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sohnric · 8 months

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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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seraphinitegames · 6 months

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The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 10/Nov/2023

Super busy week this week! We have a very strict schedule to ensure this Christmas story is released on time, so it’s full steam ahead :D

We decided to do this game on the Ren’py engine, which obviously is quite the switch. It will still be text-based, but we can add a bit more pizzazz to it with some fun Christmas designs, GUI, as well as add in some music!

Obviously, this does present the problem of not being able to transfer in saves from Choicescript, but as this is a stand-alone story not affected by main game events, so that’s not a worry.

But I do want it to be super quick and easy to make your MC in this game seeing as you can’t just transfer them in—definitely not have to go through dozens of screens to do that! So I’ve managed to come up with a way to make it that you can pick your stats on one screen—simple and quick!

Nai has been designing the GUI aspects, and they look SO merry and amazing! You might have seen the work-in-progress stat screen I was just talking about this week that she posted.

It’s been quite the experience re-learning how to code GUI again, as it’s been quite some time that I’ve worked on Ren’py, and it’s been updated quite a bit since then :D But it’s coming together really nicely, so very pleased with that and the feel it’s giving to the game!

Something else I forgot would need to be thought of is fonts. So we’ve been trying to figure out the best font to make it unique, Christmassy, but very readable.

We’re also starting to think about how to look for some testers for releasing it on Mac computers. I’ve never had issue with releasing visual novels on Mac in the past as Ren’py games seem pretty stable on those, but we want to be super sure of it before being able to say yay or nay! :D

And then of course there was writing and coding the actual game itself, hehe! I’m having to be more strict with myself on too many dialogue choice sets seeing as it’s supposed to be a lighter game…but you guys know what I’m like by now, lol! Still want it to feel like a Wayhaven game and just as immersive 😁.

I hope you all have an amazing weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, so I’ll update you all again next Friday <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #update #twc holiday magic #holiday magic #itch.io #ren'py

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urrockstar-xe · 6 months

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never enough - j.m x fem!reader

posted nov 2nd, 2023 12:16 am

hey, sorry i ghosted, I'm not doing to hot but here's something, I'm trying a little November challenge where i try and cope with life things where i write an imagine/blurb inspired by something that happened during my day, here's an argument i had with my mommy in a jj fic lol this isn't my best work but i hope u like it :3

this includes wording stating that the reader's hair is a texture that is easy to play with and the use of y/n and probably inaccurate JJ but i needed his comfort sue me

summary: How do you deal with having to have the very same (or at least very similar) conversations with your loved ones that involve what you're currently going through? Because that's the exact problem you’ve been having with JJ. angst to fluff??? kinda? hurt/comfort? idk

masterlist

wordcount: 1k

“You never do anything to show that you love me, JJ! You throw your arm around my shoulder and call it a fucking day”

Eventually what once was calm and civil and even mature conversations turn into screaming matches.

“I don’t know what else you fucking want from me, Y/n!” JJ’s voice bounced off the walls of the chateau which was luckily empty due to the small fire in the back.

“JJ, I expressed what I needed, I used my words and my actions to show and tell you exactly what I needed and you still couldn’t do me one small favor? I just wanted you to run your fingers through my hair a few times is that so fucking hard?” Your own voice was wavering in volume, sometimes louder and sometimes quiet, defeated even.

“I listen when you vent, I do better when we have a problem, I even fucking cancel my plans to spend time with you, nothing I do is ever fucking enough for you!” and there it was, the words slipping out of your dear boyfriend’s mouth before he could even think about it, the words that thrown in your face so very often, the words that made you question everything about yourself

He was trying, he was listening and he was being incredibly patient and understanding with you.

The look of regret from his words alone was enough to realize that.

Until that gross feeling of pride came onto you, possessing your entire being with the rage you’ve had building inside of you for months.

“Fuck you, JJ. fuck you, because I got upset with you and when I tried to walk away and blow off steam you got pissed and bitchy and didn’t fucking let me, and then when I explained my issue to you, you gave me a fucking attitude.” Your words were fast now, spewing out like a soda when you shake it too hard.

“I needed you! And I told you that! Just like you asked me to! How am I supposed to properly communicate with you when you tell me one thing and then turn around and do the fucking opposite!” it was less of a question and more of an accusation but at this point, it was hard to care.

You had tried responsibly talking to him, getting to a better place with him, but it wasn’t getting anywhere. Your relationship with JJ getting heavier on your shoulders and piling what smelt like loads of shit onto what you’ve already been struggling with.

“Y/n, baby-” JJ started but you were already out the door, feeling the guilt from ignoring him as you walked away yet still ignoring his calls even as your friends called out at the sight of you leaving what was supposed to be a night of freedom for the pogues.

When the next day came around the avoiding calls started, when JJ and Y/n got into a fight it caused tension in the entire friend group. There's a reason “pogues don’t date pogues” is such a big rule for you and your friends.

It wasn’t a rift it was just a fear, a fear of losing everything you all had,

all that you guys had.

But you couldn’t deal with the confrontation today, so you turned off your ringer and went about your day as normal, morning routine, work, go home, homework.

5 pm rolled around and you thought that maybe they had given up (feeding your delusional anxieties and fears at no fault of the pogues but still)

Then there was the knock on your door, and then another after you ignored the first,

This pattern repeated until eventually, you sighed, getting up from your bed to go down the hall and answer who you knew was your impatient boyfriend at the door.

“Hey, beautiful!” JJ’s voice was quiet as if he was astonished at the fact that you actually opened the door. The array of flowers sat loosely in his hands before he watched you look down at them and back up at him, wordlessly.

“Oh! This is for you, I uh, wanted to apologize.” JJ was almost stumbling over his words as he went to hand you the flowers, carefully examining you as you took them and moved back into your home,

He followed, mumbling more apologies before you set the small bouquet on the kitchen counter and turned to him.

“Listen, Y/n, You were right, I did ask you to be more clear on things you need from me and you were, and I, I dismissed you completely, I was just drunk and all over the place and I’m overworked like hell lately but these aren’t excuses and I’m sorry, my sweet girl, I really mean it” JJ’s words were calculated, he had thought about them all day and he did mean it,

despite this, there was still an aching feeling in your chest,

and the confusion and guilt you felt for still being upset about this stupid mistake caused the recurring tears to well up in your eyes as you stared at JJ’s chest, avoiding his eyes.

“Oh, baby” he whispered, quiet and delicate like if he spoke any louder you’d fall apart in front of him.

Carefully, JJ pulled you into him, not knowing what else to do but you let him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as sobs wrecked through your body, broken apologies barely being heard through your tears and shaky breaths but JJ still held you,

Playing with your hair and shushing you and whispering “It's okay, baby” to every little apology that slipped past your lips.

You stood with each other like this until you eventually calmed down, JJ had managed to lean against the counter and in turn, get you to lean on him.

“I’ll do better baby I promise” He whispered into your hair, hoping you could hear it through the small pains of your hiccups from crying.

“I’m sorry there's always something wrong with me” you mumbled back, the soft laugh from JJ catching you off guard as he pulled you back just enough to hold your tear-stained cheeks in his hands.

“There’s always somethin’ wrong with us, we’re pogues.” He teased, earning a quiet scoff from you before he shut you up with a soft kiss pressed to your swollen lips and then one on your nose, and another on your forehead.

“We’ll be okay, pretty lady, we’ll get through it,”

#jj maybank x you #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj mayback imagine #outer banks imagines #jj maybank #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank angst

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doodlebeeberry · 6 months

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It's that time of year folks!!!

Very very excited to host the gift exchange once again! Past two years have been a ton of fun, so lets hope the third is even better!

if you wanna join, just reblog/reply to this post or dm me with what you'd like. full rules, dates, and details are under the cut, please read those fully first before joining!!! :]

Entries close midnight (est) November 27th!!

For the uninitiated, the osc gift exchange is exactly what it sounds like! you let me know via reblog/reply/dm what you'd like as part of your gift--whether that's a certain show, character, ship, oc, anything! Then, you'll be randomly assigned a giftee and will make a gift based on their request. Finally, once the day comes, you post your gift and @ the person its for!

the timeline looks like this:

Nov. 11-27: enter by letting me know what you'd like! as with previous years, I ask that you keep your gift requests sfw, and to please send me references for any ocs you may want as part of your gift. As well, if there's anything you cant do (ie, a character or paring that makes you uncomfortable) please let me know when you join!

Dec. 1: I'll let you know who you've been assigned! please be sure you have dms (or at the very least asks) open for this bit!

Dec. 1-30: Make your gift! this can be anything from art to writing to music to needlepoint--so long as you include the giftee's request, the possibilities are endless!

Dec. 31: post your gift, and be sure to @ who its for in the post! Please do not post your gift before this date!!! if for whatever reason this date does not work for you please let me know and we'll work something out!!

Assorted other things to note:

please make sure your gift requests are osc/ object show related! if you dont know what that is then this likely isnt the gift exchange for you lol

you dont have to do everything your giftee requests if you dont wanna. If they give you a list of 20 characters, you can pick 1, 5, 10, all 20, the choice is up to you!

if you need to drop out for any reason please let me know as soon as possible so I can reassign your giftee

not a hard and fast rule but if you could shoot me a message when you get your giftee letting me know you saw the message, itd be much appreciated!!!

you can not join anonymously! It wouldnt be fair to your giftee, in my mind, if you did :]

on a related note, while i try to make the exchange as open to everyone as possible, if i deem it necessary i can and will bar you from participating if your inclusion would be detrimental to other giftees. while i dont anticipate needing to do so (so there isnt really a reason for you to worry about it) this was an issue last year. In the very unlikely event that I dont let you join, please dont yell at me about it. just accept it and move on.

as per usual, ill be using the tag #osc gift exchange for the event, so feel free to tag your posts so i can find them! :D

And that's it! if youve got any other questions or comments, feel free to ask and ill do my best to answer them! Thank you! ^-^

#didnt wind up going with the form cause i dont have it in me to make one rn (i appreciate the input on the matter tho!)#and now for the tag spam. yay!#osc #object show community #ii #bfdi #tpot #bfb #bfdia #inanimate insanity #battle for dream island #hfjone #onehfj #osc gift exchange #object oc #gonna have to reblog this in the morning cause 9 pm is NOT a good posting time lmao

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

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Update 27 Nov 23

Ko-Fi thing

You can call me Nyarla, I guess.

Or "Yo She-Bitch." Either's cool.

Soooo I figured I might need to make one of those MASTERLIST things because I cannot stop writing (which is the most amazing feeling ever when I've been in a writer's block for months).

It's just One Piece Live Action right now, but as my confidence increases I might post some of my other fandom work.

I'm Open for Requests for OPLA fics and headcanon. Primarily Character X FemaleReader, but I'm flexible.

I do reserve the right to not write every single request that is asked, since I am human and my abilities do have limitations, but I swear I will try.

I'm not squeamish about much of anything, so don't refrain. I'll always post any necessary ⚠️Trigger Warnings⚠️ right here with the links.

I'm always open to requests for Shanks, Mihawk, Zoro, and Sanji. Possibly also Buggy, Luffy, Usopp, Koby, and Helmeppo, but I haven't written them much, so please bear with me if it takes me a bit to respond.

Honestly please bear with me if it takes me a while to respond to Asks/Requests in general because I get really nervous about getting them perfect.

Some things about the weirdo that's writing this shit can be found here

Masterlist

The Lovely Alphabet (NSFW)

Sanji

Zoro

Shanks

Mihawk

Dialog I Presently Have No Use For

(But might eventually) (basically mini dialogue-centric fics that may make there way into something else later or might not)

01 Get Out

02 Can We Keep Her?

03 What Happens in Loguetown

04 Coffins and Coping Mechanisms

05 Kitty

06 Send Help

07 Pep Talk

08 Death Wish

09 Oh No Not Again

10 Shanty Time!

11 No Sleep

12 The Throngler™

The Best Boys

First Kiss

Material Boys (NSFW)

I Don't Even Know Music Or Something?

Ooooh...Kinky ;D (NSFW)

In the Kitchen

HAMMERED

Because I Got High

Whoops

Short Stuff

Hobbies

ABCs of Kink (NSFW)

D is for Dominance (First Kiss sequal)

P is for Public Blacksmith's Daughter Part 1 . . . Part 2 . . . Part 3

Mihawk

Your Scars Are Mine (NSFW)

(Trigger Warnings for Self-Harm, Blood, Implied PTSD)

Ch. 1 . . . Ch. 2 . . . Ch. 3

Ten Years (unofficial sequel to YSAM) (NSFW)

Mood Swings (mostly SFW headcanons)

Hearing Problems (NSFW eventually)

Guess this is important

All OC Face Claims and Character Sheet Links

Ch.1 . . . Ch. 2 . . . Ch. 3 . . . Ch. 4 . . . Ch. 5 . . . Ch. 6 . . . Ch. 7

Sanji

Late Night Chats

X plus-sizeReader Headcanons (NSFW)

Tongue Ring headcanons

Zoro

Strawhat Stowaway Ch. 1 . . . Ch. 2

Shanks

Redhead suppremacy (sfw headcanons)

!!COMIMG SOON!!

(...I hope)

(Some titles subject to change)

Tongue Ring (F is for Food Play)

Blacksmith's Daughter part 2 (P is for Public, ABC's of Kink)

O is for O Denial

B is for Brat Tamer

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 6 months

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Fight Me, Love Me, Save Me Pt. 2

This will fill the Broken Promises square on my @jacklesversebingo card.

Summary: A series in three parts exploring Y/N's and Dean's relationship from bickering children, to love and broken promises, to a plea for salvation.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Some light smut. Mostly just making out. Kissing, fondling, etc. Some angst, lots of fighting, cause it's them. Also brief scene involving threatening behavior from a creep. Nothing explicit.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 4,398

A/N: So this series will fill the last three squares on my bingo card. This part covers "It's Mine, and you can't have it." Part two will cover Broken Promises, (Nov 12) and part three will be for the Isolated/Trapped square. (Nov 19)

I hope you enjoy!! If you do, please remember to like, reblog and/or comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

Read Part 1 Here

The dividers included here were created by @talesmaniac89

The first year of dating for Dean and Y/N was a rollercoaster. For the first month or so, they tiptoed around each other. They knew their relationship had obviously changed but they weren’t sure about the parameters of what it was now. So, they were both extra polite to each other, terrified that they were gonna ruin this new thing, and possibly everything that came before it. Y/N didn’t want to finally realize Dean was her best friend one day, only to lose him completely the next.

So they circled around each other, sniffing at the air for warning signs. Their first fight came about a month and a half in.

They were living in Omaha, Nebraska for the time being. It was fairly centralized and their dads were using it as a bit of a home base for a while. Y/N was hoping she’d be lucky and they’d stay until she graduated so she wouldn’t have to change schools one more time.

They were renting an apartment together, and it was a nice change from motels and life on the road, but the apartment was tiny. It was only a one bedroom, and they’d turned that bedroom into a kind of weapons/training room. So they all slept in cots on the floor in the living room. It wasn’t ideal, but it still felt more like a home than a motel did.

One evening, Y/N was studying late at the library, determined to graduate on time and with a good GPA, regardless of her constantly revolving education. So, she’d deserted the noisy apartment and headed for some peace and quiet. John and her dad had been arguing about an old hunt, and Sam and Dean had discovered a bunch of old board games, deserted in the hallway closet. They’d found Jenga and had started out playing the game as it was intended to be played, which was loud enough. But it quickly devolved into them simply smashing down everything the other one built and then fighting about it.

She’d called out her intention to go to the library a few blocks down, and had been greeted by four male grunts in response.

Sometimes being the only female of the group was frustrating.

After a couple of hours at the library, Y/N was satisfied she had a handle on her history essay, and packed up to leave. As she put her things into her backpack, she noticed an older guy, maybe in his early fifties, in a hoodie and heavy canvas jacket watching her. It was slightly unnerving, but she just added him to the list of pervy dudes she’d encountered in her life, and left the library.

As she walked outside she saw that it had begun snowing, and it was much darker than she’d expected; she still wasn’t used to the darker days of early winter. As she walked, she pulled her thin, inadequate jacket tighter, and crossed her arms. There was something a little eerie, about the gray-black sky and the snow-muffled sounds around her.

She picked up her pace.

When she was about a block away from home, she heard the snow crunch behind her and suddenly the pervy guy was standing beside her. She jumped and yelped and the guy just laughed.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, honey. You should be careful wandering off places on your own though.” He grinned yellow teeth at her. “Someone as pretty as you could give folks ideas.”

Her fear of this man angered her and her ornery nature spoke before she could think better of it. “Oh really,” she scoffed, “and just what would those ‘folks’ be thinking?”

He didn’t like her attitude, and he scowled. His voice was low and definitely threatening as he leaned closer to her, invading her personal space and making her curl her lip in disgust.

“They could be thinking you were out here alone, lookin’ for trouble. Maybe hintin’ to folks you’re after a good time.”

Y/N felt her heart start to race as the silence and alone-ness of her situation hit her and she realized just how vulnerable she was. She started running through all of her training, just where to kick, just what vulnerable spots to target.

But thankfully, after one more lingering scan of her body, the man decided to move on, leaving her shivering, but not even noticing the cold anymore.

She double-timed it back to the apartment and ran through the door, locking it quickly behind herself. She jumped when Dean spoke.

“There you are.” He said as he approached. When she jumped and spun to face him, he held his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Whoa, easy there sweetheart.”

He saw her fear and quickly closed the distance between them, grabbing hold of her upper arms. “What happened?”

Y/N shook her head, feeling silly now for letting one old creepy guy scare her so badly. “No, nothing.” She said, looking around at the empty room. “Where is everyone else?”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “They just left on a burger run. But it’s clearly not nothing. You flew in here like a bat outta hell, and you’re terrified.” He said with a frown.

Y/N stepped out his hands and shook her head again. “Seriously, it’s fine.” When Dean just folded his arms and continued to stare at her, she shrugged. “Look, it wasn’t anything, okay? Just - a creepy guy got a little close and gave me the jeebs, okay?”

Predictably Dean’s jaw tensed and he immediately reached for his jacket. “What does he look like?” He said as he shrugged it on. Y/N marched up to him and yanked the jacket back down his arms.

“You are not going out there after him.” Dean wrestled his jacket away from her and started putting it back on. “Dean, listen to me. What the hell is the plan here? Even if you could find him, which you won’t, what are you going to say to him?”

Dean scowled down at her. “I’m not gonna SAY anything. I think a bloody nose will speak volumes.”

Y/N rushed to stand between him and the door. “Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t do anything to me.”

Dean scoffed. “You came in here terrified, Y/N. Now that doesn’t happen because of nothing.”

Y/N shook her head. “Look, it was just stupid of me okay? I panicked. He was just being gross, and he said that…” She waved away the memory of his predatory look. “I overreacted.”

Dean’s voice was dark and deadly. “Bullshit. You don’t overreact about stuff like this. This guy was obviously trash.” When Y/N shrugged her acquiescence, Dean sighed and then frowned at her again. “What the hell were you doing walking around in the dark, alone, anyway? What were you thinking? You should’ve called me to come pick you up.”

Y/N felt her hackles rise at his scolding tone. “I didn’t need you to pick me up, it’s like four blocks away.”

“Well, obviously you did, because some creep came after you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth. “And that’s my fault now?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s your fault the guy’s a creep, but you should’ve known better than to walk home alone in the dark.”

“Screw you, Winchester!” Y/N exploded, all her pent up fear and adrenaline rushing forth. “I should be able to walk four fucking blocks without some disgusting mouth breather thinking he can come after me, thinking he has the right to…to…and then to tell me ‘people were gonna get ideas’ about me? Is that what this is, Dean? Does me having the audacity to walk four blocks without a goddamn escort make you believe I’m game for anything? That it must mean I wanna be thrown down for a roll in the snow?”

She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. Tears started to fall and she dashed them away instantly. Nothing frustrated her more than the fact that anger and fury made her cry.

Dean was staring at her, looking a little shell-shocked. She stomped past him and slammed herself into the bathroom. She didn’t come out until she heard everyone else get back. She and Dean didn’t talk over supper; if anyone noticed their silence, they never mentioned it.

Hours later Y/N was laying in the dark listening to the men around her snoring and she sighed and stood up, walking carefully through the narrow path of cots. She threw on her jacket and shoes and stepped outside. She needed fresh air.

She wasn’t outside very long when Dean stepped outside to join her. He didn’t say anything, just breathed into his hands in an attempt to warm them up.

Y/N shot a look his way. “You out here to make sure I have a suitable chaperone?”

Dean sighed and then reached for her hand; she let him take it. He nodded his head sideways. “Come on, let’s warm up.” He tugged her towards the Impala and she followed.

Dean slipped into the front seat to turn on the car, running the heater and putting the radio on low, but then he climbed into the back seat, beckoning Y/N to join him. She slid into the seat, but sat apart from him, slightly rigid. She felt awkward and unsure. They’d fought - what happened now?

Dean was silent for a while too, until he finally let out a little puff of air and a laugh, shaking his head.

Y/N looked at him warily. “What’s so funny?”

Dean shrugged, and shot her a heart melting smile. “I’ve never apologized to you after fighting with you, I kind of don’t know how. In the past we never apologized for pissing each other off, we just scowled at each other for a few hours and then got burgers.”

Y/N couldn’t help a small smile. “I mean, I could eat.”

Dean laughed again, and pulled her close to him as the tension between them dissolved away. “I really am sorry though, sweetheart. I never meant to make it seem like I thought it was your fault some jackass acted like a pig towards you. I just…” He hesitated before continuing. “Well, I panicked a bit at the idea of you being alone and vulnerable. But, you’re right, doesn’t mean you need a bodyguard. Hell, I know you could have kicked his ass.”

Y/N smiled up at him, but her voice was a little shaky. “Maybe, but you’re right too. In that moment I felt really vulnerable. In spite of all my training, in spite of everything, he really scared me.” She snuggled herself deeper into Dean’s side and he held her tighter. “And that made me really angry, which I sort of took out on you. Sorry.”

Dean shrugged, jostling her slightly. “Nah, I deserved it.”

She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his warm chest. They stayed like that for a long time, just savoring the happiness of making it through their first fight intact. They didn’t realize (but probably should have) that it was going to be the first fight of many.

Both Y/N and Dean were incredibly stubborn, with quick tempers, and strong emotions. That often led to arguments, which sometimes led to all out fights.

One of the things they fought about was what Y/N was going to do after she graduated. She was up in the air about her next move, and Dean was horrified by the idea of her living across the country, and going about her life every day without him, and far worse was the idea of him having to live every day without her. He tried to get that across to her but it never came out right, and she always accused him of trying to tell her what to do with her life, trying to hold her down.

They had a few knock down, drag out fights over that subject, before Y/N made the decision to wait on college at least for now. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted to do with her life anyway, so for now at least, she was a hunter. But she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted forever. Their fathers made it seem as though that was their only choice, and she knew Dean believed that, but she and Sam weren't so sure.

For the time being though, she was satisfied to keep traveling and hunting, spending all her free time with Dean, fighting and making up.

The making up was worth the fights.

For the most part, Sam and their dads stayed clear of them when they were in battle mode. They’d all been thrown for a loop when they found out Dean and Y/N were dating. When they told their dads, at first the two men weren’t thrilled. But eventually they settled for telling them to just make sure not to let it affect the team.

But poor Sam on the other hand, found out about them in a much more visceral way - by walking in on them, locked in a heated embrace, in the motel room one day, only a few days after they started dating.

"What the hell?" Sam exclaimed loudly as Dean and Y/N leapt apart. Sam's face wore a look of deep disgust.

Dean grinned and shrugged, pulling a blushing Y/N back into his arms.

"Sorry, little brother, but it's true. Y/N couldn't resist me any longer."

Sam made a retching noise, and Y/N elbowed Dean in the ribs. "Sorry if it's weird, Sam, we probably should have told you."

Sam's expression was still disbelieving and slightly horrified but he shrugged slowly.

"Whatever. Just…" He held up a hand and his voice was pleading. "Never make out around me. Please! And for God's sake, learn to lock a door."

"What good would that do?" Dean called after him as he walked away. "You have a key!"

***

They celebrated their one year anniversary the fall after Y/N graduated. Dean took her out to a nice dinner. He had to wear a jacket and tie, and he fidgeted in it all evening, but he wanted to spoil Y/N a bit, so he just dealt with it.

After dinner though, he chucked his suit jacket in the backseat, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves before climbing behind the wheel and taking them for a long drive. They listened to music and Y/N even forced Dean to sit through a few of the sappy love songs she’d put together on a mixed tape. He scowled the whole time, but he held her hand and pulled her closer to him on the seat.

Finally, not long before midnight, he pulled down a deserted road and then off the road into an abandoned field. He put the car in park and cut the engine, leaving the radio playing softly in the background.

Y/N shot him a knowing smile and her voice was coy when she spoke. “And what, pray tell, are we doing here?”

Dean shrugged and put on an innocent face. “Oh, I don’t know. I was thinking maybe we could, uh…play some games…twenty questions? I spy?”

Y/N stifled her laugh to nod solemnly. “Right. Okay, I’ll start. I spy…a big fat liar.”

Dean grabbed his chest as though mortally wounded. “Ugh! I spy my very injured heart.”

Y/N laughed softly. “That’s really not the way you play the game.”

Dean dropped his hands from his broken heart and turned towards her. “No? K, then twenty questions.” He picked up her hand and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. His emerald green gaze bore into hers and she felt butterflies start fluttering in her lower belly.

His voice was low, and rich, and smooth as he asked, “What am I thinking about right now?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flame as she read his intentions, plain as day, in the heated look that spread across his face.

She laughed breathlessly and corrected him. “That’s not how you play that game either. You’re supposed to pick a person, place or thing, and then I have to guess it.”

Dean nodded. “Ah, I see.” He responded, as though this was all new information. “Okay, then I pick person. Guess WHO I'm thinking about right now.”

Y/N bit her lip and closed an eye as though she was thinking hard. “Hmm…is she…bigger than a breadbox?” She asked and grinned.

“Barely.” Dean answered with a chuckle, just before he lifted her easily into his lap, making her gasp in surprise.

She settled herself on his thighs, wiggling against him and eliciting a groan from Dean. She knew the cause of it and grinned devilishly. She asked her next question as she played with his tie. “Do I know her?”

“Hmph.” Dean grunted. “The answer to that is very philosophical.”

Y/N looked up at him through her lashes. “It has to be yes or no answers.”

“20 Questions is no fun. Let's go back to I Spy.” Dean said as he began trailing his thumb across Y/N's bottom lip. “I spy, a pair of lips I really wanna kiss.”

He brushed his lips across hers like a breath. She sighed and chuckled. “You really suck at these games.” Her gaze was mischievous as Dean looked into her eyes.

He shrugged and plunged his hand into her hair. “Fine, I give up. I lose.” He said before covering her mouth with his, sucking the breath from her body.

He pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers. “Wow.” Y/N said breathlessly. “You letting me win, that's a first.”

Dean grinned. “Well, I think we both win, actually.” His grin faded into something softer, and he shifted away from her and lowered his thick lashes, hiding his bright green orbs from view

“And I think maybe…this might be a night to talk about…firsts.”

They were both silent a moment before Dean looked back at her. His gaze was earnest and he was quick to reassure her.

“I'm not saying we have to do anything or…anything. Just…we should probably talk about it.” He bit his lip and shot her a worried look. “I mean, dontcha think?”

Y/N thought of how far they'd gone recently, spurned on by incredible heat and passion, and an endless need to get closer, ever closer to each other. But they always stopped themselves, pulling away from each other with extreme difficulty.

She nodded at Dean; yes, they should definitely talk about it.

Yet both of them stayed quiet. Finally Y/N just reached up and kissed him again, pushing her fingers through his short hair to grasp the back of his head and press him tighter against her.

He licked her lips open and she whimpered slightly. They traded breaths, and tasted each other thoroughly. Dean's hand slid up from her waist to slide under her blouse and trace along the top of her bra. He moved his mouth down the column of her throat and Y/N leaned back to give him easier access.

When she did so, however, her back bumped into the horn, making them both jump and then start laughing. Y/N buried her face in Dean's neck and tried to catch her breath.

Dean pulled her hand up and kissed her palm. “Maybe we should continue this conversation in the back seat?”

Y/N nodded shyly.

She slid off of his lap and then followed him outside as he opened the back door. He went to the trunk and before they got in, he laid down a soft wool blanket that's smelled just a bit like metal and car oil.

Dean scooted all the way over to lean against the passenger side door, pulling Y/N back into his lap.

After a minute he cleared his throat. “K, before we go get distracted again, we're gonna talk, yeah?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, talk.” There was a beat pause. “I think we should have sex.”

Dean's eyes widened at the blunt suggestion. “Like…now?” He asked, his words a little strangled.

Y/N laughed. “Yes, now. Given how rarely we're alone together, if we don't do it now, we may have to wait another entire year.”

Dean chuckled but looked hesitant. “Y/N I don't want you to feel like we're on some kind of schedule here. I mean -”

Y/N interrupted him. “No, Dean. I just mean, I don't wanna…I mean, I can't wait anymore.”

She reached up and ran her hand down his cheek. “I want you, and I’m…I'm ready.”

Dean clasped her hand on his cheek and pulled her fingers to his lips, kissing each tip. “Me too, sweetheart. Been ready for a long time in fact.”

Y/N smiled shyly and stretched up to kiss the corner of his jaw, cut square and as sharp as glass. Dean curled in on her, unbuttoning the first few buttons on her blouse and pushing it off her shoulder so he could kiss her there. His teeth scraped delicately across her skin.

Y/N gasped and shuddered. Dean pulled back to look down at her. He brushed the wispy tendrils of hair off her face as he studied her flushed cheeks and shallow breathing.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, he smiled at her and spoke, slightly hesitant.

“Are you scared?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, not scared. Just,” she ducked her head, “just nervous I guess.” She met his gaze again. “It's a big deal, you know?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Y/N bit her lip before licking them. “You've…um…you've done it. Before. Right?”

Dean looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, then. “How many girls?”

Dean scowled and cleared his throat. “Y/N let's…I don't wanna talk about this. We don't have to talk about this.”

Y/N shifted slightly in his lap again and Dean hissed and clenched his jaw against the movement as she responded. “Come on. You were there in the same health class as me, listening to Coach Ginter tell us we need to know about our partner's sexual history.”

“Y/N.”

“Come on.” She urged him. “I wanna know. It's the responsible thing to do. You know about all zero of my former partners."

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes slightly. “Okay, if I tell you, you're not gonna freak out?”

“No, of course not.”

“Promise?”

It was Y/N's turn for an eye roll. “Yes, I promise.”

Dean breathed out through his nose and was quiet a moment. “Five.”

Y/N's eyes widened. “You've had sex five times?”

Dean shook his head. “No, five girls. I've had sex lots of times.”

He seemed to catch his mistake and and shook his head dismissively. “But they don't matter.”

But Y/N wasn't listening. “Who were they?”

Dean sat up straight. “Uh uh. We're not doing that.”

Y/N raised her voice slightly and slid off Dean's lap to sit on the seat. “Doing what? This is the proper thing to do. Coach Ginter said that we-”

“Jesus Christ!”Dean barked out and then let out a thoroughly exasperated laugh. “Would you stop bringing up the image of Coach Ginter is his fucking short shorts and sweat-stained white t-shirts. It's really killing the vibe here.”

Y/N wasn't laughing. “The only thing killing the vibe is the fact that you won't tell me who the scores of women were that you slept with.”

Dean frowned. “Not scores. Five.” He held up a hand full of fingers. “Five.”

“Okay, then who were they?”

Dean dropped his head into his hand. “Y/N!” He growled.

“Just tell me.” Y/N said, in what was clearly a forced calm. “It's no big deal, I'm just curious.”

Dean sighed deeply before looking back at her. “You have to promise, swear!” He said with a raised finger. “That you're not gonna get mad.”

Y/N was shaking her head before he finished. “Of course not.”

“Say ‘I promise’.”

“I promise.” Y/N said, hand over heart.

After a minute Dean took a deep breath. “Tracey Reeves. She was my first.”

The name rang a bell, and Y/N squinted, searching her memory, and then it dawned on her and her face became slack with shock, quickly followed by outrage.

“Tracey REEVES!! You mean that sadistic bitch who tortured me at the start of our freshman year?”

Dean scoffed. “Come on! It was initiation! All the seniors were torturing freshman! I got tortured too! It was just hazing. I mean, it wasn't that bad, for god's sake it was a fucking school event. The principal was there!"

Y/N pouted. “Yeah well, your little sweetie pie dumped that jar of mayonnaise on my head with just a bit too much glee.”

Dean rolled his eyes and then Y/N held a hand up. “Wait, wait. We left there before Halloween. So…” Her eyes got big. “You lost your virginity when you were fourteen?” Her voice was all disbelief.

Dean's jaw clenched. “Is this judgment?”

Y/N looked away and shook her head. “Who else?”

Dean growled again. “Ugh! Y/N, come on!”

“Who?!”

“You don't know three of them, k? You never met them.”

Y/N did quick math. “And the fifth one? Who was she?”

Dean stared at her, and Y/N could tell he was frustrated beyond belief, but her stubbornness wouldn't let her stop. She stared defiantly at him, waiting for him to answer.

He shook his head and spoke quietly. “You still promising to not get mad?” He said sarcastically.

“I'm not mad.” Y/N insisted.

Dean rolled his eyes and mumbled out his answer. “Sam's tutor, Casey.”

Y/N felt her heart stop. “She's…she was tutoring Sam when we got together.”

Dean stepped on the end of her sentence. “It was before that. Before we got together.”

Y/N squeezed her hands into balls with white knuckles. “How long before?”

“Who cares?” Dean shouted defensively. “The only thing that matters is the ‘before’ part!”

But Y/N was barely listening. She was doing more math. “She was only tutoring Sam for like a week before we started dating.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mumbled, “You have the fucking memory of an elephant.”

When Y/N just kept staring at him he heaved a sigh and spoke angrily. “Fine, yes, it was three or four days before we got together.”

Y/N felt her heart begin to hurt. “You said, but you said you liked me then. You said, you’ve liked me since we were kids.”

“I did!” Dean said vehemently, and then amended his words. “I have! I do!”

“But that whole week leading up to us getting together, you said you knew I was jealous, you knew I was interested.”

“No, I said, I HOPED you might be interested. I didn't know anything for sure.”

“And you couldn't wait to find out?!” Y/N asked near tears. “You just slept with some other girl and then three days later started kissing me? What did Casey think about this? I mean she came over at least four or five more times after that. Did you, uh, decide to go for a second round just to say goodbye?”

Dean's face became immobile and expressionless but his eyes were hurt and hard. “If you actually think that, think I'd do that, what the fuck are you doing here with me? Why are you with me at all?”

“I don't know!” Y/N shouted, her temper exploding. “Maybe if I'd known I was dating some kind of man-whore I wouldn't be here!”

Her temper tried to blind her to the way Dean flinched at her words, but she saw it, and it sat heavy in her heart. But her chest was heaving and her eyes burned and she refused to apologize.

Dean didn't say anything. He just opened the door and walked out to get to the driver's seat. Y/N stayed in the back. He started up the car and drove them all the way home in silence.

The night that had started with so much promise and excitement, had been shattered; promises made and broken. But the broken promise of them - what they almost were - that was what cut Y/N the most.

This fight felt different. It felt final, dark. Jealousy and hurt feelings, anger and resentment festered between them.

For days that turned into weeks they avoided each other as much as possible. Dean was gone all the time, and it ripped Y/N's heart out to think of where he might be spending his time.

She wanted to say sorry, wanted the fight to just melt away between them as they always had before. They'd been so close to something permanent, something binding between them, and now it was ruptured, leaving a crater between them.

She didn't know how to cross it.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95 @lacilou @jc-winchester @spnwoman @mimi-luvzyu @jackles010378

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl @spalady26 @slut-for-evans-stan

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @jensensgotyoudean @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous @k-slla @stoneyggirl2

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #jacklesversebingo23 #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester series

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Text

I've Got You

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and your flatmate have perfected the art of wingmanship for one another. It’s a great system that seems to work every single time, until you’re left unsatisfied.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, rpf, fem!reader, smut, angst

Author’s note: baby’s first smutty series - sorry if it’s bad! The insane reaction I got to part 4 was really unexpected and I loved every second of it - I really hope part 5 lives up to everyone's expectation!! Extra special thanks to my buddies @ghostinthebackofyourhead and @dirtyeddietini for inspiring, encouraging and being so very unbearably supportive for absolutely no reason: I love ya! (rewritten on 13 nov 2023)

Wordcount: 5.1K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe meant for you to talk to that girl for him. You scanned Joe’s face to see if he was joking. Hoped he was joking. Please, be joking.

But all you could see was drunken haziness in Joe’s eyes and you swore your vision coloured pure red for a second.

Oh no.

Feelings.

You managed to keep a fairly straight face, but you felt how anger washed over you. How it engulfed and swallowed you right up. You were seething. Absolutely livid.

Mostly at Joe, but you also felt some of it clawing at you inwardly. You were angry with yourself because, of course.

Of fucking course.

Why the fuck was this not what you had expected on this night out?

You were an idiot.

So was Joe.

But you, my God. You were the biggest idiot ever. But now was not the time to punish yourself. You'd just been given a task, hadn't you?

Your flatmate had seen a pretty girl he wanted you to talk to for him. To work your magic on her.

So, you clenched your jaw, and your expression went cold. You could almost feel the protection mechanisms within your body turn on to guard you, thick walls shooting up all around you as you turned away from Joe to walk over to the beautiful blonde girl in the corner.

With every step, you felt more outside of yourself, slightly more dazed, the loud music a little more muffled in your ears as everything went a little fuzzy, but, there was no mistaking. You were absolutely on your way to talk to this girl for Joe.

Just before you reached her, you looked back and saw that Joe was watching you. Your eyes almost let a little sadness slip through, and you hoped Joe didn’t catch it.

When you made eye contact with her, a moment you would normally use to display your best smile, you leant in and touched her arm, your face expressionless when you spoke to her.

She seemed kind and immediately ducked her head down and leant in a little to listen to you.

As you were talking, her eyes found Joe’s, and he smirked at her. Just for a moment, she smiled back at him, but then, her face contorted, and she leant back to look at you before leaning in to speak into your ear over the music.

Joe was watching the two of you talk to each other from afar, a little confused.

This wasn’t how this usually went.

You exchanged more words with the beautiful blonde, and Joe thought it was taking too long. It never took this long. Then, in a wild turn of events, he saw the girl pout at you, all empathetic eyes and scrunched up brows as she pulled you in for a hug.

Joe tried to make sense of what he was witnessing.

Couldn't.

He read your lips as you told her, “You’re welcome.” before you turned away and started on your way over back to Joe.

The beautiful blonde didn’t follow you, and Joe didn’t understand.

“What happened? What did you tell her?” Joe questioned when you were close enough.

“I’ve got the flat tonight,” you didn’t want to see him for a bit and claimed the flat just to have it for yourself.

You passed him and carried on your way towards the exit, face still just as flat and emotionless as it had been when you'd spoken to this random girl you'd never seen before. You would've remembered her if you had, you thought. She was the kind of pretty where you knew she'd look almost better first thing in the morning.

Of course Joe had picked her from the crowd.

Of course.

Yea, there was no way you were going to stay at the bar for any longer.

Fuck this evening.

You felt Joe’s fingers wrap around your wrist from behind you in a weak bid to make you stay, but you were quick to snag your arm away from him and didn’t bother looking back.

The whole way back to your flat, there was one thought that you couldn’t shake. There were many other thoughts, sure, like, Joe was a bastard, and also a knobhead… and a wanker, an idiot, a tosser, a twat, just– all of the above.

And you, you were an idiot, and also stupid… and foolish, naive, and gullible, because you’d unknowingly convinced yourself that there’d been more to you and Joe.

It had just been a week and you’d been dumb enough to now think that you were more than just flatmates who casually got each other off sometimes.

But the absolute worst thought, one that kept creeping back in no matter how much you tried to evict it from your brain permanently, was that you had feelings for Joe now.

Feelings.

For Joe!

Absolutely disgusting.

When you heard the front door to your flat open, you checked your phone and saw it was 4 o’clock in the morning. You weren’t entirely sure if you’d slept. It felt like your mind had just been racing thoughts, but they could’ve also been dreams. All you knew is that you felt awful, emotionally, but physically too, as you felt your hangover creep in in real time.

The way Joe moved into the flat was incredibly delicately done, like he didn’t want you to know that he was creeping in. The click of the door closing was almost undetectable from your spot in your bed, even with your bedroom door left ajar.

You had said that you had the flat, so technically, Joe should have at least texted to check if it was okay to come in.

But then again, Joe had probably also seen you leave by yourself a couple of hours earlier, so he must’ve gathered it was okay to come in. Or, he was just drunk, like you had been when you’d walked in hours earlier.

Come to think of it, you had a hard time recollecting your own stumbling into the flat if you were honest.

You could hear the soft ruffle of shoes being taken off and very carefully placed down onto the floor. It was followed by soft footsteps of socks that slid down your hall, the door to your bathroom then opening and closing before the light switch flicked on inside.

Why did Joe smell of pineapple?

And why were you able to smell it from your bedroom?

You listened as the shower turned on, the water clattering against the tiles, and you tried to focus on the white noise of it to help you drift off instead of the visual of Joe’s naked wet body in the room next to yours.

You stirred awake slightly when you felt your covers move on your left and the mattress dipping in.

“Hey,” Joe softly whispered and cuddled up behind you, like he so very often would do.

Your groggy mind momentarily chose to ignore every negative emotion towards your flatmate that had been brewing inside you and you relaxed under his arm that squeezed around your waist, pressing your bodies together.

Joe smelled like your shampoo, mixed with your body scrub. You could feel him move your hair aside, away from where his face then nuzzled into the crook of your neck, and you tried to hide the emotion that shot up into your throat unexpectedly.

But Joe had felt it – the small gasp, the quickened breathing, the tensing of your stomach; it was all too telling.

It only made him want to squeeze you into him tighter, but he didn’t get the chance to. Stubborn as you were, you refused to crack where Joe could see, so you moved away from his grasp.

“Don’t use my stuff in the shower.” You spoke into the dark and you used your hand to remove Joe’s from your waist, scooting over until your bodies were no longer touching.

For a few seconds it was eerily quiet behind you.

No movement, no breathing; like Joe wasn’t there for a second.

Then, you felt and heard him move, turning over in the bed to face away from you.

You spent maybe ten more minutes listening to Joe’s breathing before you decided you didn’t want to be there and got up and out to spend the last early morning hours fast asleep on the sofa.

For the next few days, you didn’t talk about it, because what was there to say? You avoided Joe like the plague because that way you could also avoid confronting your feelings, which was just easier, you thought.

It was annoying that you didn’t know Joe’s schedule, and that he spent a lot of time at home.

It was even more annoying that before anything had ever really happened between the two of you, you used to be flirty and touchy on a more platonic level and it was something you couldn’t muster yourself up to sink back into.

Joe tried a few times, asking you to have lunch with him that day, or when you found him making lasagna from scratch, asking you if you wanted some later.

You declined all of it, mostly without giving any excuses or reasons why. Just a simple “no thanks” with a polite smile, a nose scrunch, giving Joe your most normal, casual self, but definitely a more distant version of you than before.

Obviously, Joe had noticed. And he hadn’t liked it.

You had noticed something too.

There were a lot more annoying things about Joe that you didn’t think you had ever noticed before.

Joe would always leave his shoes under the coffee table, a place where they didn’t go, and it made the living room look a right mess. And Joe would hang the toilet paper under instead of over, so you’d correct it, only to later find it back the way he liked it. And Joe would still secretly use your products in the bathroom – you found a tube of lip balm you thought you’d lost in the washing machine after Joe had done a load of his washing, and it was almost entirely used up by him.

Maybe it was time to ask for a raise at work, just so you could afford a flat of your own, because every day more little things started getting on your nerves.

Wednesday seemed a day where everything had gone wrong at work, and all of it felt like it had been your fault. Frustrations built and as the day dragged on, you felt less and less equipped to deal with them.

From about 3 o’clock that afternoon, you’d started fantasizing about the pint of caramel core ice cream that was still in your freezer, and you hoped Joe would be out so you could watch an early 2000s romantic comedy and cry into your ice cream on the sofa.

You couldn’t think of anything else to ease the stress– wait, no, you could, but having your flatmate… crack your neck no longer felt like an option.

But when you walked in after work, Joe was there.

On the sofa.

Watching TV.

And the flat smelled like a bakery.

“Hey!” Joe shouted from the sofa, all upbeat and cheery. “How was work?”

You stepped into the living room whilst shrugging your coat from your shoulders.

“Fine,” you looked around and frowned quizzically.

“Did you bake bread?” your tone was almost accusatory, and it made Joe laugh.

His laugh was stupid and adorable.

You hated it.

“I made ciabatta rolls, they’re cooling in the kitchen.”

You turned to see for yourself and found about twelve perfect-looking hand-palm-sized baby ciabattas on a baking tray on the counter.

Funny how you got to slog knee-deep through shit at work all day, and Joe got to recreationally bake bread in your kitchen.

So fair.

Very equal.

Not at all infuriating.

It was also very fun how Joe left all of the washing up in the sink, when the dishwasher was empty and open right next to it.

You had to mentally count to ten and take a huge gulp of air to calm yourself down from the sight of the mess.

“What do you think?” Joe called from the sofa.

You eyed them again as you opened the freezer door.

“They look great,” you spoke without a fibre of enthusiasm.

You reached for your pint of ice cream, so ready to dig into it, even if it wasn’t going to be with a bad, sappy film on because Joe was there.

But when you grabbed hold of it, fury washed over you instantly and engulfed you entirely.

It was empty.

There was no weight to it.

You opened the pint to check, but you knew what you’d be met with before you’d seen the inside: an empty container that used to hold your favourite flavour of ice cream.

Joe.

“If they’re okay to touch, you could try one if you want,” Joe suggested, oblivious to the fact that you were near a lot of knives and ready to straight up murder someone.

Okay, knives felt a bit extreme, so instead, you reached for the next best thing.

“Would you like to try one yourself?!”

Your voice had grown louder and angrier with every word of your question. Joe didn’t have time to register the hostility in your voice – he didn’t even have time to turn his head to look at you. If he had done, you would’ve hit him square in the eye, but now, one of Joe’s own freshly baked crusty ciabatta rolls smacked him hard in the temple.

“Hey, what–”

Another dense ciabatta roll hit him in the chest, leaving behind a white, dusty flour print on his black T-shirt.

“Ate my fucking ice cream, Joe?!”

You were stood in the doorway, tray in one hand, the next roll ready to be flung at him in the other. Joe really made them the perfect size; they fit perfectly into your palm, fingers gripping around it with ease – excellent for throwing with force.

“My rolls!” Joe cried.

“My rolls!” you mocked him, facial expression and all, and you saw Joe get up from the sofa to fetch the bread you’d already thrown at him.

You threw another, getting flour in his hair this time as you hit him on the back of his head, surprising yourself with your good aim since your body felt shaky with adrenaline.

“What fucking self-centered, greedy bastard eats a pint of their flatmate’s favourite ice cream and then places the empty container back in the freezer?!”

You were quick to launch another roll his way, but Joe expertly caught it this time. It only angered you more, and you fumbled fast to throw another, but your aim was completely off this time as you rushed it, and you hit the sofa behind him.

“Stop fucking tossing my ciabatta rolls about!” Joe carefully placed them on the coffee table next to him.

“Honestly, I can’t fucking believe you,” you dropped the tray with the rest of Joe’s bread onto the floor in frustration. It clattered loudly and had bread rolling everywhere before you started to make your way over to your bedroom, away from his face, no longer able to stand it.

“Fuck you and– stop leaving your fucking shoes under the coffee table!” you screamed when you saw them as Joe stepped away towards the dropped ciabatta rolls to pick them up.

“I was looking forward to that ice cream all fucking day!” you stepped into the hallway, took a few steps, turned around and walked right back into the living room.

You had more to say.

“And another thing!” you were going to get every little bit of frustration out.

“Stop using up all of my products in the bathroom! Some of it’s really expensive!”

From his kneeling position, gathering all of the dropped bread rolls, Joe looked up at you and you spotted a faint red mark where you’d hit him with bread on the side of his face.

Good, you thought.

“And the fucking mess in the sink? The dishwasher is right next to it! Ready to be loaded up! Why would you– why would you not just– just, put it in there!”

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut as you let your arms flail about, motioning in all different directions.

“Are you done?”

“Caramel core, Joe. What is your problem?!”

You were ready to turn around and leave to go to your bedroom for real this time, but Joe stopped you.

“Are you finished?” his unrelentingly harsh tone of voice shut you up in an instant, and a little bit of the anger that shone out of your eyes was replaced with wary surprise.

Joe seemed angry too.

“Because first of all, I didn’t fucking eat your ice cream, what do you take me for?!” Joe repeatedly pushed his finger into his chest before gesturing at you.

“Secondly, I baked these today! Today! I baked them, by myself, with my own hands!” Joe talked about the ciabatta rolls like they were sacred treasures to be protected.

If you could get your hands on them again, you’d rip them all to shreds, just because now you knew it would hurt him extra.

For a moment you just stared at Joe, your nostrils flaring, thinking of more things to hurl his way now that he was stood there, ready to take it. There was an obvious thing you wanted to throw in his face, but you couldn’t muster up the courage to, so you just stood there and resisted the urge to stomp your foot like a fucking toddler as you huffed at him.

Joe suddenly seemed enraptured by your rage, and it was as if he had read your mind.

“... want to tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

He voice was much quieter than before, and you saw the beginnings of a smirk on Joe’s face. You hated how Joe was scanning you wholly, gathering up how pent up you really were in that moment as he stepped closer towards you.

It prompted you to take a step back.

“What’s really got you this riled up?”

You couldn’t speak as you found yourself stepping backwards into the kitchen with Joe slowly stalking forward.

Your eyebrows deepened your frown, scrunching together in anger even more, trying to reject the incoming thought of how hot you thought Joe looked.

“Are you trying to avoid me? Like you’ve been doing for fucking days?” Joe accused, and you saw a flash of what you thought might have been pain in his eyes as he bit into his bottom lip, and it hit you right in the chest.

“I’ve not been–” you tried to deny, but Joe took away your chance to speak, kissing you forcefully, running on nothing but adrenaline and want, crashing you into the kitchen counter behind you.

It felt like Joe wanted to devour you on the spot, and instead of pushing him away and slapping him across the face like you wanted to do, you realised you wanted to let the anger drown into Joe this way even more.

Joe was nothing but harsh, bruising touches, and you clawed back at Joe, scratching him and biting into his kiss. His grabbing hands squeezed into your waist strongly before one reached down to hoist up a thigh you wrapped around his body.

“I hate you so much,” you panted into his mouth as Joe’s nose pressed hard into your cheek. Your comment made one of his hands come up to grab your face, your cheeks pinched between his hand in a tight grip, and he pulled back to look at you.

He held you there a moment. Looked you in the eye. Scanned your features for a second.

And then, “Turn around.”.

His low gravelly voice, thick with hunger for you, made you do exactly as you were told. Your hands were quick to undo the button of your jeans, leaving Joe to pull them down with ease.

Yes.

Joe pushed you slightly, bending you over the counter, and as you turned your head to the side, you caught sight of all the dishes in the sink.

N– no.

“I’m not– I am not just another one of your hook-ups,” you warned him, your voice still thick with anger.

Look at how fucking messy Joe had left the kitchen.

“Neither am I,” Joe answered back just as quickly, fumbling out of his jeans behind you.

That shut you right up.

Joe slipped into you with ease, his front pressed tightly against your back as he bent over you, and he chuckled into your ear at how ready you seemed for him.

You couldn’t help but gasp at his intrusion. Joe’s arm came around your neck as he straightened himself and pulled you up with him until your head was leant back against his shoulder.

Made it a little hard to breathe.

You were sort of into it.

Shit.

Joe made sure to keep you there, arm firmly stuck in place and pressed at the underside of your neck with fingers dug into the cap of your shoulder. He wasn’t gentle in his movements, immediately starting a rough, steady pace into you whilst panting heavily into your ear.

“Want to tell me why you got six girls to drench me in their cocktails?”

You focussed solely on Joe’s thrusting, moaning at particular sharp ones, unable to answer a question you didn’t even have enough context for to understand properly.

“What did you tell her, huh?”

Joe meant the blonde, and you swore at him under your breath for bringing her up whilst having you half naked, pressed up against the counter in your dirty kitchen as the sound of loud skin-slapping filled the room.

“The truth,” was all you managed to get out, your voice all constricted, gasping for air.

“Yea? You think I don’t give girls my number because they don’t let me fuck their mouths?”

Oh.

You didn’t think she’d tell him that.

Then again, you didn’t even think she’d talk to him at all after your chat. Because Joe was right, that was what you had told her. You’d said to her that the guy that was staring at her from across the room was keen to take her home, but that she should know he was the type of guy to use her for his own pleasure and then wouldn’t even give her his number if she didn’t want to take his dick into her mouth.

“Is that why I had to walk around smelling like tropical fruit juice for hours?”

A laugh escaped your throat – you couldn’t help it. Was the wrong move, though.

It made Joe strengthen his grip around your neck in response, making you whimper immediately, your fingers finding his forearm to wrap around in a bid for him to loosen it.

Joe’s pace picked up too, as did his grunts, and you felt his other hand curl around your hip as fingers found your most sensitive spot to rub, making you moan loudly.

“Pineapple,” your strained voice slipped out. “You smelled of pineapple,” you remembered.

Joe’s opened lips dragged against the side of your face as you tilted your head back further. Still pressed against the hard line of his body, you turned your face and connected your lips with his in a heated kiss full of swallowed groans of pleasure.

Joe’s fingers rubbed against you furiously, the movements quickly becoming too much for you as you felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm deep within your core building up and flushing your cheeks.

You were about to announce to Joe that you weren't far off coming as one of your hands shot down to grab his wrist, but Joe’s unwavering thrusting and rubbing had you unexpectedly groaning through your high as he panted against your face, mouth agape, as was yours.

He didn’t even let you finish experiencing your orgasm fully.

Joe turned you around in his arms, slipping out of you for just a second, and before you were even aware of what was happening, he had you lifted with your legs wrapped around his hips.

He guided you back down onto him effortlessly, one arm strongly around your hips to keep you up, the other hand cradling the back of your head, fingers tangled up into your hair as he pushed you into his kiss.

You were ready for him to start ramming into you again, but instead, Joe started walking, taking you out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He was about to step into your bedroom, but you stuck an arm out that slapped against the wall, stopping you in your doorway.

“Don't go– we can't in mine. Yours. We need to in your bed,” you demanded, and you tried to push off from the wall in trying to guide Joe away from your bedroom and towards his own.

Joe wasn't having it.

“Fuck that. We’re ruining yours,” and Joe pushed forward, not leaving you a leg to stand on, literally and figuratively, as he let the both of you fall onto your mattress.

You expected Joe to continue with fury-filled thrusts, but you instead were met with a soft, teasing kiss and slow movements from his hips.

And, whatever had just gone down in the kitchen was nice, but this?

This was nicer.

When Joe tugged at your top, you momentarily broke from each other as you pulled it over your head. It was quickly followed by your bra, and Joe’s lips found your neck to press wet kisses into when you collapsed back onto the bed, now both fully naked.

You let your fingernails scrape long lines across his back, up and down in a slow pace, and you felt Joe squirm a little under your touch. The sudden shift in the mood left you space to think your thoughts freely, which is why you suddenly wondered...

“Why did you send me over to that girl to talk to her for you?”

Joe halted everything he was doing for a second to look you in the eye.

That wasn't something he expected you to ask him. Not right now, not during, anyway.

“You... you’d left me on my own for forty minutes,” he answered, then leant down a little, nuzzling his nose around yours, his tongue slipping out to lightly feather across your lips. He licked the teethmarks on your bottom lip that you left there. That he made you leave there.

“I thought you’d fucked off with someone else.”

You felt your stomach twisting in knots as your eyebrows pulled together.

“After last week? I could never,” you confessed, letting your hands run from Joe’s back up into his hair.

“No?” Joe sought your eyes again, sounded fucking hopeful as you used your hands to pull him back down into a kiss.

You felt him smile against your lips.

Such a sap.

Joe's turn to confess.

“I don’t give out my number because I have a hot flatmate I'm very fond of,” Joe then said, speaking into your mouth, and the dopamine-rush from his words would’ve toppled you over had you not been laid out under him.

Joe’s thrusts were slow and long, with hands finding your creases and curves to squeeze into softly.

His pace never picked up, remaining agonizingly slow, and he kept his hips closely connected with yours in his ruts, applying pressure exactly where you wanted it applied.

Joe took the time to study your face closely, seeing your face contort when hitting the right spots. You caught his eye, and upon seeing his expression, you immediately grew embarrassed.

Joe was giving it to you good, and it was almost upsetting how into it you were.

“It’s okay,” Joe cooed. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed his forehead against yours and you could almost feel the two of you fuse together within your eye-contact.

You really had to try your hardest to not absolutely ruin the moment and cry. You closed your eyes when it became too much, and Joe sensed it perfectly, dipping down to kiss your neck once more, having learnt by now that you really did like that a lot.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked into your neck, and you shook your head in annoyance.

Could Joe not see how fucking romantic the two of you were being in this moment?

You gripped both hands firmly around his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you lifted your hips higher to let Joe hit an even deeper part of you. The new angle, and the way Joe never let much of you disconnect, hurdled you towards another orgasm. Joe followed closely behind, and he came with broken moans into your neck as his hips jerked and bucked throughout his orgasm.

After that, Joe didn’t move for a while, remaining inside of you, head in the crook of your neck with your fingers softly stroking lines along his back as he struggled to regulate his breathing.

When he finally did, he pulled back to look at you.

You looked... dishevelled.

Hair a mess, your eyes bleary and blinking with make-up smudged everywhere, face blotched and flushed but, your expression very satisfied.

Joe thought you had never looked prettier.

“I really didn’t eat your ice cream,” Joe broke the silence, and it pulled a giggle out of you before you groaned in shame.

“I think... I'm sorry, I think I ate it myself when I came home drunk that night,” you confessed with a guilty nose scrunch which prompted Joe to lean down and kiss it.

“Sorry.”

“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Joe pressed a kiss to your temple where he could see a faint tear stain run from your eye into your hair. “But I do have something else for you to eat...”

You made a face a Joe.

“Is it bread?”

Joe found the other side of your head, and kissed your temple there too.

“Freshly baked.” He quipped, eyebrows raised high up on his face, ignoring the fact that every single one of his ciabatta rolls had touched the floor by your doing.

He leant back a little to see you smile at him, to get a proper good look, prompting a wide grin to spread across his face too.

And, you know what?

“I’d love some.”

the end

-----

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini @mybffjoe @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @harringtonfan4 @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 - add yourself

#I've Got You #part 5 #Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #joe quinn smut #joseph quinn smut #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #smut #fanfic

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from-izzy · 6 months

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i'm home | tbz lee sangyeon

» PAIRING: tbz lee sangyeon x gn!reader (please tell me if i made a mistake!) » TROPE/AU: established relationship au!, long-distance relationship au!, non-idol au! » GENRE: loving boyfriend sangyeon, very supportive sangyeon, fluffy fluff, bit of angst (ok, maybe more than a 'bit'), comfort comfort and...comfort, reading blushes cause of sangyeon (hehe), boyfie sangyeon who's taller so that you can comfortably hide your face to his chest » WORD COUNT: 4625 » ESTIMATED READING TIME: ~17 mins » WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!): mention of religion once, proofread once, workplace hardships navi/masterlist!! 🤍 part of 'especially to you...'

i was a little bit nervous about posting this, especially since it was very rushed! sorry, i didn't plan this well 🥹 nothing came up till the last minute 😞 def didn't freak out or anything— 🤠 i'm gonna hype myself up and think this is fine considering i was racing against the clock (which i didn't manage to beat 😞) and have study to do (exams who? nov 9 who?).

but first of all to me: i know you rejected a lot of opportunities, drowned yourself in a lot of regrets, and i understand that planes are scary for you. i hope that you will find a reason soon to finally see the world like your younger self was dying to do. you were so close to doing it in july and i'm so proud of that first step. keep going, okay?

and! to you @winterchimez...i don't think there are any words needed. welcome home, soulmate! 🫂

Nothing will ever feel as much at home to you as Sangyeon could ever be.

You knew this the moment you told him about how you got the opportunity to work overseas. You remember when it felt like you were fighting endlessly with yourself. Around two years ago, after your weekly date, a loving kiss on your lips and the way Sangyeon would flash you that endearing smile, you thought that everything would be fine. You pushed, what you thought, to be a slim chance that you would be able to work overseas to the back of your mind. At first, you felt crushed about the video interview that you messed up, stuttering and using filler words while you internally scolded yourself for not preparing answers to simple job interview questions. Your head was overloaded with information between things to say and not to say, what would be the best answer and how to play your cards right. In the end, as soon as you pressed the red button on the video call interview, you reached out for your phone to call the first person on your call logs.

Sangyeon remembers that video call, the line of tears cascading down your cheeks as you vent your feelings out. He always waited for you to finish your sentences, nodding along to your words and giving affirming body language to show that he was actively following. Along your stream of words, you didn’t realise that Sangyeon stepped outside in the cold air, his phone at a new low angle and the lights from the buildings were the only reason why you were still able to see his smile across the screen.

“Wait…why are you outside? Where are you going?” You grabbed the new box of tissues from your bedside table, ripping the top part of the box with the dashed lines to help you retrieve a new paper instantly.

“Just grabbing some things.” Sangyeon leisurely answers, bringing the camera closer to his puckering lips, “I’m sure you did amazing, baby. Don’t worry too much, alright? And if you didn’t make it, then I’m sure God has other plans for you.”

You both continue talking over the phone, wiping your eyes, drinking a ton of water and burying yourself underneath the blanket as Sangyeon continues his little errand run. Soon enough, you finally understood why the phone was tilted upwards towards the sky and why Sangyeon didn’t show the things he bought—all the usual things that he would share with you during his random, night errand runs like this one.

It was when he finally brought the phone up to be in line with his face that you recognised the familiar street background that he was walking in. You gasped, throwing your blanket to the floor, and opening the door suddenly to face your parents who looked at you with shocked eyes. They couldn’t even voice out any of their thoughts because you were out the front door as fast as you exited your bedroom door.

Knowing well that you found out about his plan, Sangyeon made a final sprint for your house, the contents inside the plastic bag ruffles and his earphones your excited laughs and words fill his earphones, mixed in with some of your still sniffling sounds from the devastating earlier events.

That night wasn’t the first time that Sangyeon would run over to you with no notice or hesitation but Sangyeon had been going through a tough time with his personal life and you didn’t know that he would still be able to have such energy to take care of you. It’s a miracle that you were able to still go on dates that these days would be impossible to plan. That night was a reminder to you, especially with the way that he lowered his lower body down, wrapped his arms around your waist, and lifted you as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, that you really love your boyfriend and that he has always been your number one supporter.

In his arms, with some final tears that Sangyeon wiped away delicately from your still-red cheeks, you were sure that everything would be fine.

Your tears started because you were stressed but it ended with comfort.

But you got another huge headache about a week later when you got the final results of the interview. It could be the acceptance letter (that you were still sure you weren’t going to get), but you knew that you needed to at least open it, read it and accept whatever result it was to move on with your life. So, you tapped on the notification without much thought and you will forever remember this sentence: We look forward to working with you. You froze then and there, your jaw open in disbelief and your fingers went back to the main email page, pulling the inbox page down to refresh the screen. Lo and behold, you were faced with a challenge that you didn’t bother to think about.

You sprint to Sangyeon’s house as soon as the reality sinks into you. Once again, you left your parent’s house after breaking the news to the owners before leaving. Usually, you would have never been able to run that fast and long without a break. The adrenaline and anxiety took over your whole body, and you let your legs guide you to your boyfriend’s house.

Sangyeon welcomed the news with open arms, his feet adorably tapping on the spot and a deep, soft kiss on your lips that still held his radiant smile. But unlike him, you could only stand at your spot in front of his house and give him a reluctant smile. To this, his smile drops and so did the arms that were in the air a moment ago to celebrate this new journey of yours. The vertical lines between his eyebrows made itself evident and you could only respond with a series of head-shaking and quivering lips.

“Hey…” He cradles the back of your head with one hand, the other on your cheek as he steps forwards towards you, “What’s wrong? You’ve always wanted this.”

Your arms surrounded Sangyeon’s lower body tightly, taking a handful of his sweater and your cold nose slowly became warmer thanks to his body temperature, “I know. But now that it’s happening, I’m having second thoughts.”

He continues to dig further into your thoughts, wanting to understand your feelings more and why you were having second thoughts about something you worked so hard for, “Do you want to elaborate further now? Or do you want to come inside first?”

“If I say the latter, will you cuddle with me?”

This is the you that he knows: the one that would always wish for a kiss, then a cuddle and then another kiss. You lift your face from his chest, increasing the distance between you both slightly. Sangyeon sees the sparkle in your eyes and the slight pout on your lips when you look up at him with a silent plea for a positive answer to your question.

Who was he to refuse and break your heart like that?

Plus…he wanted to cuddle with you as much as you did.

And so with the support of your loving family, chaotic friends and encouraging boyfriend, you packed up, headed onto the new country alone and started a new, independent life. Thankfully, you were able to find a place close to your workplace and the foreign place became your home quickly with your three kind housemates. Splitting the chores around the house, cooking, and establishing times to use the washing machine was never a problem. Living in the same house made it easier for you all to spend some time and get to know each other better, leading to routine Friday nights to be spent with each other, going on road trips and eventually overseas trips.

Your workplace has been rewarding as you found the same good qualities of your housemates in most of your co-workers. From day one, everyone has welcomed you to their lives with open arms and you knew for sure that these people wouldn’t be the reason that you would ever have to leave to go back home.

“It’s just so unfair.” It was the company, the workplace and the conditions that they put you in. The logic didn’t make sense: the place was understaffed yet they won’t hire any new people. Of course, there were many underlying factors around it, but after being so overworked, adapting to the new culture, being homesick and, your body trying its best to adjust to the new season changes that you would never have to deal with back home, it was inevitable that you were going to break down soon, “Why? Just why do they have to do that?”

“I’m so sorry you’re going through that.” Oh how much Sangyeon just wanted to jump out of the screen and hug you tight. When was the last time he ever got to do that anyway? He missed having you in his reach—his favourite love language not being able to be expressed for about half a year now, “Hang in there, baby. I know you can do this. Stay strong, hm?”

Through your blurred vision, you could still make out his sorrowful smile, his hand that just hovers the top of the camera on his phone as if to recreate the feeling that he was touching the side of your head.

Perhaps, the worst part of being away from home is your inability to ever interact with them in real-time. The time difference made it too exhausting for everyone on the other side of the world to communicate with you properly. Sure, there were rare days when they could, but the way their moon would rise when the sun said its greetings here made you swallow down your tears at night, forcing you to reassure yourself that ‘everything is going to be fine.’ Because of this, it was a routine for you to drown in your thoughts throughout the day, waking up with a heavy head and heart from the previous nights as you plaster on a weak but still genuine smile when you greet your coworkers.

With the help of your housemates, your family and Sangyeon have managed to surprise you on both of your birthdays as well as some gaps between their schedules. Those memories would be the ones you would replay in your head as you cry your heart out in the middle of the bed that’s in the middle of the room, in the middle of the night.

Other than the visits and calls, the only things that would connect you to them are the daily pictures and videos. At the very least, they captured the lives of the ones you love back home. Unlike the memories that you could only see and keep for yourself, the physical evidence of their smiles is another big source of comfort for you, especially when all you wanted during your lonely walk home was just life updates from the people that you love most. Somewhere along the way though, the pictures and videos became too much for you, and you start to imagine what the picture would be like if you filled up the negative space within it.

How would it be like to share that laughter, smile and experience of the atmosphere that the picture manages to capture? What was the air around there like? Humid? Cold? Warm? Aromatic? Or maybe perhaps, would you have been too entranced by Sangyeon’s presence that the only thing you could smell was his signature perfume mixed in with his laundry detergent?

How would it feel just to have Sangyeon’s shoulder pressed up against yours whenever he has that habit of putting an arm around your back to grab the opposite side of your waist? To have his bigger hand securely intertwine with yours? To have him press a kiss on the side of your head after he whispers ‘I love you forever’ to your ears—knowing well that you were the only one in the world that he would ever confess that phrase intimately to.

How would it feel like to just have the familiar buildings of your neighbourhood, your city and the familiar murals or paintings in your life again? Would it be more comforting than the pictures of the same scenery on your phone? Would your heart be more at ease walking in the night even if all the lights were off or there were no signs of life?

As an answer to your thoughts, after two years of learning, gaining life experiences and missing the air of your home, you bravely decided not to pick up the pen on the table and sign your initials on the new contract paper.

You decided: I’m going home.

It’s been a really wild ride. A ride that you would never exchange for anything else. For one, you made friends from the other side of the world. Friends that you knew you could always hit up and visit if you ever come back. Two, it was real when people say that ‘the distance makes the heart grow fonder’. Sangyeon has always been the boyfriend who would cry and carry his burden alone but would always welcome your hardships into his life. Before, even though you could pick up some of the signs on some occasions, the limited video calls allowed you both to pour your feelings out, exchanging confessions and true thoughts. Had you not been across the world, you were confident that Sangyeon would step out of his shell eventually but you were thankful that the distance did its job healthily and your relationship with him strengthened with the tears and chuckles that he showed.

When the time came and you finished training the new worker who would soon be taking your place in the company, you did your final preparations before stepping out of the house that sheltered you for two years. Final goodbyes, tears being shed, words of affirmation and promises for occasional updates were made before you drove off to the airport. Rolling down the car window, you twist your upper body to face the back of the car, your hand waving up in the air.

The ride to the airport is bittersweet. You put your phone down after texting Sangyeon that you would call him when you pass through security. All you wanted to do at this moment was to look out the windows and take in the colours of the journey, half-scared that the scenery might turn monochrome soon if you didn’t pay close attention.

Keeping your promise, you connected your earphones and turned on your camera to be faced with Sangyeon leisurely lying in bed, one hand on the back of his head on the headboard, blinking his eyes to fight the sleep from his system.

“You should sleep.”

Sangyeon shakes his head, straightening his back and sitting up. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding in volume as he does so, “You only have a few minutes before you have to go anyway. I can stay awake and accompany you.”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

Thankfully, you found a seat for yourself in the busy atmosphere. You place your backpack on the floor in front of you between your legs, being mindful of the other passengers in the busy airport who most probably had a long day before this, now having to spend overnight in a metal column.

“Love that hoodie on you. Where’d you get it?” Sangyeon wiggles his eyebrows playfully and you roll your eyes, “Good to know that you didn’t leave it behind.”

“I would be crazy to leave this behind.” You pull on the strings of the hoodie, fastening the circumference of the hood around the outline of your face, pouting cutely to your boyfriend who just laughs at you fondly.

“Can’t wait to hold you.” That sentence holds so many meanings and tugged on your heartstrings so much. It hurt for a bit to hear him say that, especially when his voice sounded so tired, “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.” You whisper to the microphone, holding the tears that you didn’t want to show to your friends throughout the whole week, “I miss you so much. I can’t wait to go on physical, real-life dates again.”

“A few more hours.” He reminds the both of you, holding on just a little bit longer, “Everything will sort itself out then.”

That’s right.

A few more hours until you will both be able to be in the same space again. Just a little bit more before you’ll be able to steal a kiss from his lips whenever and wherever.

You can’t wait to be back in the comfort of your bed, saying ‘goodnight’ to your parents and slipping out of your windows shortly after to meet Sangyeon at the convenience store.

You can’t wait to spend some time with his mum—who he gets very jealous of sometimes—and steal more childhood, baby pictures of him. Along with that, you can’t wait for his mum to let you sneak into his room to steal some of his clothes.

You can’t wait to see his blushing face as he freezes between the doorframe when his eyes land on how his sleeves would completely cover your arms, and your thighs and expose a little bit of your shoulders.

You can’t wait for him to scoop you up in his strong arms, eliciting your series of squeals and giggles that he has fallen deeply in love with.

You can’t wait for him to tuck you in bed, pulling his blanket up to your chin. He would then frame his larger body over yours throughout the night, making you sleep deeper and better. But your night, wouldn’t be complete until you delicately kiss him on his chin, cheek and lips. His night wouldn’t be complete either until he kissed your forehead, nose and lips, taking his sweet time on the last body part.

Most importantly, the night wouldn’t be complete overall until your lips part each other and exchange ‘I love you’s.

As soon as you landed, the adrenaline of finally being in the same country, the same land, the same building knocked out the jetlag and you were suddenly wide awake. You felt a bit bad for the bottom of the seat in front of you and your backpack which was violently ripped out from its peace, but you would like to think that they would understand your sudden burst of energy. You race and slip yourself between the bodies of people who were most probably confused and amazed by how much your eyes were darting around the conveyor belt so quickly, trying to find your check-in baggage—but you didn’t care.

You care about is Lee Sangyeon.

Now, you passed through every security check, every random bag inspection, opening and relocking up all your luggage again one by one, your patience running out by the minute.

But it’s okay.

Because now, only one glass door stands in the way between you and all the people waiting on the other side.

You watch from the distance as the automatic door opens and closes through other passengers. You were even able to catch a glimpse of some of your fellow flight passengers who spotted their loved ones immediately in the crowd, their hands releasing the handle brake of their trolley when they rushed into the crowd. Their loved ones cry and gasp at the presence that they have been so desperate for, their bodies swaying side to side to keep some of their emotions regulated in public.

Oh, how you know you wouldn’t be able to hold in your tears.

Exhaling and inhaling a couple more times, your hands grip the handle of your trolley, doing a final baggage check that everything is securely held in place and that you didn’t leave anything. Finally, you push the handle to release the brake and you start to walk over to the translucent glass doors.

Time didn’t slow down.

It just felt still.

It didn’t stop though—it just felt still.

You could hear your heartbeat through your ears, your palms were sweating in nervousness and you could barely feel the ground that you were walking on with every step of your feet. The gush of wind pushes your hair back dramatically and your eyes water at the cooler air from the other side of the door. Metal barricades separate the arriving passengers from the crowd from both sides of your body and you force your teared-up eyes to carefully scan through the rows of the crowds and the signs that they held up. Your back straightens to accommodate your eyes’ effort in addition to your lips that move in the shape of the name of the person you miss the most. Unfamiliar faces fill your visual field and your feet finally take you to the end of the barricade, heart feeling heavy at the unsuccessful event to pick out anyone in the crowd that you know.

But then…

“Found you.”

His appearance explains why you were unable to quickly pick him out from the crowd if you didn’t focus on detail. Sangyeon grins at your shocked facial expression, watching your eyes slowly lift from the bouquet in his hands to the freshly black dye on his hair.

“Y-You—”

“What do you think?” His pointer and thumb raise to twirl a bit of his hair, his eyes still on you, “You always said that I would look good with black hair.”

“Good?” Oh, he knew what kind of effect this is having on you and he’s having fun with this, “Sangyeon, you—”

His facial expression softens straightaway when the tears that you’ve been holding for so long finally drop to the ground and he strides forwards immediately as soon as he catches a glimpse of your quivering lips. Forget about the flowers, forget about the people around you, forget about how you were standing in the middle of the walkway. He sets his ‘welcome back’ gifts on top of your things, swiftly wrapping an arm behind your shoulders while the other one cups your cheeks.

Sangyeon held your shaking body against his tightly, and it was good that he did, otherwise, you would surely be on the floor. You relished in the scent that you missed the most, purposely taking in deep breaths to ground yourself back to the present. The boy smiles at the realisation, letting your free cheek cutely rest on his chest. He hushes you softly, the swiping motion of his thumb on your cheek giving you a physical reminder of his presence—a reminder that he is with you at this very moment. Multiple kisses were pressed on your forehead in an attempt to calm you down and responded with a whimper as you tried to form words.

“It’s okay.” It really is, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your body responded to his affirmation, your arms finally wrapping around his waist, the tips of his fingers just barely intertwining behind his back. Your palms lay flat on his smooth leather jacket and your ragged breathing found a stable pace once again. The increased oxygen in your blood allows you to finally feel Sangyeon’s plump lips on your forehead and the blush begins to form across your cheekbones.

“You’re really here.”

“I am.” You feel the way his chest vibrates at his deep chuckle.

That’s all he said and it’s way more than enough. Eyes closed, in Sangyeon’s embrace, his familiar scent, his lips hovering on your eyelids to press kisses there—everything is starting to feel like home.

“You look handsome.” For the first time since you arrived, you finally look at this new hair colour properly. Your eyebrows furrow, almost a look of dissatisfaction and disapproval, “Too handsome.” This time, one of your eyebrows raised at the way he responded with a teasing smile, “How many people asked you out already?”

“Honestly,” He starts to act, tightly closing his eyes as if to think very hard. He prolonged his hum with the way you glared at him cutely, wanting to tease you for longer, “quite a lot.”

The answer made you scoff, tilting your head away and you started to pull away from his embrace. Sangyeon didn’t let you walk away fully though for he pulled you right back to his body. Your hands attempt to stabilise your body the sudden act by resting on the curves of Sangyeon’s shoulders. The playful look in his eyes disappears and the extra layer of moisture shows itself—it tells you that he has been waiting for the only person to ever see his tears to be within his arms again. Both his hands rest on your waist and your own eyes search for the emotions behind his, a hand wiping his lower eyelid. That act makes a tear fall before another one falls and it soon becomes a fountain of emotions for the older male.

“I missed you. So much.” The way that Sangyeon puts so much emphasis on the second and fourth words sent chills down your spine.

Your hand on his shoulder slides upwards to cup his face, the other downwards to do the same on the other side. With all the strength you have left in your legs, you put your weight on your toes, fluttering your eyelids close and lifting your body to press a longing kiss to his lips. You tasted his tears on the curves on his lips, but knowing well that it stemmed from love, made your heart slowly start to heal. Sangyeon reciprocates immediately, travelling his hands to the side curves of your body, stopping at your neck, gently tilting your face upwards to deepen the kiss. The kiss sweetly alternates with his own hugging your bottom lips, pulling away for oxygen, a little ‘I love you’ and diving back in to hug your upper lips.

This is what home feels like.

It’s not some building or some land that could be pointed out on a map. It’s not necessarily the photos and videos that you received, even though they comforted you on cold nights. It’s not necessarily the rushed talks and recounts of your lives because the second hand on the clock mocked the little time you would always have, even though you were thankful that you had that small gap to do so.

It’s actually experiencing all of the above, going through all those trials, all those confusing emotions, and still feeling love and support. It’s being able to just walk with defeat over the day’s work but as soon as you arrive back home, the feeling either washes away or you’re able to just vent it and cry it out.

With the right people, you were able to let these experiences turn into lessons and precious memories—similar to how there are specific bricks to build the proper structure of a house. As those experiences build, so does the clear image and structure of a house. Sure, houses break down due to inside and outside factors but when it does, you’re confident that you can work it out and make it stronger.

With those thoughts in mind, the corner of your lips tugged upwards and no words were needed for Sangyeon to know that the smile wasn’t mischievous, teasing or playful.

It’s one full of relief and happiness.

“Welcome home.” Sangyeon changes his words between your kisses.

You hum, waiting for the next time he pulls away to give a proper response.

“I’m home.”

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