are safe from harm. In Genosha, there is another version of himself. A version that has Charles Xavier by his side.

Another Love by Mataolma

One bad day, a stranger arrives at Charles' house. The soldier says his name is Logan and that he was Erik's best friend when they served in the Mexican War. Logan brings bad news: Erik died in the war, and Charles must decide what to do with his life now that the man he loves is gone.

#gerec rambles #cherik #gerec's fic rec #fic rec #2023 favorites #long post #cherigan

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marigolddove · 2 years ago

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Love Begins With Murder, Believe it or Not.

Part 3

Request by: @yandere-dark-cupid

I stayed up until 3 am writing this, passed out and then woke up at 6 am to finish it lol. It's okay though I'm not tired, I'm just happy to be writing. I hope you all enjoy this part there will definitely be another part which will probably be the final for a while. I'll probably try and leave this story with a not-so-official ending because I might make one-shots based around this in the future.

Also I'm getting a new job soon so that might cut into my writing a bit but I'm going to keep writing no matter what I'm so grateful for Welcome Home and all it's characters and all my fellow fanfic writers and artists out there making more and more content for this fandom. You guys are all awesome and Welcome Home is officially my comfort Fandom, without it I might've never wrote anything ever again. So thank you to @partycoffin, and all of the AU creators, you're all truly wonderful people.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of torture and violence, anger issues.

@elegantkidfansoul, @sunkyss, @all-things-fandomstuck, @sailorsimp13, @cricketsjunk

💀♥️💀

Wally couldn't believe he didn't have one single vase in his apartment, not one! He had been so certain he'd had flowers before, surely he'd had…he was a lover of beauty and nature, so it was extremely frustrating when he couldn't find his—imaginary—vase.

He could've let it go there, just put the bouquet in a tall glass or leave them out to dry and get a vase tomorrow, but to be honest he was procrastinating when he suddenly decided he needed a vase before his nap; he knew of a flower shop fifteen minutes away on a strip he was well familiar with—he often got lunch or dinner from a nextdoor diner, well he did before he hit this depression.

That's what all this is about, after all. Depression.

He lost the desire, the drive, to style his hair, paint, draw, talk to his friends and employees, he doesn't even make eye-contact like he used to; and now to top it all off, he realizes, there's absolutely no life in his apartment. Even his old paintings feel soulless, hollow, because they don't fill him with the emotions he once held as he crafted them.

When the depression set in, he couldn't be sure, it had been a gradual change; but it was one he hadn't noticed until now, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

He feels his face flush in embarrassment as he thinks of his neglect of himself and his home as he drives to the shop, the sky turning orange and blue behind the many buildings surrounding him.

As he kept his eyes trained on the still bustling road ahead, he could only hope he would make it in time so this uncoordinated trip wouldn't be a complete waste.

—————————

With traffic being convinently merciful to him this early in the evening time, he is soon racing to the shops entrance door, bouquet delicately cradled by his left arm; completely missing the 'open' sign flipping to 'closed' as his unoccupied hand grasps the door handle and turns.

As he pushes into the building he is shocked to find an employee standing right at the entrance, hand quickly retracting from the door as they lock eyes with him, seemingly just as shocked by his sudden entrance.

The bell above the door chimes.

For Mr. Darling, renowned local kingpin, ruthless 'family' man, time seemed to slow for a moment, just a moment. It was almost as if the chiming of the bell had put him into a trance, or maybe it was just you.

There you stand, (h/c) hair fluttering from the sudden rush of wind that came from him opening the door, staring right at him; your work uniform fitting you quite nicely, especially with your own accessories that added a unique personal touch, not to mention the smell—which was most definitely the shop, but there is no doubt in his mind that you smell any different—sweet and floral.

You're the first to speak, voice a bit nervous at his stare, "O-Oh! Hello, we–ah, I, was just about to close up shop." You move the hand that had been reaching for the door handle to fiddle with a ring on your opposite pinky finger, a sign of anxiety.

Realizing how he must look, a bit wild from the wind whipping his already disheveled hair around with tired eyes, his ears and cheeks grew a little hot, but he clears his throat into his hand as he tries to recover from his sudden and silly attraction.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to just barge in here, but…" he shrugs the arm cradling the bouquet, "I'm looking for a vase, this shop was the only place I could think to find one and it wasn't a far drive…I thought I had a vase, but I was wrong." He explains ratherly lamely, his usual suave and calm demeanor shattered by his growing embarrassment at his current mental and physical state. This was a mistake, he should've just waited for the morning or let the flowers dry out, he should be sleeping right now.

Like an angel you smile at him, so bright and warm it almost feels like the sun is beaming at him, "That's alright! I don't mind a bit, sir, follow me I have some you can choose from in the back." You move to allow him full access and then make your way to what looks to be a storage closet at the back of the shop.

He follows without a word, eyes glued to your figure as you seem to glide to the back, your feet making little to no noise as you move.

The door to the storage closet is open with chalk board sign leaning against the wall next to the door frame, 'small vase $10, medium $15, large $25 ALL HAND MADE!!'.

"You make your own vases?" Wally asks, impressed even before seeing the quality of your work.

You flush as you glance at the sign and then gesture to the closet, signaling him to take a look at your stock, "Yeah, it's a new thing I started doing…I've always been into crafts and stuff like that and working with clay seemed really fun and challenging, so…." He notices your words grow softer, seemingly embarrassed.

Well he can certainly tell you're a beginner, many of the pieces seem a bit lop sided or misshapen, but some are charming due to their faults. Something art had taught him early on is to love imperfections just as much as perfections.

"They're charming." He says, and it's the truth, hearing the honesty in his tone makes you turn a bit more red as you smile gratefully at him.

"Which would you recommend for this bouquet?" He asks, he already has an idea of which vase he'd pick but he wants to hear your opinion.

You eyeball the bouquet, a knowing look sparkling in your (e/c) eyes, and look to the assortment of pottery, "hmm".

Your eyes land on a particularly unique piece on the bottom shelf, it's wide and a bit overly round at the bottom and it narrows a bit more dramatically than you intended at the top, it was also colorful, painted with vertical rainbow stripes that had come out very pastel when you had originally wanted a very bold rainbow color. Overall it had been a bit of a flop, but at the same time it has become one of your favorite pieces and it was a tragedy it had never been used. Whether it looked good with this particular bouquet didn't really matter, to be honest it didn't compliment the bouquet at all, but it deserves a home.

Following your gaze, Wally examines the piece you're staring at so intensely.

"Is that the one?" It certainly wasn't the one he was going to pick, but the way you stared at it with such sentiment made his heart leap. Oh how he missed the days when he would look at his own art with such a nostalgic and sentimental gaze.

"I don't know…it's a little ugly, to be honest…it doesn't really go with the flowers."

"I can always get more flowers." He responds smoothly, catching even himself off guard.

The two of you lock eyes again and he wishes he had examined himself before coming here, so he could know how you see him. He's certain he looks like a mess, and not a hot one.

You seem taken back by his response, but recover quickly to smile, "Yeah, I guess you can. This is a flower shop after all." You glance down at his bouquet again, "you wouldn't happen to know someone named Julie, would you?"

He knew you would recognize the tag and the flower combination, so your question didn't phase him, "Yes, actually. I'm sorry I couldn't come in for the flowers myself, at the time I was…busy."

"Ah, no need to apologize, worrying about a funeral is tough even when you weren't close to the person who died. I'm sorry for being a bit nosey."

"I don't think you're being nosey at all," he ignores the bit about the funeral, not wanting to really lie, but still omitting the truth, "these flowers you picked are really very lovely, I almost want to keep them for myself." He absolutely intends on keeping them for himself.

Your smile turns a bit bashful, "Oh, well thank you. It's nice to know I got it right." Turning back to the shelves of pottery, you crouch to the one you had been staring at, "So is this the one you'd like? Or did you have your eye on another?"

"I'll take that one and these two as well." He gestures his free hand to two other pieces, one being a bit plain and lumpy, the other a bit more colorful; the base color being yellow with red and blue swirls.

"Three?" You ask, a bit surprised.

He grins at you, and unknown to him your heart flutters, "This way I have an excuse to come back, I'm going to need flowers for them, right?" It's been a while since he's tried flirting, but by the way your entire face seems to light up and flush he's certain it's been effective.

"R-Right," you grab two of the vases as he grabs one, "that's three medium sized pots so it'll be $45 dollars." The two of you make your way to the check out counter and place the three pots delicately, "I'll go ahead and wrap these for you." As he grabs the money out of his wallet, you rummage through the work table and pull out a bundle of plain wrapping paper. Carefully, you wrap each individual piece in a thick protective layer of paper, then delicately place the three into an oversized grocery bag, adding more wads of paper between each piece.

Wally lays the money down onto the counter, slipping an extra $5 bill as a tip, as you place the finishing touches on the bag of fragiles. When you're pleased with your work, you hand him the bag with a wide grin, collecting the cash; before you can finish counting Wally tips his head to you.

"You have a good night, doll, stay safe." Without another word he exits the shop, you call after him about his change but he doesn't respond. Upon examining the extra $5 bill closer you notice a series of numbers written on it, when had he done that?

It doesn't take a genius to know that he's written a cell phone number on the bill, despite his somewhat messy appearance your stomach feels as though it's infested with butterflies at the idea that he might have been interested in you. He certainly had flirted with you a little bit, but that didn't have to mean anything, but leaving his number? That means something.

He did say he would need to come back for more flowers, you smile at the thought, carefully folding the bill and tucking it into your pants pocket. You begin to close shop again, this time with no interruptions.

—————————

Julie should've told him he looked this awful, he thought to himself as he examined his reflection in the rear view mirror. No, no, no this won't do! Horror pierced it's way into his heart as he also realized that this is how he had looked during your entire interaction. He had flirted like this…left his number looking like this.

A part of him wanted to storm back into the shop and explain that this isn't him, just something he's been dealing with, tell you that he's not some pathetic, greasy nobody like he knew you must've thought he was.

He's Wally fucking Darling, he kills whoever he wants, whenever he wants, sells what he deems profitable no matter how morally gray and takes whatever he pleases. The people that surround him know to not only fear him but to adore him.

In his sudden shock and growing fury he almost, nearly, throws the bag of pottery to the floor of his passenger side; but he doesn't, of course, he's much too collected to just fly off the handle and break things—he most certainly is not, just two weeks before he broke that not-so imaginary vase he knew he had, it had been in a fit of frustration towards Howdy for failing a trade agreement; Wally didn't remember it now, but that day he had taken his only vase and chucked it at Howdy's much higher head. He had missed entirely, and now he's forgotten the whole ordeal.

Thankfully there's even less traffic, somehow, on the way back, which keeps his temper low but bubbling gently to the surface. A rolling boil was sure to start.

When he arrived back to his apartment, he placed the pots onto his sofa along with the bouquet, so delicate compared to the war of emotions he held inside.

Remember: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

He enters his massive, stunning bathroom and makes a b-line for the mirrors, he needs a better look at the damage his neglect has done.

If looks could kill one look would make the mirrors shatter, this isn't who he is. He feels like an imposter in his own body when he looks at himself, hair greasy and wild—no longer slicked back due to the wind, he doesn't even like slicking back his hair, it isn't his style! Then there's the grotesque bags under his eyes, when had they become so dark and puffy? How hadn't he noticed sooner? The rage was building now.

7, 8, 9—

Why was his skin so dull an–and sallow?!

Suddenly the sound of his marble counter top cracking triggers a roar of emotion to overwhelm him, he doesn't even register he's injured himself by slamming a fist down onto the marble. The emotions are so raw, so heavy, he doesn't even realize he's out of the bathroom now; doesn't hear the carnage he's creating or his own howls and shouts of incoherent anger and frustration.

When and how did he become so pathetic? How long had the others just sat idly by watching him grow weaker and uglier. His anger blinds him to the memories of when they had tried, all of them had; even Howdy, who wasn't the biggest fan of Wally to begin with, had tried.

The shrill ringing of his telephone snaps him back to reality, in his now bloodied and bruising hands he grips a broken frame that holds–held one of his own designs. His breathing is heavy and his head is swimming, wasn't he just in the bathroom a moment ago?

He drops the frame and stumbles to the phone, wincing at the loudness of it, he doesn't even take a moment to collect himself before answering.

"What do you wa–"

"Hello!" Your soft, sweet voice timidly interrupts his rude greeting.

Suddenly his stomach dips and his heart flips, he really hopes you hadn't heard him.

"Uh-uhm, it seems like I've caught you at a bad time, ha ha. I'm sorry about that, sir." You had heard his sour attitude, fuck.

"No, no," he corrects hastily, not wanting you to hang up, "I'm sorry, I just…I just injured myself getting to the phone." The lie feels bitter, like bile rising in his throat, fuck why did he lie?

"Oh," is your meek response, then a pause, "Well…I'm sorry for calling you so soon…and it's a bit late too, ah, this is so silly I'm really sorry."

He's about to reassure you he doesn't mind in the slightest, and it's the truth, but you continue quickly.

"It's just that I didn't ever give you my name, a-and I never got yours. Also I wanted to give you my number as well, that way I don't have to do all the calling myself, you see." Your stuttering is cute, but your sickeningly sweet reason for calling him has him swooning most of all.

"I see, well," he straightens himself, confidence filling him once more, "My name is Wally, Wally Darling, and you are..?"

"Y/N, Y/N L/N."

"That's a lovely name for such an enchanting flower like yourself, Y/N." He purrs, his turmoil and self-esteem issues quickly forgotten by this new cocktail of emotions, suddenly he's like a giddy teenage boy; twirling the phone cord between his fingers, a toothy smirk growing on his face and he imagines you blushing like you did in the shop.

"Your name is really cute too," you reply, you sound embarrassed but you're definitely smiling.

"Thank you," he grabs the note pad and pen he keeps by his landline, "Now then, what's your number?"

"O-Oh, right!" You quickly tell him your number and he repeats it back to you, once he's gotten it correct he smiles, gently placing his pen back down onto the table.

Sighing, "I must say, I'm glad you called." He admits.

"Oh?"

He hums, "Yes, when I got to my car I realized how I must have appeared to you. I typically take better care of myself, but, well, recently I've 'let myself go'." His tone remains light, almost dreamy as he speaks to you, even though on the inside he can feel the suffocating emotions from before bubbling up again.

"I just thought you were having an off day, you're actually very handsome." The way you say it, like its a fact he should already know, makes his face warm. Those emotions dying quickly before they can rise again, for a complete stranger you seem to have a powerful hold over him, you're able to make him feel nervous and excited.

It's pleasant.

"Well," you start, "It's getting late, I'm sure we both have things to do before nighttime."

He glances at the mess he made during his episode, as much as he wanted to disagree he knew he needed to clean up. He wouldn't live in this embarrassment any longer.

"Yes, thank you again for calling me, Y/N. I hope you have a good night."

"You too."

"Stay safe." He hears the receiver cut off on your end, he sighs into the now quiet and lonely air. He's grateful for your ability to distract him, he would've caused more damage to not only his home but to himself had you not called.

Wally looks around at the carnage he caused, grateful he didn't damage his newly aquired pottery and flowers. It's time to fix this.

—————————

When Barnaby returns to the building he's immediately greeted by Frank, with a disgruntled Eddie in tow. He had taken a bit longer than he would've liked with the rat, but the boss told him to really work on the guy, and he wanted to be sure the body couldn't be found and linked back to them. He's very thorough.

So he's a bit tired when he's approached by Frank, their face intense.

"Something's wrong with Wally."

Immediately dread fills Barnaby, worried something happened while he was gone, "What happened?"

"We heard him screaming and loud noises, like things being broken, upstairs."

"And neither of you thought to check on him?!" He barks, immediately heading for the elevator.

"It wasn't like the sound of struggling, I know what a struggle sounds like. He's probably just having a fit, like usual now-a-days, and I don't want myself or Frank to be caught in the cross fire." Eddie replies, his tone indifferent.

Frank sighs, following close behind Barnaby, "I wanted to go up and see him, but after what happened with Howdy–"

"I know." Barnaby cuts him off. A vase hadn't been the only thing Wally had thrown at Howdy the last time he became like this, and the vase hadn't landed anyway; but a paper weight had, and so did his punches. Despite not liking him, Howdy had stood there and taken it, claiming the boss "needed that more than anyone knew".

Barnaby wishes it had been him, not Howdy. He didn't want Wally to hurt him, but he's his best friend and he wants to be the one that's there for him at his absolute lowest, as well as his highest. It feels like recently he's missing all of the moments that are crucial for helping his first friend.

"Thank you for letting me know, I'll go see him alone now. You two get back to…whatever you were doing, have a good night." Frank looks like they're about to respond but the elevator doors close, effectively cutting them off.

Barnaby sighs into the silence of the elevator, readying himself for what's to come when he reaches Wally's penthouse.

He's surprised when he arrives and the room is filled with gentle music coming from the Gramophone—the record player—across the spacious living area; someone's singing in the bathroom, he soon realizes it's Wally singing and he's even more stunned. Wally hasn't sung a song in all the time he's known him, claiming he couldn't carry a tune.

To Barnaby, he sounds like a professional, smooth and suave. It almost feels like he's intruding, but the mess of the room makes him stay. Wally seems to have started cleaning up his mess, which is a nice change of pace. Typically Julie would come in and clean for him after hearing he'd had an episode, saying he deserves a clean safe space, even if he's the one trashing the place.

Barnaby moves to relax on the sofa, careful to avoid the bag Wally had left. He sits and waits a while, enjoying the soft melody and the surprisingly relaxing aura that the chaotic room held. He finds himself humming along with Wally, not knowing the words of his song.

When he hears his friend's singing end and the water shut off his posture straightens and becomes a little tense; worried how his little buddy might react at his sudden intrusion.

To his surprise, Wally exits the bathroom in a plush bathrobe, hair expertly wrapped in a towel atop his head as he continues humming a tune; and when he catches sight of Barnaby he's shocked but smiles.

"Ah, you're back. I did wonder if you would come and see me again today, I'm glad you're back safe." He moves closer to the sofa, bare feet padding against the hard wood floors, "Sorry for the mess, I got a bit carried away again today. I'm also sorry if I've been short with you today."

"There's no need to apologize, Boss. I'm just glad you're looking better."

"I do look better don't I? It's amazing what a shower and a quick skin care routine can do to a man." He says as he rummages through the grocery bag on the couch, pulling out three bulky items wrapped in paper.

He sits next to Barnaby and unwraps them, the record now fading into a new melody. Wally places three…interesting vases on the low table in front of them. His smile seems brighter as he looks at them.

"You starting a collection?" Barnaby jokes.

Wally hums, "I'm considering it."

"I told Julie to buy flowers for the…rat's lady friend, I intended on sending her a message with them, only to find out she herself is a rat. So I decided I'd keep the flowers for myself, they're quite pretty." He explained, his voice soft.

"But what's with the pottery?"

Wally laughs, "Well pretty flowers need equally pretty vases, my friend." Barnaby wasn't sure he would call them pretty, but he wasn't an artist so what would he know?

"Why'd ya get three though?"

"You're awfully inquisitive today, aren't you?" For a moment Barnaby worries he's stepped too far, but Wally's tone sounds mostly teasing and light hearted, "I bought three because I couldn't just pick one that I liked; besides, my home could use more art."

"Yeah, sure. It's just nice to see you smiling and, uh, getting out there." He admits awkwardly, his smaller friend looking up at him with a wide grin, it seems genuine compared to his usual facade.

"It has been nice, today hasn't been perfect, but it's been nice." Wally rises from the sofa, grabbing the plain, lumpy vase and the bouquet as he moves to the kitchen.

Carefully, he fills the vase with the recommended amount of water and retrieves a bit of lemon juice he's had sitting in his fridge for a month now—it's been longer than a month, he just doesn't know that—he adds a few drops to the tap water before arranging the flowers inside the vase.

He carries the vase filled with flowers back to Barnaby and places them at the center of the low table, adjusting it's position on the table until he deems it perfect.

Wally sighs as he relaxes back onto the couch next to his much larger friend, "Now all I need is more flowers to fill the other two, perhaps I'll make paintings of them as well, they're inspiring me already." He didn't say what else might be inspiring him, but in his mind an image of you formed. Maybe he would sketch you as well.

Barnaby raised a brow at him, even though he wouldn't see it, and smiled, "Hey, I'm glad you're wanting to paint again little buddy, after what happened earlier I thought you might be giving up for good."

Mentioning their time together earlier that day seemed to sour Wally's mood a bit, "Yeah, well, torture and death aren't always the best motivation I've realized."

At his sudden tone change, Barnaby scrambles to get him back to his pleasant mood, "So where'd ya get the pottery? Any place I might know?"

This seems to work as a twinkle appears in his eyes once again and he turns to fully face Barnaby, a soft and genuine smile gracing his features.

"You might, Eddie talks about it all the time it would seem, everyone knew about it but me, ha ha." He continued, "Well, actually, I knew of the flower shop but I had never gone in before, until today. You might know it, it's (S/N), over on 9th Street."

Barnaby contemplates the location a moment, he can't say that he does recall a flower shop there, "It's not ringing any bells, but whats so special about it, you seem very…happy and I'm not so sure it's about a flower shop."

Wally's eyes widen and pink dusts across his cheeks, something Barnaby isn't sure he's ever seen happen to his friend before, "Well, I suppose it's about more than a shop, yes," then he stubbornly adds, "Although the flowers do make me happy."

Barnaby motions for him to continue, Wally sighs and while it sounds like frustration he still has a grin on his face.

That's when Barnaby learns about you, although he's certain he might have heard of you before through Eddie Dear, but he knows Eddie never talked about you so dreamily.

This is also when Barnaby learns that his best friend might have experienced love at first sight.

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x reader #eddie x frank #Mafia! AU #mafia!Wally Darling #wally has some personal issues #this is gonna be cheesy #its love at first sight #deal with it #barnaby beagle

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