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sohnric · 8 months

Text

millennium bug – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

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

warnings: minimal swearing and thats all lol

word count: 19k

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

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

JUNE OF 1999

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

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

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

“But mum–”

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

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

“Take it or leave it, young man.”

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

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

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

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

“Sure, just hop in!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna see something?” he asks.

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cool, isn’t it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

YOUR SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, 1989

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JUNE OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you say?”

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

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

“What do you mea–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. You do regret coming along just a little.

JULY OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s nice. It’s fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eric, I’m literally going to die–”

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

“You promise?”

“Yes,” he nods, determined.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t help but feel grateful.

AUGUST OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he hums, “tie it for me?”

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

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

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

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

SEPTEMBER OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already got that one.”

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

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

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

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

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

“You don’t have that one yet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Serves you right, doesn’t it?

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

And with that, you’re absolutely terrified.

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

OCTOBER OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is it?” you ask.

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

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

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

“There must be a mistake-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOVEMBER OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop,” you mourn, “I don’t need it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DECEMBER OF 1999

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure,” Sunwoo peeps.

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

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

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

“What did you say to your mum?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was your idea in the first place!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh no. What have you done?

Suddenly, you feel insanely silly.

JANUARY OF 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” still, you hum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two hot chocolates, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just so embarrassed, Eric.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you breathe out, “very good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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nartml · 2 months

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Nah, you know what makes my blood boil?

Seeing characters degraded, vilified, and desecrated in the name of ship wars.

No, Aang did not strip Katara of her agency nor did he only accept the "digestible" parts of her, leave my baby alone.

No, Zuko isn't just a selfish colonizer, bro did not have one of the greatest arcs of all time for you to reduce him to that.

No, Katara wasn't just a mother to everyone, for fuck's sake, did we watch the same show?

I can go on and on and fucking on, but all I'm gonna say is I'm fucking tired of y'all's shipping discourse.

It was never that serious, it will never be that serious.

I think that both Zutara and Kataang are great ships in their own right, with their respective pros and cons. I also think it comes down to personal taste.

Of course, people can have differing opinions on characters, regardless of the inclusion of ships or not. But at the very least, stick to your own.

Ship and let ship. Remember when this was fun?

Don't invade spaces that aren't yours to start trouble, and stay appropriate with the tags. Fandom etiquette, it's pretty neat.

Y'all suck the joy out of everything.

#the way i can apply this to half of the ships amd characters i like #ive seen things #ive seen some crazy shit #heard some wild takes #take a chill pill #and sit your asses down #kataang #aang #zuko #atla #shipping wars #shipping discourse #fandom etiquette #this applies to every ship btw it just so happens that i stumbled upon yet another kataang vs zutara ordeal and im fed up #ruining it for the rest of us #i get it and i do think the passion is beautiful and a show of how many emotions and how much love these characters still make us feel #but hot damn enough is enough

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Bloodhounds

prompt: you and your husband have a different kind of foreplay that include disguises, sneaking out of the castle, and sometimes, fucking in an alleyway... Or two.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x highborn!female!reader no specified House

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.7k+

note: also NO physical description of skin, hair, but height IS mentioned inna way and weight IS insinuated because - let's face it - fucking against a wall ain't easy!! this is a STAND ALONE.

warnings: poor excuse for smut, explicit / descriptive language, i guess this is porn with a plot?? (surprise!) there's cursing, Cherry needs to get laid ASAP, stop giving her internet access!! half-edited, author mildly gave up. ✅ spoiler free

"My Lady, how go your studies? Aemond says you're making grand progress," Alicent smiled, leaning back in her high-back chair with a goblet of wine in her always-tight manicured grip.

"Oh," you quickly swallowed the bit of food in your mouth, perfectly trained to take small bites for moments such as these - but also, because it was 'unladylike' to eat with fuller cheeks. With a quick dab of the cloth napkin left on your lap, you nodded at her, "My Lord husband likes to exaggerate. Studies are going well enough, My Queen, but surely, I've much farther to go."

She hummed in contemplation, "From what I've heard, you're planning a trip to Pentos?"

Ah, so this is the reason she wanted you alone.

"I am wrestling with the idea, Lady," you assured softly, "yet, there has been no decision made, nor am I swaying any which way more heavily." You watched her carefully, "You have an opinion on the matter, do you not?"

"How can I not, sweet child," she sighed, setting her goblet down as you did the same to the utensils in hand, "when there is a possibility my son is leaving?"

You couldn't help it, truly. But the laugh was genuine, "My Queen! There is not a world in which I would dare take your son from you. If I decided to venture to Pentos, it will not be with my white-haired husband and his 180-year-old dragon. That warrants attention I do not wish for."

"You are a Targaryen now - "

"I do not look it," you nodded. "I have a no-name face and can still travel undetected. Your son cannot afford the same luxury."

"And yet, I cannot shake this feeling..."

"That feeling you feel is natural for every mother," you nodded, taking a sip of water to clear your mouth and throat of residue. "It is the dread that your children are growing up and will leave, like you were forced to as a girl." Her face was painted in earnest shock. "Do not think so little of me, Your Grace, I've done my fair share of familial research - but also, the maids like to gossip." Alicent chuckled some. "I am truly sorry for your mother, and that you had to leave home to live with your father here... But there will come a time your kids are going to spread their leathery wings and fly. If it's something I've learned in the few, short years of marriage? You cannot hold dragons back. Believe me when I say, I do not want to take your son from you, but should he make his decision, that's only his to make. For now, I am simply weighing pro's and con's. The idea of adventure is a little too tantalizing."

Alicent regarded you for a long moment before slowly nodding, "Then it shall be his decision."

"If you'd like, if I go and end up in Braavos or other, I'll send a barrel of spiced wine."

"Oh, you," she chuckled, waving you off some.

"How fairs the King?"

Alicent paused to smile softly at the woman she married her son to, and for a moment, let her heart beat with pride at such a fine young woman joining her family. Y/N L/N was a woman of great beauty and even greater brains, a woman her son could engage with; a woman she was pleased to see fit in effortlessly. There wasn't a single soul in the entire castle who did not like her - and it came in handy at times.

Y/N was also the only one who ever bothered to ask about Viserys anymore, too. So, Alicent smiled and nodded, "He has his good days and bad."

You nodded slowly. "I remember when my grandfather started to lose his mind... It was gradual, then one day, it was like a switch flipped. For the last few years of his life, he didn't know who I was, but with Mum and Da' out, workin', doin' whatever they needed to, I was with him day in and out... It wasn't easy."

"You've never spoke of your family before," Alicent sat up in intrigue. "Three years being married, six months of courting before that - and you've never spoke of them," Alicent looked at you with a sense of wonder.

"Some family's aren't worth the effort to discuss," you shrugged a bit. "The moment you sent word for the courting season, away I was swept, and my father was adamant on making a match. Can you imagine how happy he was to learn I was courting the Prince?"

"Was he?" Alicent asked softly, giving a knowing look.

"He kept asking if it were true, and asked if his dragon took his eye," you snickered to her. "Kept asking what rumors were true."

"Gods," she chuckled.

"I told him outlandish things," you admitted with a snicker. "He caught on eventually, cursed me to all Seven Hells... Stopped writing, and then word reaches me of his passing. Hm," you shrugged a bit.

"Well, you're better off without, yes?"

"Indeed, I'd say... Look, Your Grace, I have not made any decision about my travels. As of right now, I'm okay reading my books and letting my mind go on adventures - I will tell you when I have made a decision."

"All right..."

"You will be the second to know, after Aemond, of course."

She smiled, "Yes, yes. Of course."

You glanced out the window to the sun's position, finding it nearly completely gone, and turned to your mother-by-law. "Speaking of, I'm sure he's expecting me soon. I'll be going now," you stood slowly, waiting for her to stop you.

"Of course, yes, yes, go on," she smiled. "Thank you for tonight."

"Always my pleasure," you promised with a curtesy, turning after, and exiting the room. "Have a good evening, Ser Cole."

"And you, Princess," he nodded with a soft smile. "Good supper?"

"Oh, you know I have a love-affair with Chef Hayford's cooking," you chuckled, watching him return it with a nod of agreement.

Turning forward, you only had to travel a short way; mostly turning down three different stone corners to reach a more secluded hallway. Aemond preferred solitude, so, when you married, you snagged up the suite in the Western Wing that was newly renovated - but it was "sadly" away from most of the castle's traffic. So, of course it was perfect for the pair of you.

When you slipped in the door, Aemond was standing at the basin of water, shirtless, leaning heavily on the stone and wiping the back of his neck while lost in thoughtful contemplation.

"Aemond?" You questioned softly, shutting the door, and rushing for him. "Are you all right?" When in the light, you saw the discoloration of his skin, whispering, "Oh, my love..."

"It's not so bad," he answered in the same lowered tone.

"Liar."

"No, truly, it's not the worst I've had," Aemond straightened up, looking down at you with a soft smirk. "Hi, poppet."

"Hi," you smiled, letting him lean down some as you rocked to your toes to kiss him in greeting. "How was your day?"

"Cole was brutal in training, but it was good," he nodded, dropping the washcloth after wringing it out. "And yours, my love?"

"Well... Your mother's caught rumor of our plans..."

"What's that mean?"

"She directly asked if I mean to go to Pentos and if I mean to take you with me, as if to take you away from her."

"Gods," his eyes rolled, "swear, the walls have ears in this place."

"Tell me of it," your eyes rolled. "I think she's off the scent for now, but we should be more diligent and a little more careful..."

"Hmm," he considered, nodding after. "Yes, love. Right, then."

"Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"How about at Kavvin's?"

"In the city?"

You nodded with a grin, "Feelin' up for a game, love?"

Aemond turned to you fully, hands on your hips and a grin on his lips. "Yeah... Yeah, yeah, I could go for something to eat."

"Start there, then," you whispered.

"You've the time it takes me to clean up and change to get out of here," he smirked, forehead on yours.

You dashed around the room to change into a tunic, trousers, boots, and a thick muted-color cloak. Aemond chuckled to himself as you blew him an air kiss before sneaking through secret passage door... And away you went.

Once out of the Keep's grounds, it was easy enough to lose yourself in the city's streets; but kept to the plan and made for Kavvin's tavern. You slipped in and made quick work of finding the young lad, working on sopping up a puddle of ale, and dashing over to him.

"Princess," he chuckled some, eyeing you up and down. "What's it for you tonight, then?"

"Send him down the Street, I wanna see how far he'll go," you smirked some, squeezing his elbow as you slipped him a Gold Dragon as a tip.

"All right," he shrugged. "Want a drink while you wait?"

"Oh, please, you and I both know that man takes the longest fucking strides in the bloody Realm," you laughed a bit, Kavvin nodding in agreement. "If I want to win, I've gotta go."

"Back door's open," he smirked, pointing you off.

In fact, he had to restrain a laugh when not a full five minutes later, Aemond was stalking into the tavern - eye sweeping the area. He decided that for tonight, he was on your side, and made himself busy with other customers to stave off telling Aemond anything.

However, nobody flagged Kavvin down when they noted the hooded man with one eye stalk up to him.

"My Prince," Kavvin greeted softly, tossing the cloth he was using over his shoulder. "You're out late, aren't you?"

"Hardly," Aemond sighed some.

"Well, you will be," the lad smirked.

"Where's she off to?"

Kavvin shrugged, and Aemond slapped a Gold Dragon to his hand. "Uh, think she made mention of... Well, now that I think on it, 's a bit fuzzy, yeah?"

"Where, Kavvin?" Aemond growled, another coin dropped to his hand.

"Hm, yes," he examined the coin, "think she said something about goin' off down the Street, yes?"

"No, she didn't."

"Swear it, honest," Kavvin nodded. "Said she wanted to see how far you'd go tonight. You do somethin' to piss her off, mate?"

"Not that I'm aware of - though, she might think 'twas I who told the Queen of our plans."

"Well, that makes little sense," Kavvin chuckled, "for even I know, the idea to leave this wretched city was your own..."

"She's an easier scape goat for the courts and help to gossip about," Aemond frowned a bit. "The Street, you said?"

"Street of Silk," Kavvin agreed softly, offering a coin back, "honest, that's where she said she was headin'."

Aemond nodded and turned, leaving the bartender with his hand extended; but it quickly recoiled with a smirk as Aemond took leave. After a chuckle, Kavvin thumbed the coin to flip in the air; catching it in a swipe, then turning as he pocketed his extra coins as a few men grew louder and sloshed ale around - leaving Kavvin in for a long night tending his bar.

The Street of Silk was alive tonight, as it was all other nights. Lowly lit torches hung on the walls lined your way; most wearing hoods and darkened colors to hide themselves. Whores and Mistresses hung out of doorways and windows; hollering, snarling, laughing at any passing customer.

You didn't often dare to venture down this way, but tonight was special; you were in it to win. So, you ducked down a darkened alley and knocked three times, in a specific pattern, at the wooden door.

A moment later, it pulled open.

"What're you doin' here?" Tiyana smirked to you, leaning on the doorway. "My brithday or sum'thin'? Here ta treat me, is it?"

"Not tonight, my sweet," you smirked. "Carry a message for me?"

"To who?"

"My husband."

"Ain't no way," she shrugged. "He don't come down this way, no, ma'am. Ain't nobody seen the One-Eyed Prince 'round these parts since - well..."

"Yeah, yes, yes, I know. But he'll come this way, and I need you to catch his eye. Tell him to go by the markets."

"Oh - I get it," she laughed. "You two playin' that game, innit? Yeah? You two li'l freaks, is it?"

"A bit," you mused softly. "Will you do as I've asked?"

"Gonna come back and entertain me a bit?"

Your head cocked, eyeing her up and down, "Perhaps - though, my husband is often insatiable."

"Say that like I haven't eaten his cum out your cunt before, hey?" She smirked. "All right, yeah, fine, I'll tell 'im if he comes ta see me, yeah?"

"You're my favorite for a reason," you smirked, holding your hand out.

"Lady," Tiyana gasped, weighing the gold in her hand. "Th-This is more than I make inna month, it is! What'chu givin' it ta me for?"

"You've always been loyal and discreet," you eased. "Don't fail me tonight, love."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she grinned. "You're a right Gods-sent Lady, you is. I'll tell yah husband what you want - markets, you said?"

"Yeah, the market stalls," you nodded. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, 'course," she smirked, nodding as you pushed off again into the city's streets.

This time, Aemond was slower to arrive on scene. He stood at the mouth of the rambunctious street, eyeing it with malcontent, but something in his stomach solidified and moved him forward. Bad thoughts and haunting memories swarmed Aemond's guts and mind, but still, he let his feet glide down the natural decline.

His eye surveyed the promiscuous activities around him, finding it would be the perfect place to catch you - but then, someone else was catching his eye.

She leaned in a low-bearing window, tits nearly fully popping out of her shirt; eyes rimmed in coal, and hair pulled off her neck. Her eyes ran over his hood and then noted the lack of an eye, motioning him forward. He didn't want to; there had been many who gestured to him all night, but for some reason, this was different... He glanced around, then moved forward.

"She's been to see you, Tiyana?"

"Not without you, Lord," the whore smirked, sitting herself on the window sill. "She's very loyal, that one."

"Being why you're helping her?"

"I'm helpin' yah both!" She laughed. "I want you both ta get laid, hey? So, listen, right? She went down that way," she pointed, "but said meet her in the markets?"

Aemond paused, lifting his gaze slowly. "Down that way?" He asked, pointing down the alley.

"Mhm - took a left, down there," Tiyana pointed, leaning out of the window a bit. "Can I ask something?"

Aemond sighed, glancing around them to the bustle of the drunken crowd. "Sure, what is it?"

"Why's it you two do this? Hey? Just wonderin' - life so bloody boring, you two need sex games?"

Aemond smirked a bit, "More like... We prefer to keep things interesting. You find new ways to get the blood pumping."

"I know a few ways," she smirked.

"I know," he whispered in agreement. "But you know the agreement - not without my wife."

"Wasn't tryna persuade yah, Princey, just wonderin' why yah's do this," she smirked.

"Keeps things... Fresh."

"Hmm," she nodded.

"Think a hunter and prey, yes?"

Tiyana grinned, "Ah, yes, there it is - yeah. All right, fair enough, my Prince. She went that way, but said markets."

"You're a hidden gem," Aemond smirked some, dropping more coins in her hand.

"And you two are me favorite customers," she winked. "Go on, get goin', she's waitin' on yah out there! Fuck 'er good for me, lad! Hey-hey!" She laughed loudly as Aemond pushed off, heading down the alley he was pointed towards.

Slowly, the sounds of the city fell behind him and Aemond noted the way this path took him closer to the water-ways. With a small smirk, he made a judgement call and ducked down a different alley; peering around to slink in the darkness.

Like a bloodhound on the scent after a weakening deer, the pair of you danced around one another; where one ducked into an alley, the other was tip-toeing away. He grew tired of waiting and decided to look around the market like you had said.

It was there in the maze of market stalls that you saw him, smirking as you quickly exchanged your cloak for a different colored one. From there, you picked up an abandoned basket and slunk around the outskirts of the stalls. You kept an eye on Aemond, moving when he did; keeping distance between you but feeling a little frisky.

So, you took a risk, and casually strolled by him as if intent on picking from the plum cart.

He didn't notice you; your eyes watching from under the hood as his tall figure allowed him to peer over heads. Again, you ducked around the few carts and stalls, just watching him for another moment.

Then, you ventured close to the apples... And again, Aemond was too busy glaring at a man who bumped into his shoulder to notice. You took another risk, and dared asking the vendor a question - voice clear on the air. Still, he did not notice.

After another few minutes of watching him turn in confusion, wondering where you could've gone, Aemond started towards the closest tavern - thinking maybe you were hidden in plain sight.

How right he was, but unknowing.

You crept around, exchanging your cloak again before jogging after your husband. However, when you peaked around the doorway of the tavern, you noticed how the white-haired man you loved and adored had effortlessly melted into the crowd, and now, you were back at a disadvantage.

Learning from past mistakes, you quickly turned and let your legs pump with effort to rush away from the markets.

Around a few corners and down two alleyways, you were arriving at the bay port - but only had a moment to recognize your surroundings before a hand clamped over your mouth as another quickly coiled around your middle to pin your arms.

You gasped into the calloused hand, feeling the strong chest slam into your back before forcing you back a few steps. With gritted teeth, you were slammed into the stone wall of one of the darkened alleyways. However, your eyes settled on your 'attacker' and quickly slitted. "Husband," you identified.

"Wife," Aemond smirked. "You're getting predictable, love."

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged, "I felt your eyes on me in the markets and figured I could blend in at the tavern. From there, I knew you'd follow to keep an eye on me, so, I waited, and when I saw you rush away, I took a shortcut."

"Mhm," you hummed, lifting your chin as he leered over you. "I did learn something tonight."

"What's that, my darling?"

"You blend in rather effortlessly when your hair's covered," you muttered as he slowly stepped closer so you were nearly cowering into the brick behind you. "Might do us well, after all... Should we choose to leave..."

Aemond's one hand rose to hold your jaw as the other planted against the wall to corral you to him. "You say that as if my mind's changed."

"Has it?"

"Not in the slightest," he promised, petting his thumb over your lips to catch the bottom one. "Where you go, I go, and away from this wretched fucking city is where I want us to be."

"You'd leave them?" You asked with a smirk. "Leave your family? For me?"

"For my own family?" He corrected, nodding, "Yes, I would've left yesterday if I knew."

"How fucked everything has become?" You whispered sadly, lifting a hand to pet down his collarbone and rest against his pectoral.

"Something like that," he nodded, lifting a knee to separate your legs. "You'd go with me? When the time comes, you'd go with me?"

With a sigh, you nodded, trying not to grind down on his thigh. "Anywhere, my Prince - anywhere you want, we'll go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you all but whimpered as the hand that once caressed your skin then moved to a bruising grip around your neck.

"Hold still," he nodded, "I won, yes?"

"Mhm."

"Then hold still while I claim my prize," he smirked, yanking his dagger from under his cloak and slowly dragging the pointed tip down your stomach. He didn't press hard, instead, dragging it between your skin and the cloth of your trousers. "Good girl," he crooned as he let the dagger's blade slit the seam of your pants.

"Aemond," you glanced up the alley nervously, body nearly trembling from anticipation.

"Shhh," he nodded, leaning in to breath in your scent. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other working to literally cut a slit in your trousers; letting his tongue flatten against your pulse point.

"Aemond," you whimpered, holding onto him tightly.

"Good girl," he purred again, sheathing his dagger and letting his hand drop again to then pet up your dampening slit from outside the cloth of clothing. "Easier, yeah?" He smirked against your ear, breathing deeply as he let his pointer finger push into your heat, praising, "So warm for me. But I need you wetter than this to take you - don't wanna hurt you, pet."

You groaned a little, holding onto him while keeping a leg up his hip. "What if someone sees?" You whispered against his mouth, practically mewling like a bitch in heat.

"Let them," he nodded, "all they'd see is a man, pleasuring his wife." Your breathing subtly changed as his mouth hung over your ear, promising, "Splitting her in two, watching as she takes his cock so fucking well. That's all they'd see, pet."

"Fuck."

"Hmm, fuck you how?" He smirked, letting a second finger join his first. "Want me to bend you over? Fuck you on the floor? Find those barrels back there?"

"Against the wall, want you t'take me against the wall," you nodded, a sheen of sweat slowly forming over your skin. "Wanna feel you in my fuckin' lungs, yeah?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants, she gets," Aemond growled, slapping your hands off him and readjusting you two. "C'mon, love, earn it - up, jump up, c'mon." When you did, he caught you easily, grunting, "Atta girl. Hang on," he panted then, pressing you against the wall as he adjusted to hold you against the wall while freeing his cock.

"Aemond, please, please," you begged softly, holding his jaw with both hands, "Gods, I need you to fuck me so bad."

"C'mere," he seethed, hoisting you a little higher to adjust his cock at your (cloth-cut) entrance. You both gave guttural moans as he let you sink onto him, grinding your hips into his to better adjust. "Fuckin' grippin' me too tight, love," he growled, hands squeezing your hips as you kept hold of his neck and shoulders.

"Gonna last f'me?"

"Might just have to pump you full, hmm?" He smirked, using his chest to slam into yours and righten your spine. His hand shot up to constrict around your neck, the other used to hold you on his hips; making your legs work overtime to stay atop him.

"Oh, Gods, fuck," you whimpered, hood still over both your heads as Aemond rammed into you.

"Told you - wasn't wet enough," he cursed in your ear.

"Feels fuckin' amazing, please, don't stop," you begged him, hearing his small grunts and growls start up as both hands moved to hold either thigh and keep you spread against the wall. "Oh, my Gods," you sobbed, truly unsure if you were feeling pleasured or not from the feeling of Aemond fucking through you.

"Ah, fuck, fuck," he hissed, hips stuttering as he met his first orgasm.

"Wow... That was record time," you teased quietly when he paused to keep you full to the hilt of his emptying cock.

"I warned yah," he smirked some, readjusting his hold as sweat coated his skin. "My cum just makes you wetter, hey? Yeah, look at that," he hissed, eye cutting down to watch his cock slowly pull back; revealing webs of cum between you and him.

Your hands pawed at his neck, tugging him forward; whining against his mouth, "I need more, please."

He smirked, "Gonna be a good girl and hold it all in until we get back to the Keep?"

You whispered, "What if I can't?"

"I'll just have to fill you again..." His cock twitched, making his throat bob. "Want your belly swollen with our kid, 's 'bout time, isn't it? For the Gods to bless us?"

"Yet you talk of leaving the city - "

"All the more reason," he promised, still holding you spread as he let his hips start up again; rutting into you slowly. "Protect you, protect our kid," he muttered into your neck, "get away from this fucking place - be safe. Be together - oh shit," he moaned.

"Yeah," you grinned, holding him to your neck; clenching your muscles to make him whine, "that's right, emotional intimacy turns you on, doesn't it? Hey?"

"Fuck - yes, yes, it does," he promised, starting to pick up his pace. "Just want you pregnant already, fuck's sake."

"Then fill me," you purred, clenching your teeth when his fully-swollen cock once more stabbed through you. "I wanna make you a Daddy."

"Shit," he breathed, turning his head when he heard noises; but did not stop. Three men and two women stumbled down the alley, drunk, cooing when they saw the couple against the wall.

"Ye-ahhh!" One leered.

"Give it to 'er!" Another hollered.

"Fucking fill me," you followed right after in his ear. "Oh, fuck, yes, please, right there," you hissed as he pinned you harder to the cold stone behind you, the group of five passing with their eyes glued to the pair of you. It was oddly erotic, spurring Aemond on as your mouth hung open in a silent scream.

His balls jackhammered into the wet apex of your cunt as his arms all but braced against you to keep you in place. You were moldable, you were limp, you were taunt with pleasure at the same time; you were a twitching, moaning mess when feeling returned to your limbs as his thumb found your clit.

"Take it, I know my girl can take it," Aemond growled, humping up into you to create friction at that special, gummy spot on your inner walls. "Oh, so fuckin' good, just take it, my precious girl," he praised, hearing the group still stumbling about at the other end of the alley.

"Why don't you fuck me like that?" One of the girls growled in annoyance.

"I can't hold yah like tha', by the Gods," her partner laughed.

Your hand slapped outward against the stone when your husband rubbed your clit in time with his thrusts; letting his mouth open slightly to bite at your shoulder and encourage you to do the same.

You came with a cry, mouth full of his shoulder's flesh; rolling your hips into his with your booted heels pressing into the meat of his arse as waves of pleasure rippled across your beings. Aemond wasn't far behind and when his cock was almost strangled by the clenching of your walls, he came for a second time.

It was enough for you both, panting in effort as your legs were numb. Aemond slowly pulled out of you, hearing you stutter to breath as his cum instantly pumped out to drip onto the pavement beneath you.

"Gods," Aemond breathed in shock, watching the puddle slowly grow.

"Ah!" You yelped when he lowered you, and your legs gave way; his arms darting out to instantly cling onto you as the back of your head thumped into the wall.

"Shit, love, all right?" His hand pressed to the tender spot as you pouted some. The group that watched had since passed, leaving you alone again with split trousers that grew wetter from the ooze of cum. Aemond was trying to catch his breath and support you at the same time, readjusting your clothes for you best he could. "Got it, love?"

"Can't feel my bloody legs," you complained lightly.

"C'mere, I've got you," he promised, arms tight around your waist. "Did good tonight, pet."

"But I lost?"

"'S not about winning or losing, in the end, we both reap benefits, yes?" You nodded. "And as you said, tonight gave you reassurance we could blend in across the Narrow Sea, did it not?"

"It did," you agreed. "But I want to wait until next month, I want to know if it's stuck."

"I'll fuck you everyday until then, yes? Breed you, like I know you want me to," he smirked, one arm holding you up to walk in front of him as the other fingered down the crack of your arse. "Keep walking, don't make a scene," he whispered in your ear, pushing his fingers into your cunt as you lead the way through King's Landing. It wasn't the most comfortable, but Aemond made it doable; pausing in another alleyway to push your chest to the stone wall.

"Aemond," you cursed his name into the wall brushing your cheek.

"Easy," he chuckled, nudging your feet apart. "Take me once more and I'll carry you home."

"Aemond?" You reared back a little when his hardened cock pushed into you again.

"What do you need?"

Your hand raised to pet over his cheek, back bowed to hold yourself up and keep him inside you. "Make me a Mommy, please," you whispered, earning a sharp slap to your arse cheek before his hands seized control of your hips.

"Hold it in this time, then," he teased, starting to thrust into you like a wild horse; bucking his hips into yours to create ripples across your flesh. It seemed as if your frantic motions in the middle of the alley deterred anyone from turning down it, leaving a brief moment of privacy in the sweltering city night.

One of his hands slithered up your front to fondle your breast, tweaking a nipple until you were nearly collapsing into the wall. Aemond had to hold you slightly as you bent lower, almost desperate to take him to the hilt as you fucked back against him - and he took full advantage of your new position.

Aemond kept his feet with your own, hands on your hips; thrusting harder into you as sweat beaded on his skin to roll down his pearly flesh. "Fuck, Gods be fucking good," he cursed, "how's it you're this tight, still? Hey?"

You whimpered wordlessly, gasping when one of Aemond's thumbs came to gently rim around your puckered hole. He didn't often let himself explore your arse, but sometimes, to catch you off guard, he liked testing your limits. After making him venture down the Street of Silk by himself, he figured a little payback was in order.

A stranger started down the alley and actually paused to watch the pair of you, Aemond's spit being spat from his mouth onto your holes; winking in the distant moonlight.

"Take it," Aemond growled when your legs gave way, and sent you both careening into the dirty floor. It only spurred him on further.

"Don't stop," the stranger recommended, loosening his breeches to take his cock out and pump himself to life.

Aemond, fully enraptured with the feel of your cunt, let his hand latch onto the back of your neck to hold you in place as he thrust harder, harder, harder into you. Your hips bruised from the way he pounded you into the cobblestone, growling as he glanced at the stranger.

"Oh, shit," the man nodded, pumping faster. "Yeah - look me in the eyes, mate, that's it."

"The fuck?" You whispered, glancing up to watch.

"Eyes on him, Princess," Aemond demanded, fully hunched over you as he felt his stomach's coil tighten; informing you, "almost there, precious girl, keep bein' a good fuckin' girl - oh, ah fuckin' Hell!"

"Oh, yeah," the stranger nodded. "Can I cum on her, mate?"

"You wanna die?" Aemond snapped.

"Lemme use her mouth," the stranger complained, head tossed back and eyes screwed shut. "Betta yet, lemme a turn!"

Aemond gasped behind you, stalling his hips into the meat of your bum while letting his cock pump you full of his seed. He recovered much quicker than you, kissing your temple as he unsheathed himself from your velvet warmth to stand, tuck himself away, and stride up to the man still masturbating to the sight of your swollen, dripping cunt.

"Woah - hang on - wait, wait, wait!" The man gasped as Aemond stabbed him non-fatally in the ribs.

"Go - before I decide I need your life for even looking at her," he sneered, shoving the man away while yanking his dagger free. A splatter of blood echoed in-between your heaving breaths.

When he turned back, he smirked at the sight of you; fucked-out and unable to find your feet, limp on the dirt-riddled cobblestone. "You didn't have to do that," you told him softly when he neared you to adjust what was left of the tatters of your clothes.

"I did," he smirked. "C'mere, up yah get. Think my wife's earned a hot bath, don't you?"

"Will you join me?" You asked, letting him lift you bridal style. The cloak was long enough that when he picked you up, it covered your cum-soaked hole in his arms.

"I can't resist you, pet," he frowned, "we wouldn't be doin' much cleaning, hey?"

"So?" You smirked, arms tight around his neck. "I want to make you a Daddy, Aemond, best we... Do our due diligence, yes?"

"You make a fair point, Princess," he smirked. "If you can handle it, I'll fuck you the rest of the night, yes?"

"I'm an orgasm behind," you reminded softly as he chose a lesser-used secret entrance into the Red Keep.

"Hm, yes, I seem to owe you one," he smirked in agreement. "Better stay awake, then."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond hotd #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd smut #hotd x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader

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jerryterry · 1 year

Text

There was one inevitable downside (/upside for Tumblr Drama fans?) to all of these poll tournaments coming to Tumblr, and that's "fandom polls being run by people with a massive bias/opinion that they can't help from plastering all over the posts". Like, there's this one New Vegas poll currently running where the OP has a seething hatred for Cass, among others - badmouthing characters in their poll posts, getting into ranting arguments about it. It's inconsequential and funny, and situations like this are a dime a dozen on this site, but seeing this made me want to take a look at this one a lil closer. Because it brushes into something small I've always found interesting about New Vegas: the rumor of homosexuality in the Legion, as well as a wider factor about the writing of companions in general (Under a read-more for length).

OP literally says "If you tell her you're a gay man, she calls you a nazi", so lets take a look at the line they cite for this:

There's multiple points where characters joke about the Legion having similar prominent homosexuality to the actual Romans (which was notable enough that there's straight-up a "Homosexuality in ancient Rome" Wikipedia page). For example:

- Veronica

- Major Knight

What's interesting is that the one character who talks about his direct experience with this subject, Jimmy (a former Legion slave), actually says something that contradicts that last quote:

This opens up the likely possibility that it's NCR propaganda - a homophobic lie to emasculate the enemy. Even if maybe it IS something common in the Legion, it's something frowned upon and is at best a rampant open secret. Either case makes Major Knight's quote provably false.

Regardless, it's a wide non-Legion belief that homosexuality is common and accepted in the Legion. If the source of that rumor IS cooked-up homophobic propaganda, it's interesting that it hasn't worked on the only characters who talk about it. All three of those quotes not only have no ill will toward the idea (Cass immediately states it's not an issue AND notes how common it is behind closed doors), but two of them are mentioned in a context of longing: Veronica's quote is immediately followed by her being angry that only men are allowed to be gay, wishing the same for lesbians. Major Knight's quote is in the context of him having to hide his homosexuality at work -- which sadly makes it clear that the propaganda was likely more effective in general than on the one straight character who mentions it.

I'd say it's funny that OP has a hatred of Cass for being homophobic despite being one of the few characters in-game who makes an explicit statement of not having a problem with homosexuality (I for one would've loved to see Boone - the biggest NCR bootlicker around - make his stance clear on the matter). But admittedly it IS tactless and clumsy to make a backhanded comparison of gayness to the Legion (that statement's obvious expository purpose aside). They also read "there's a lot more of that in the Mojave" to mean "ew, it's not this bad where I come from!", but Major Knight makes it clear that where she comes from is actually MORE supportive. As well as another comment she makes about having slept with women while drunk, which OP construes as likening homosexuality to a drunken mistake.

Like, relax. Yes, "I have no problem with it" isn't the most heartfelt statement of support. But the most Cass' words betray about her is ignorance. I think it's clear she's well-meaning but ignorant, and for the most part intentionally written that way. Most of the companions have intentional personality flaws - Cass is crass, tactless, and stubborn. Arcade is an idealist to a fault (in the game's opinion). Boone is blinded by loyalty to a flawed system despite enacting the worst parts of it. Veronica talks like every line was written by Joss Whedon. The others' flaws are a little more external, but ALL of the companions are intended to be flawed and have pros and cons (while not entirely equal), and all are still intended to be well-meaning people despite this.

It reflects a realism in the nuance of human beings. In general, the writing often tends to rely on this "no black or white, ALWAYS nuance" approach to an almost frustrating degree - like I WISH you could get a better ending for the Followers in a "did everything right" Yes Man ending, even though I know the phrase "did everything right" itself goes against the core philosophy of NV. The poll thing was intended as more of a jumping-off point to talk about some stuff in New Vegas I find interesting rather than a response to that post, but honestly - I know Tumblr has a bit of a problem with seeing nuance, but have a little faith in the writers, will you?

Oh. They... think the game itself pushes the idea that "all fascists are gay"??? How can you be a fan of this game yet have such a low opinion of its writing? Such a lack of critical understanding? This person says "According to my academically trained eye..." and then goes on a series of reaches that critically misunderstand the text in a really unfavorable way, just because they were (understandably) offended by a clumsy offhand statement a character makes and immediately clarifies. And they chose to run a poll despite their open hatred for some of the characters involved (they also seem to hate Boone, for obviously more understandable reasons). Interesting choice.

What's funnier is that OP's open disdain for this character makes it more likely for Cass to win the poll on account of spite votes. Cass would've absolutely been buried by Arcade and Veronica in any other scenario.

Anyway, here's a YouTube comment I found while grabbing these quotes that I found funny:

[Transcripts of screenshotted quotes are available in the alt text]

#fallout new vegas

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hailsatanacab · 1 year

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"give me a fandom and a prompt and i'll give you at least five sentences"

Ok then.

Jazz, Danny and Bruce are in the same age range, and Bruce has been harboring a massive crush on 7'foot tall Jazz since just after he began his training journey.

His kids know about and are mercyless. Danny thinks he's a bit of a fruit loop and 100% knows Bruce has a crush on his sister.

Into the future his coworkers find out that batman has been quietly pining after the Ghost Kings sister for years.

Chaos.

love that this reads as a challenge. Ok then. Write it. i will, let's goooo!

(sorry i kinda took it so that Jazz, Danny, and Bruce were all old friends but in that horrible adult way where you can only hang out with each other once in a blue moon when your work schedules miraculously align)

——

"Respectfully, Batman, you can take your "it's not necessary" and you can shove it up your arse. There's a demon the size of a skyscraper heading towards Metropolis and we need reinforcements."

"Superman can—"

"Superman can't. You do remember the part of the report I made telling you this, right? Or did your stubborn little bat brain just shut down when I mentioned magic?"

"Actually," Nightwing interrupts from the side, a shit-eating grin on his face, "I think his brain shut down when you mentioned the Ghost King."

"Nightwing." Batman growls in warning, his jaw clenching so hard Constantine can swear he hears the bones creaking.

Nightwing just snickers, and turns away to press a finger to his ear, no doubt letting the rest of the bat brood in on what's happening here... Whatever that is. All Constantine knows is that Batman is standing between him and fixing this mess for no God-forsaken reason.

Luckily, some of the more reasonable members of the League step in to try and talk some sense into Batman. It gives him some time to calm down.

"Batman. We need him. I know you dislike working with unknowns, but he's our best shot."

It actually looks like Wonder Woman might be getting through to him, Batman even opens his mouth to actually explain some things—a huge step forward for this incredibly emotionally constipated man.

Instead, Nightwing snorts and beats him to it. "Unknowns? More like—"

"Nightwing, please."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, get your head out of your arse and let me do this. The Ghost King is our only hope. I'm summoning him, no matter what you say."

For a long second, Constantine thinks that he'll refuse and he might have to resort to more violent methods of persuasion—which, honestly, Constantine has fantasised about many times during the more boring JL meetings—but eventually, Batman relents and steps out of the way.

"Fine. Nightwing, go check in with Red Robin."

Nightwing has the kind of devious smile that makes John glad he doesn't have kids.

"Oh, don't worry about it, B. Red Robin's coming here. So's Red Hood, I don't need to go anywhere."

"Nightwing—"

"Sh, it's starting." So saying, Nightwing then very obviously ignores Batman's protests with a poker face that even Constantine envies. What he wouldn't give to be able to shut the bat out like that.

The summoning goes quickly, thankfully. The lights flicker, the temperature drops, and the chalk circle erupts in green flames. Standard summoning practices, sure. Even the impromptu appearance of Red Hood and Red Robin—"Did we miss him?", "No, not yet! I got 2:37, what about you guys?"—doesn't throw him off.

It does pique his interest, though. Just what the hell is going on with them? Constantine's weighing up the pros and cons of asking them once all of this is over when the ground splits open and the clawed hand of the Ghost King begins to pull himself out of the ground.

John's a seasoned summoner. It's practically his job, he's done it countless times.

The icey fear that grips his heart, that freezes his breath in his chest, is new.

Pure, unadulterated power floods the area and he feels small, so, so small, like a child playing with things he doesn't understand. When he finally tears his eyes away from the portal, he catches a glimpse of the other magic users in the room, the same horror he feels clear in their faces. Even Captain Marvel stares slackjawed.

The pressure rises, death magic screaming in his ears, almost forcing him to his knees, and suddenly he's not so sure this is a good idea.

Too late to back out now, though.

Sickly green light pours from the crack in the ground, growing brighter and brighter as the giant figure rises, until Constantine has to close his eyes and look away. The last thing he sees are eyes, teeth, horns, a crown so bright that it burns an afterimage into his retinas.

When the light dies down and he opens his eyes again, a humanoid man floats in the centre of the circle. The ground is whole, nothing is burning, the man doesn't even have a crown. Instead, other than the wispy white hair, slightly green skin, and the—you know—floating, the Ghost King appears pretty normal. Huh.

Constantine blinks, rubbing his bleary eyes, and checks around to make sure everyone's okay. Most of the League are doing the same as him, taking fortifying breaths and trying to appear as if they've not just been completely blinded.

Most of them, that is, aside from the Gotham vigilantes.

Batman himself stands upright, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the whole thing and John's got to admit, he wishes he could do that, too. That was... a hell of a show.

The others, however, are waving frantically with huge smiles on their faces.

What?

There's a brief, taut silence, as everyone else tries to catch their breath.

As much as he would rather take a bit of a breather, John should probably start making introductions. Unfortunately, he only gets as far as opening his mouth before the Ghost King beats him to it.

"Oh, Ancients, hey guys! It's been forever, how are you? Look at you all, so grown up, wow—Nightwing, buddy, do a flip!"

It doesn't take much to get Nightwing going, and he certainly doesn't leave it at one flip. The whole of the Justice League and Justice League Dark watch with open mouths as Nightwing performs for the Ghost King.

What, and John can't stress this enough, the fuck?

As soon as Nightwing rights himself, Red Hood swats him across the back of the head and calls him a show off.

The Ghost King just laughs as he claps. "There's my little monkey, look at you go! And I'm loving that leather jacket, Hood, is that new? Looks good on you, really your colour. Brings out the red in your helmet."

"Thanks, Uncle D. At least someone around here appreciates fashion."

"Are you kidding me, you know I breathe fashion, need I remind—"

"Need I remind you of the Discowing incident?"

"That was era-appropriate and you know it! Uncle D, tell him it was era-appropriate!"

"It was era-appropriate, but so are crocs and it doesn't make them fashionable." The Ghost King—and holy shit, is this actually the Ghost King? Or did Constantine just accidentally summon a deceased family member, what the fuck is happening here?—turns to look at Red Robin with a smile, resolutely ignorning the argument he created. "How you doing, Double R? You get that tablet Tucker made for you?"

"Yes, thank you! It's so cool, how did he—"

"How's Tucker doing?" Batman interrupts, his hands now hidden underneath his cape.

As soon as the question leaves his lips, everyone groans. Red Robin makes a show of lifting up his wrist and staring at it intently.

"Incredible," Red Hood mutters with a shake of his head.

Even the Ghost King seems put out, rolling his eyes and answering in a flat tone as if he knows Batman isn't interested in what he has to say.

Not for the first time, Constantine feels like he's missing something.

"Tucker's doing very well, thank you for asking."

What follows is the most awkward silence Constantine has ever had the pleasure to be a part of.

All three of the Gotham vigilantes, including the Ghost King, are staring at Batman, waiting for something. Batman's cloak shifts as if he's moving his hands, fidgeting. If Constantine didn't know any better, he'd say he was nervous.

"Good. That's good, I'm glad to hear it."

Instead of saying anything else, the Ghost King just raises his eyebrows and continues to stare at Batman. Has he offended him in some way? Are they all going to die because of this?

After what seems like an agonising few minutes but could only really be a few seconds, Batman's shoulders dip and he takes a breath. "And Jazz?"

They all erupt into shouts, the Ghost King being the loudest. The only thing John can make out is when the Ghost King throws his hand in the air to point at Red Robin with a shout of "Time!"

"1:30.91, we got 1:30.91 on the clock, who's closest?"

"Did you even try to hold it in at all, old man? I'm so disappointed in you. People think you're cool. People think you're suave, I don't understand how they could be so wrong."

"Thank you for that, Hood."

"No, thank you, I won. Again. Because you're so predictable. Actually, I had one minute seventeen, so you held out longer than I thought you would."

Batman pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs loudly.

Constantine feels like doing the same thing.

Whatever. He's going to have to interrupt... whatever this is. There's still a rampaging demon heading their way that they've got to bargain for. He can untangle Batman's personal connection to the Ghost King later. Or he could leave it alone and forget everything about it.

Yeah, he'll do that one.

But before he can actually open his mouth to say anything, the Ghost King, again, beats him to it.

"So, B-Man, did you summon me here for a particular reason, or was it really just so you could ask about Jazz?"

There's a beat of silence before Batman mutters, "I asked about Tucker, too. We've not seen each other in so long, it's only polite."

"And I'm sure you meant it, you're the paragon of manners." The Ghost King nods slow and wide-eyed as if he doesn't believe him at all.

At this point, even Constantine doesn't believe him.

"It has been forever, though." The Ghost King muses, bringing his hand to his chin and folding his legs underneath him. "We should all get together sometime! If you get Alfie to make some of his cookies again, I'll get Clockwork to lend us a pocket dimension where we can spend as much time as we want, deal?"

"It's a deal."

No hesitation at all, incredible.

Hold on. Wait. John has to fight the urge to pinch himself, because this has to be a dream, right? Is Batman actually smiling? He didn't even know he could do that.

An itch niggles at the back of John's mind. He's starting to get an inkling of what's going on here and it's... weird, to say the least.

"Oooh," Nightwing singsongs, like a child in a playground tickled by the very idea of romance.

But then, who's he to judge? John's no stranger to strange bedfellows, that's for sure. Whoever this Jazz is, she must be something incredible—she'd have to be, if Batman can't even go two minutes without asking about her.

"Batman and Jasmine sitting in a tree," Nightwing continues, with both Red Hood and Red Robin joining in for the rest. "K—I—S—S—I—"

"Stop," Batman growls, completely drowned out by the Ghost King's laughter, but...

But.

It all suddenly clicks for John.

The Ghost King Phantom.

Her Royal Highness, Princess Jasmine Phantom.

Jazz.

"Holy shit, mate," John breathes, unable to stop himself as everyone looks his way. "You have the hots for the Princess of the Infinite Realms?"

The Justice League meeting room has never descended into chaos quicker.

#dpxdc #danny phantom crossover #danny phantom x batman #hoooolllyyy mackeral #it was hubris thinking i could keep anything to five sentences really wasn't it?#fucking played myself with that didn't i???#anyway here's even more words on this i hope you enjoy!!#some things that didn't make it in:#duke doesn't come to see danny because he's too bright when he's in his ghost form and it gives him a migraine - he still plays the game #though and is second closest!#damian is there he's just biding his time. it's become a tradition for damian to try and stab danny whenever he turns up #he hasn't managed it yet but danny keeps encouraging him to try again! you'll get me next time champ!#it infuriates damian to no end - no he's not doing it because he's having fun he legitimately wants to kill him shut up!#danny loves cass so much and when they do all get together they always sit together - it often ends up with cass curling up around danny #ellie turns up every now and then! she's like an honourary wayne at this point #she's always down for any pranks and shenanigans #thank you for the prompt!! it was very fun. as you can see i got rather carried away haha #thank you i hope you enjoyed it!!!#my writing #cab writes

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years

Text

Inconceivable!

Summary: No one tells you how hard it is to have to plan to leave and hurt the love of your life. However, when you know you want different things, you must choose. And your baby is probably the only thing you can ever imagine choosing over Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Word count: 8.2k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, fertility problems, panic attacks, Angst with a happy ending, threatening to break Brad's heart, so many references to The Princess Bride,Soft!smut, Soft!Bradley, Organized!Bradley. Let me know if I missed any others.

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. As always, I love BradBrad so much y'all. I don't know if I can write nonangsty smut. I was thinking of him and kids. The next thing you know I wrote whatever this is. Bradley wearing glasses 🥵. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them.

You knew Bradley never wanted to be a father, which was just fine with you because you knew you couldn't have kids. You had known about your fertility problems for a long time and had long ago come to peace with it.

Y'all had several conversations about children when you first started dating. Once you both felt like your feelings on the matter were hashed out, you had never really felt like revisiting the topic. Your life wasn't less or empty without kids. You were perfectly content with the life you and Rooster had made together.

That's why you have no idea what to do with the situation you are in right now. You were at your gynecologist for your annual check-up. Taking a pregnancy test was standard procedure, something you didn't even bat your eyes about or worry over. What you weren't prepared for was the positive results back.

"I'm sorry?" You choked out in disbelief. "That can't be possible."

"I know this is probably surprising, but," your doctor starts to say before you cut them off.

"No. No, I have known since I was 17 that I can't get pregnant."

"Well, you are and can. Sometimes miracles like this can happen," your doctor responded kindly.

She went on to ramble more and talk about some next steps and options. You felt shocked, not entirely sure how to process the information she was throwing your way. You left the office a bit later, promising to set up a follow-up appointment.

Your first thought was to get an abortion. It was the obvious solution. Bradley didn't want kids, and you hadn't wanted them either. Right? You tried to think if it was true. Was it that you didn't want kids or just that you couldn't have kids?

For the next week, you tried to run the pros and cons and sort out your feelings on what was happening. You tried to act as normal as possible with Bradley. You didn't want to bring anything up until you knew how you felt.

Part of you kept coming back to when you were a little girl to how growing up before you knew that you couldn't have kids, the promise you would whisper to yourself. The promise of how you would do better than your own parents did.

You thought of the fantasies you used to have: the baby shoes, baking in the kitchen guiding a tiny pair of hands, sports practices, matching sweaters for family holiday cards, first recitals, proms and homecomings, dropping them off for their first day of college, and parent's weekends where you buy cheap booze, family trips, the possibilities of grandkids.

Now suddenly, all those fantasies were a possibility again. A reality that could come true in less than a year. Thinking about them brought an ache to your chest. An ache that manifested as want, a desire so strong all the cons you could come up with didn't really matter, well, all of them but one.

The biggest problem of the puzzle was Bradley, the love of your life. You had absolutely no doubt that he would do the right thing and stay by your side. However, you didn't want him to be a dad because he had to do it. The thought of him being forced to do something he didn't want to, just because it's the right thing, made your stomach roll. The idea of part of him resenting you, and eventually your child too, because of something you chose. That was something you couldn't live with.

So even though you felt a heavy hurt in your chest, you knew you had to leave Bradley. You weighed that heartbreak compared to the want for this child that had bloomed in your chest, and one outweighed the other. So now, on top of thinking about the baby, you started to think through quiet plans of how it would hurt your husband least to leave him.

You almost broke down one night and told him the two of you had been lying on the couch together. Bradley was casually spooning you from behind, one of his hands playing with a lock of hair while the movie he picked played on the TV. Of course, it was the Princess Bride, one of his all-time favorites.

You were half watching the movie, half dozing. Bradley was too good at soothing you, and you had started noticing a significant change in your energy levels as of late. You mentally made a note to bring it up at the follow-up doctor's appointment you had scheduled.

"I would do that," Bradley suddenly says, bringing you back to alertness.

"Oh really?" you hum, unsure what he was talking about.

"Yes, I would wait five years and chase after kidnappers, fight the prince, build a tolerance to poison, all for you, baby."

Bradley's honest love for you warmed your chest like it always did. However, the current circumstances turned that warmth into a bitter aftertaste in the back of your throat. What you were doing haunted you. His hand drops your hair and traces down your arm until he threads your fingers together. His large hand in yours helped further break down your resolve.

"What if I asked you to do something you didn't want to?" You ask him hesitantly.

"If you wanted me to, then I would," Brad tells you plainly. As if that were a given, you should just expect that his desires would line up with yours. It doesn't put you at ease like you were hoping it would.

"What if it was something you really didn't want to. Something bigger than sword fights and rodents of unusual size?"

His hand flexes squeezing yours a little tighter. Bradley doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wait with bated breath. Finally, he nuzzles your neck with his nose before asking, "Do you have something specific in mind?"

That was the moment, the moment that you could come clean to him. You could be honest and lay it all out on the table, but you don't. You can't. You aren't ready to let him go yet; it's too soon, you tell yourself.

So you lie to him, finally pushing the words out your throat, "No, nothing specific. Just asking."

Bradley's fingers that are laced with yours squeeze yours again, and you have the sneaking suspicion that he doesn't believe your lie. "Well, even if it was big. We would do what we always do. We'll talk about it and figure it out. Then I'll agree with what you want, just like I always do."

"You shouldn't do things you don't want to do just for me, Brad," you chastise him lightly. The heavy pit in your chest constricts even more.

He kisses your head, pulling you a little tighter against him in his embrace. "Sure, whatever you say, babe."

The whole thing sits with you for another week, and the doctor's appointment you made starts to creep closer. You are reading an article in incognito mode on your phone about nutrition during pregnancy and the importance of vitamins. Occasionally, you glance up to see Bradley sitting on the other side of the couch.

He has a thick World War Two biography book wide open, nearing the end. His reading glasses are perched on the edge of his nose. Even though you had teased Brad relentlessly when he first got them, the glasses were actually really hot. The sight of them on him now makes heat start to bud in the bottom of your abdomen.

You lock your phone and set it aside, looking more thoroughly at Bradley now. He was so so very handsome. You found it unlikely there would ever be another man you would allow into your bed after him. The edges of panic that seep into you every time you consider the inevitable end with Bradley makes a reappearance. You push it to the side as much as possible, but it creates a sudden desperation for him in you.

"Bradley."

"Yes, my love?" He asks, not looking up from the page in front of him.

"I need something."

"What do you need?" He turns the page of his book and pushes those damn glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

"I need you," you tell him, biting your lip.

His eyes snap up from the page to look at you, and his eyebrows raise, processing your words. "What was that?"

"I need you to make love to me, Brad. I'm on fire."

He dog ears the page he is on his book and sets it on the coffee table, turning to give you his full attention. His hands casually trace up your leg, massaging the tense muscles of your claves.

You let out a soft sigh at the feeling. A few moments later, Bradley crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your neck and then melding his lips to yours. You sigh into his mouth, enjoying the taste of him, trying to savor it. You pull off his reading glasses so they aren't in the way, haphazardly tossing them away.

When he starts to pull away, you wrap your arms around him, drawing him closer, not wanting any space between you. You trace one of your hands down his neck and under the collar of his shirt, tracing his shoulders, kissing him harder, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

"What has got you so needy, sweet girl?" He asks you, confused, pressing a few soft sweet kisses to your throat.

"Just you, handsome man," you tell him, trying to draw Bradley back to your lips. Bradley smiles, hearing your words but then shifts off you and the couch.

Before you can protest at his absence, he goes to pick you up. Like every time Bradley picks you up, you are hit with the worry that it will be the time he can't do it, or he will drop you, make heaving grunting sounds, or some other terrible mishap will come to pass. It doesn't, though; he secures you in his arms and starts to carry you through the house to your room.

You start pressing kisses to the readily presented column of his neck then. When he reaches your bed and goes to put you down, you sink your teeth into the space where his neck starts to curve into his shoulder. Although he lets out a hiss, you hadn't held back with the bite. You made it intending to mark him.

When he does set you down, you scramble hurriedly to start undressing him, desperate to see and feel the expanses of his golden skin. Unfortunately, you only get Brad out of his teeshirt before he stops you. His large hands close around your wrists, holding them tight, preventing them from moving further down, lower than the top of his abdomen.

"Slow down, pretty girl. We got all the time in the world," he says. You know, he said it to be soothing, but he didn't know how wrong he was. He didn't understand the finite amount of time you had left together.

So when he lets go of your wrist, you instead start to pull off your own clothes and settle yourself on the bed. You stare at him expectantly and let out the smallest huff.

"Slow down." He tells you again, "And, don't move your hands off the headboard," When he is satisfied with how you are holding it, he starts to kiss down your body.

"Why are you so worried?" he breaths out against your inner thigh, pressing feather-light kisses to the skin there. "You know I'm going to take care of you, my love. I always do. There's no reason to be so worried."

Bradley's words manage to hit the exact spot of comfort you are actually needing. Even though you are planning on leaving him. You still want him to take care of you; you want to do this with him. But, you also know that can't happen. So, regardless you feel more at ease; the desperation in you is not quite so hot, not making you jittery with need.

Bradley rewards the way your body relaxes by licking stripe over you. You resist the urge to let go of the headboard and bury your hands in Bradley's thick hair. The way he sucks your clit into his mouth to roll his tongue over makes you arch, needing more. Bradley lays his arm across your hips, applying pressure to keep you still under him.

The more you work to struggle against his arm, feeling your high edge closer and closer, a thought suddenly pops into your head. Is it still okay for Bradley to hold you down like this? Are you going to hurt your baby? It's an irrational thought, you know that, but your body instantly reacts to it. Of course, so early into your pregnancy, there is no reason this would be a problem, but you still drop your hips down onto the bed, no longer trying to move them against him. Your distraction pulled you far back from the edge.

You try to focus on the feel of Bradley's tongue and how warm he feels with his shoulders caged between your thighs. But only a few breaths later, Bradley is lifting his head to look at you.

He has a crease between his eyebrows, and his tongue that was just around you darts out to lick to own lips. "What just stopped you from coming?" he asks, concerned. His voice is thick and low. His hold over your waist disappears as he draws soothing circles on your hip. Bradley's concern draws you back to him and into the want you have for him.

You let go of the headboard and stretch out your arms. Then, burying your hands in his hair, you tilt Brad's face to fully meet your eyes.

"Make love to me, Bradley," you beg him. He stares at you for a very long minute, and you stare back at him, waiting. Finally, he pulls his eyes away from yours and stares at your center in front of him.

"As you wish," he mutters the words. Rooster pulls himself off the bed and pulls his sweats off. You drag your eyes over his naked body, taking him all in. You lick your lips at the sight.

"You are breathtaking, Brad," you tell him. That smile that melts your heart shows up on his face, and he glows under your praise.

You crawl to the edge of the bed and trace your hands up his muscular thighs. You guide your hand upwards. You brush over his cock, not really giving it any attention, before outlining his side, watching his stomach and abs contract under your fingers. You go slowly, trying to memorize the feel of his skin under you. You kiss along his chest too.

He leans down and captures your lips. You kiss Rooster back, glad that the fervor has left your body, but you are no less desperate for him. The desire to memorize him doesn't go.

You urge him onto the bed, pushing him on his back. You straddle Bradley, settling over him, with his cock nestled in between your lower lips. You give a small rock, his head bumping into your clit. You moan a little and repeat the motion.

Leaning forward, you rest your hands on his chest to give you more leverage. Rooster moves his hips with you increasing the friction. The pace is slow and almost teasing for both of you.

Shifting your weight, you lean and kiss him again. Bradley's tongue slips into your mouth, running against yours. One of his hands comes up and rests on your hip, urging you, pulling you further down to rub against him harder. His other hand cups one of your breasts, his thumb running over your nipple in swirling strokes.

You break his embrace just to reach your hand and guide him inside. Bradley lets out a heavy sigh as he slips into you. You resist the urge to slide all the way down his length, keeping it slow.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he tells you, biting his lips.

"Love how you fill me, Brad," you sigh once he is fully hilted. Both of you are breathing more elevated. When you start to move your hips again, Bradley closes his eyes and presses his head back into the bed.

You immediately stop moving, glaring down at him. "No," you say, and his eyes open instantly, looking at you again. You reach up a hand to grip his chin affectionately, holding his face in place. "I need to see you."

"You are so beautiful," he tells you. Bradley does as you want and doesn't break eye contact again.

The room is filled with both of your moanings as you work together at a slow, steady pace. The way his hands run along your skin and back is almost reverent. The heat in you starts to build again. You grind down hard onto Bradley so that your clit gets more stimulation.

Rooster's right hand comes around and settles on your lower stomach, applying pressure and letting his thumb dip down to brush your clit in light strokes. You gasp, a moan breaking from your throat. You freeze on top of Bradley's cock, enjoying the zing his thumb just sent up your spine.

"That's right. So good." Bradley moans out, pressing his thumb harder into you. Even though he is filling you so deliciously, you don't feel close enough to him. You feel like you want to crawl into his skin. That would be the only thing that would satisfy your need for him.

You grab his hand that isn't on your clit and thread your fingers together. His hand grips yours back. Bradley doesn't make any movement to shift either of your hips, content to play with your clit and stare into your eyes.

"Fuck, I love you." Bradley groans out, biting his lower lip. You start to rock your hips into his again, but for the most part, keeping him fully hilted inside you. You almost feel like you are drowning in his eyes with how he looks up at you. His heavy-lidded gaze makes you clench around him.

Your moans and quiet pants mix with his. The tension in you grows as you swirl your hips into his.

"Need this, need you." Bradley swirls his thumb a little harder and does break eye contact to nip your neck, sitting more up on the bed to get a better angle. Having more of your skin pressed together helps ease more of the ache in you.

You grip his hair again, pulling him up, shifting, so you are chest to chest. Bradley's free hand clutches you close to him. You trace the scars on his cheek with your lips before kissing him again.

"I love you," you sigh against his mouth. He groans and rocks his hips into yours, creating a bit more friction. Rooster understands just what you need, not pulling out of you.

The two of you build a rhythm together; finally, you can't hold back anymore. The bubble in you bursts, and you clench hard around Bradey's cock. Bradley takes a few more gasping breaths and then cums in you with a low moan. Bradley starts to move like he is going to pull out of you, so you whine and hold him closer.

"No, no. I need you closer," you tell him. You are still desperate to have him near. You press your nose into Rooster's neck, breathing in his natural musky scent. Trying to absorb the smell entirely, memorizing it before biting the skin and tasting it.

"Woah. Woah," Bradley says breathily. You let out a low hum in response, trying to savor his sounds as well. You wiggle your hips against him again, where he is still half hard. You consciously clench around his dick, reminding yourself how full Bradley makes you.

"Baby, stop," he says. Rooster's voice is wrecked, and his large hands hold your hips still. At first, you don't even hear his request until he repeats it more forcefully. Then he rolls you over onto your back and pulls out of you quickly. You gasp at the sudden loss of him. You have to lay there for a moment, trying to reorient yourself. Bradley is sitting on the edge of the bed, panting hard, his hands on his knees.

"Bradley?" You croak out, reaching a hand hesitantly towards him. He looks back at you, and his face is a mix of panicked and furious.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks you in a low growl.

"What was what?"

"Don't bullshit me."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," you tell him, drawing your eyebrows close together.

"That was was goodbye sex," he says slowly. Your mouth drops open, and you try to reach around your rattling brain to come up with an answer, an excuse. However, you find it completely empty.

"That was the exact kind of sex we have before I leave and deploy. You had the same look." Bradley was almost shaking, and you had no idea what to say that wouldn't be a lie.

"What's going on? Something has been wrong for weeks. I keep waiting for you to talk to me, and you fucking haven't."

"I —" you start to say, but Bradley's eyes are so captivating, so genuine, you can't lie to him. So before you even know what you are saying, the words fall out of your mouth, "I'm leaving."

Rooster physically recoils at your words. The line of his back is taut, and his eyebrows draw together. His mouth presses into a tight line. His jaw flexing, and you can tell he is clenching his teeth. "What did I do wrong?"

"No, sweetie," you say quickly. "It's not you. It's me." You tell him gently. It was you, well, you and this baby, but Brad didn't need to know that. Your words only seemed to make him more upset.

"Are you kidding me? You didn't just say that." He mutters it under his breath, pulling at his short curls in frustration and glaring at you. He is so tense the veins in his bicep and neck start to pop.

"I'm sorry," you offer him quietly.

"I don't want to hear sorry. I want to hear a reason. Were you going to tell me? Or just planning to disappear?"

"Of course, I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Why? "

"I can't..."

"No. I think I deserve to know why the love of my life is leaving me," Bradley says, frustrated. He stands up from bed, goes to his drawers, and pulls on some boxers to throw on. He also grabs one of his old Sigma Pi shirts out of his drawer and throws it for you to shrug on.��

You felt shame and frustration building in you. You didn't want to deal with this situation right now. You didn't want to have to tell Bradley why. Then to your absolute horror, and probably the hormones coursing through you, you burst into tears.

Bradley's pacing halts for a moment at the sight of your tears, but then he resumes momentarily as he balls his fist tight. His knuckles turning a paler shade.

"We want different things." You gasp out between the sobs racking your body.

"We want different things," he repeats slowly, like he is trying to piece out some hidden meaning in the words.

"Yes," you hiccup nodding your head.

"How could that be possible?" He questions you sharply. "If that were the case, we wouldn't have gotten married. And you didn't mention anything when we had our last relationship check-in."

Bradley was big on communication. He insisted y'all have seasonal relationship check-ins with each other to talk about anything that had happened and how you were feeling about your relationship. This conversation should have probably been reserved for the next one, but you couldn't wait a few more weeks before leaving, or Bradley would know.

You were going to start showing at some point; while all the articles you read were inconsistent about when that might happen, it would happen eventually. You knew it would probably be impossible to leave Rooster if he knew that you were pregnant. Every moment with him weakened your resolve to do the right thing.

"Things change, people change." You weakly tell him. Not able to conceive a better excuse.

"I don't understand why you are jumping into leaving me. Baby, why won't you talk to me?" Bradley suddenly dropped hard to his knees on the wood floor at the side of the bed. You winced at the sound it made. He pulls one of your hands into both of his. "Please talk to me," he begs you, holding your hand delicately in his. The puppy dog look Bradley has mastered coming out in full force.

"I can't…"

"You can," he reassures you, swiping a thumb across your pulse point. You felt your stomach roll, the emotions in you going haywire.

"I'm…" you trail off and then shake your head at him in denial of this situation. As soon as you tell Bradley, it will be over.

"It's okay, baby. Anything. You can tell me anything. Talk to me. I won't be mad," he adds on for your benefit. Your plans all crumbled at that moment because how can you deny Bradley Bradshaw anything when he begs for it.

"I'm pregnant," you finally whisper in a barely audible voice. With how Bradley reacted to your words, you might as well have screamed them. First, he flinches like a whole body flinch. Every muscle you can see tensing. He shutters and his grip on your hand tightens to where it is almost painful.

Bradley freezes like that for a moment, blinking at you owlishly, before he drops his head down, hiding his face from your view. Finally, he presses his face down into the bed.

You wait with bated breath. Rooster's grip on your hand didn't lessen in the slightest. You feel panic settle in the back of your throat when his shoulders start to tremble, and he still hasn't said anything.

"Bradley?" You flex your hand, resisting his tight grip, and he releases you. His hands fall limply on the bed. He still hasn't looked at you, though.

Tears start to streak down your face faster, and a small sob hitches in your throat. "I am sorry," you tell him sincerely.

"Are you really?" His low voice asks muffled.

"Sorry, or pregnant?" You ask pulling up the collar of his shirt you are wearing to wipe away some of your tears. "Because it's both."

His hands come to clasp themselves together, and you briefly wonder if he is praying. The shaking of his shoulders and the inability to see his face make it increasingly impossible to understand his reaction.

Finally, he looks at you, and those hazel eyes bleed back at you, tears still falling down his face staining his cheeks a bright red even through the healthy tan he has right now. Bradley's eyes trace over your face looking like he is searching for any trace of a lie. Then he examines your body under his shirt like he might already see a difference.

As if there was a difference, he would be able to notice now that he didn't notice before when you were naked, and he was inside of you. You wrap your arms around your chest, hugging yourself under his scrutiny.

"I'm going to keep it." You finally tell him now that Bradley's shining eyes are available for scrutiny again. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his face falls into a frown. "I'm sorry," you say again.

You try to think of the right words to explain yourself to him. "When I found out, I realized I wanted this. I know we always said we didn't. But I really want this baby, Bradley. I am sorry I kept it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you. And then I saw these baby shoes in the store. They were so cute." Your fingers knot into the edge of the worn frat shirt you are wearing. His hazel eyes aren't giving you much to go off of. They are still darting around your face like he is trying to figure out what you are telling him.

Brad abruptly stands up in the middle of your rambling. So, you halt your words. Watching him as he walks out of the room. You strain your ears, trying to listen to where he went. You hear the hallway door open and beeps coming from the safe. After hearing it click open and seal again, Bradley's feet can be heard on the hallway floor again.

Your mind runs, trying to think of what he could have grabbed from the safe. Your important documents? You silently make a note that was something that you need to be sure to pack. You wouldn't want to come back to Bradley to get your passport or something after leaving. Could it be money? Was he going to give you money to leave with and give you some of the cash you two had been saving to move?

The thoughts make breathing extra hard, and you start to suck air in and out rapidly. The panic floods your veins, making the walls of the room shrink inward towards you. Sharp tingles prick at your fingertips and toes.

Before you can run through any other possible scenario, he gets back.

You can't focus on Bradley enough to see him through the black that starts to edge in at the corner of your vision. You desperately try to pull a gasping breath in your chest. The action of breathing is suddenly too overwhelming.

The panic of what you had just done finally cutting into you. That Bradley now knew the secrets you had been harboring so close to your chest. There is wringing in your ears, the shuddering wracking your body. You curl into yourself to try and shield yourself from the hurt and panic ringing through your body.

Then, you are engulfed. There isn't enough weight on the outside of you to combat the storm of panic that was trying to burst out from the inside of your veins. Numbness fills your body, and you know you are close to passing out. The storm brewed inside you, desperate to escape your body, desperate to take you out at the same time.

Heaving in breaths gets harder and more difficult. You dig your nails hard into the skin of your thighs, trying to scramble for anything to steady yourself. Fighting each desperate moment when there is s shift.

At first, you don't know what has changed. However, your breaths get a gasp longer, allowing slightly more oxygen, and the black in your vision starts to recede. You slam your eyes shut at the nausea you feel. The more air you can finally take in, the more you are allowed to start making sense of anything besides your own haywire body.

You are wrapped in your weighted blanket, and the extra pressure is aided by Bradley. He is holding you tight within his arms and legs, and he has you pulled close to his chest.

His legs are wrapped around your hips and crossed in front of you. Giving the front of your body room. Your legs are trapped between you two. One of his arms is crossed over your chest, and the other is petting your head soothingly, playing with your hair occasionally.

Bradley is humming to you. You try and focus on the tune. It's like a lifeline; you cling to the sound, letting it help your thoughts trail away from your panic. You keep trying to breathe bigger, longer breaths consciously now.

It's a tune you have heard before. Finally, Bradley breaks from the humming, whispering one of the lyrics into your ear, and you can immediately place the song.

"Love of my life," he mutters lowly into your ear, and then he returns to his humming. You are flashed back to a different time he sang this song to you.

He had been perched on the bench of a piano. Fingers gliding over the keys in time, his sweet voice dipping between octaves. It was Love Of My Life, by Queen. It is the song Bradley sings to you before every single deployment.

The song feels like a confirmation that you two will not be making it. A confirmation he is letting you go. This is the song that always fills the space between you when parting ways. The small semblance of recovery you had made is gone. Your breaths start to quicken again as you are dragged back into the panic.

Bradley's arms flex hard, and there is slightly more pressure around you. The beads of the weighted blanket shifting under his hands. He continues humming the song, but this time he peppers in a few more of the lyrics.

"Love of my life, don't leave me," he croons softly into your ear.

You don't know how long Bradley holds you waiting for you to calm down. You don't ever feel at ease, but the slow breaths and Bradley's soothing voice help bring you down from the high and worst of the panic attack.

You manage to let out a little whimper, and Bradley's arms start to loosen around you in slow intervals. You turn your face to the side, slotting your eyes up to catch a glimpse of him. Bradley has his eyes closed, and his face is splotchy and red from crying still. You fill in some of the lyrics to his humming in a cracked, barely there voice. Those beautiful eyes flash open, hearing your voice join his humming.

He won't stop humming, though. Rooster's hazel eyes are so intense, a medusas snare, that even as hard as you try to close your eyes, you aren't successful. They have captivated you entirely. Bradley finishes humming the song and lets his arms slip from around you. His legs uncross, and they fall flat on the bed on either side of you.

You push the weighted blanket off your top, so it is pilled around your legs as you ease out of your curled position.

"BradBrad," you whisper for him. You are still trembling at the very tips of your fingers. The buzz and tingles at the front of your nose are still persistent, but feeling has returned to the rest of your body. The needles fade out of your hands and legs.

"Love of my life," he hums sweetly again. His eyes have a tiny bit of worry, but for the most part, they are full of love and adoration for you. His body is borderline hot to the touch and feverish behind you. His heart is thumping loudly under your ear.

Brad's now loose hands find new purchase, gliding over your hips, tracing slow, steady circles. Then his left hand starts creeping forward further. Bradley's large hand is suddenly under his shirt and splaying out flat against your lower belly. That is where it finds its perch.

You gasp at the feeling of his hand, at the placement of it. Brad's fingers make the tiniest indents pressing into your skin. Your breath hitches at his squeeze. The metal of his wedding ring is warm against your skin, a nice contrast to the rest of his hand.

Hearing the way your breath hitches, Bradley immediately lays his hand fully flat. Bradley now retreating to a feather-light touch. His fingers swirl in an unknown pattern on your skin. His hands like to trace the shapes of flight paths he has memorized.

It was something Bradley had confessed to you one night during pillow talk. The two of you sprawled together. You were laying half on his chest. His fingertips were tracing the length of your spine, in feather-light trials, moving from the base of your spine to the small of your back, then following the path again. His fingers would sometimes brush into your hair and give small scratches before tracing your flesh again.

"How do you do that?" You finally had asked him.

"Do what?" He responded, but something about the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what you were referring to. Rooster just wanted you to admit it out loud.

"You are so consistent, but you keep me on my toes." Bradley's hand stills where it had been gliding on your back. Then he started to trace once more, but this time his fingers making small movements and taking on a new drag like pattern dancing across your back.

"Is that right?" He asked you, but there was a full-blown boyish smirk donning his face.

You nodded your head, licking your lips. The tingles that his hands were sending through your body started to warm you up even after just having finished with him. "Yes, it rocks my world. So, why don't you let me on the secret?"

"I'm just that good, baby," he told you cheekily.

"Bradley Bradshaw." You warned lowly.

"It's flight paths."

"What?"

"I use the flight paths I have memorized," his fingers danced in a looping motion doubling back and then tracing forward again.

"They make it easy to loop, but it's long enough that there is different pacing, or I use the piano," He told you, letting his fingers tap and shift along your back as if it was a set of ivories suddenly. It had made you giggle.

"That might have been one of the sexiest things you have ever told me, Bradley." You had told him before you kissed him silly. And letting him showcase those skills with his tongue for the second time that night.

Now, Brad's hand that is lying against your stomach also starts to follow a pattern. You open your mouth, but Bradley quickly cuts you off.

"Please, don't say sorry."

"But I am."

"That was a bad attack."

It was true that you hadn't had one that severe in a while. "I'm—"

"Do not say sorry," he repeats. You sigh heavily and move to stop leaning against Bradley. However, he doesn't let you. The hand on your hip and lower abdomen fighting you and drawing you flush against him. He settles you, so you are comfortably leaning against his chest again.

"I am sorry," Brad finally says, almost a whisper in your ear.

"You are sorry?"

"Yes."

"Why?" You question him. Not sure you understand what he is apologizing for.

"Why are you going to leave me?" Brad asks instead of answering your question.

You sigh and close your eyes. You lean your head back, so it's settled on Bradley's shoulder. Then take a deep calming breath before responding. "I know you don't want kids. You have always been very honest about that, and it's not your fault I'm pregnant.

"Well, I don't think you went and got pregnant by yourself. It's kind of a process that takes two contributing parties. Unless you are going to tell me that it's someone else's." Bradley says the words so incredulously that you know he has no doubt the baby is his.

"I know you don't want this, but I realized I do."

"What if I do want this?"

"I'm not going to let you do this just because you feel obligated, Bradley," you tell him tiredly.

"No. I want this."

"How could that be?" You ask.

You feel him shift behind you, and you open your eyes to see what he is doing. Bradley is reaching to the bedside table where you see a huge binder sitting.

It is a binder that you know well. Bradley is a meticulous and organized person. He likes to refer to this binder as your Life Plan Binder. It was full of timelines, dates, references, and lists. Everything Bradley feels is necessary for y'all's life.

You realize that this one is different from the one that lives on his desk. It is slimmer, and the front doesn't have a picture of the two of you slotted in the cover that the other did.

"The LPB?" You ask him, confused.

His left hand makes itself at home again on your lower abdomen, while his right hand puts the binder on your lap. Finally, you read the cover where it says alternative plans in bold lettering.

"I'm sorry I left earlier, but I needed to get this." He mutters into your ear. Brad's tone is deeply apologetic. He flips the binder open, and there are labeled tabs. You fully realize this is a binder you have never seen before. You scan the tabs and freeze up in Bradley's hold when you see the one he is thumbing to.

It is towards the back, behind the different tabs, including restations, health, new cars, vacations, and retirement, is a tab that has a simple label. It's blue and just says, baby. Bradley flips to the tab, and you see the cover page of the section with the table of contents. In bold at the top of the page, you read Baby Bradshaw.

A sob that ends up coming out as a broken laugh ripping from your chest. The section contents was filled out with thoroughly thought out plans on you having children, from a section with important timelines, appointments to schedule, college savings plans, and a section with boys' and girls' names that he likes.

You bring one of your hands up to stifle the sobs that are bubbling in your chest. You hold your hand close over your mouth to try to hold back the sound. His fingers traced over the page and the table of contents for the section.

"What is this?" You finally ask him.

"It's my alternate life plan binder. For you know, if other things come up."

"Why do you have a Baby Bradshaw section?" You hesitantly ask. His hand is still warm against your stomach, and he flexes his fingers.

"Well, a while ago, I started thinking about kids," he trails off, and you start looking through the table of contents again. You see that the most robust and largest section is actually related to adoption. You feel your heart melt in your chest. A new bright feeling of hope blossoms looking at the care, time, and thought he has put into this. As he continues, "and well… You know how I am. I wanted to be prepared for that possibility."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I've been ruminating, and I don't know. Maybe I would have mentioned it at our next check-in. But I knew you don't…" Bradley doesn't finish his sentence, and you lose your mind a little bit.

You pull the large binger up into your hands and shift. You struggle and move until you turn in his grip. Your legs wrapped around Brad's waist. You want to see his face, which is easier in this position. The hand that had been placed on your stomach curls around your back and waist, steadying you against him.

"You changed your mind?" You ask him. You let your hands trace over his chest, settling on cupping his face. Then, staring into his eyes, you look for any trace of anger or deceit.

"You seem to also have changed your mind, baby," he takes the binder from where it was awkwardly pressed in between you two. It allows you to settle closer to him. Bradley sets the binder to the side, momentarily breaking eye contact to make sure none of the pages are creased. Your chests were almost flush together. You wrap your arms around his neck, and then he is the one to hold your face. His eyes reconnect with yours, and you once again feel like you are caught in them.

The intensity and openness in his gaze make your lips move faster than your brain to lay out the whole truth for him. "I don't think that I ever wanted to not have kids. I had just accepted it because I knew that I couldn't." You explain, not breaking eye contact. Bradley's thumb traces a slow circle against your cheek.

"I would never let you do this by yourself."

"I can't just throw a wrench like this in your life, Brad."

He immediately starts shaking his head in protest. "It's our life. I'm not going to lie to you and say that you didn't hurt my feelings. If you left me," Bradly heaves a heavy shaky breath. You briefly wonder if he is going to cry again. Then he continues to explain, "I would be broken… shattered. I feel even worse that you didn't want to talk to me or tell me."

You can tell how deeply you hurt him. Even though you knew what you were going to do was wrong, now that you and Bradley are talking about it. You know you need to try and explain your rationale no matter how messed up it was.

"At first, I wasn't sure how I felt. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't do that before I knew how I felt. But then I kept thinking about all the times we talked about you not wanting kids. How you had so many good, valid reasons for feeling that way. I know you, Bradley. I knew that you would do the right thing as soon as I told you. But you don't need obligation ruling anymore of your life that it already does."

"So what if I was obligated? I agreed to be obligated to you for the rest of our lives when we got married. I want to be bound to you. I want to shoulder your burdens, just like you shoulder mine," Bradley says.

"A child is a lifelong burden for you to shoulder," you say. You need to know, need to be fully sure Brad understands.

"Do you think so low of me? Do you think I wouldn't love something that was a mix of you and me?"

"There are plenty of people in the world who don't love their children." You tell him, swallowing hard.

He lets out a long sigh, his breath fanning a bit over your face. "I want this baby. I want this baby with you. I want to be at every doctor's appointment. I want to know everything I've missed. I want family vacations where I can buy a Hawaiian shirt in three different sizes for all of us. I want little league games. I want a baby to sing to sleep. I want someone to put on top of the piano and sing to like my dad did. I want us to paint a nursery. I want Disney trips. I want to fight about curfew. I want to make breakfast on Saturdays and spend Sundays in the shop with football, restoring a beat-up first car. I want to make dad jokes. Fuck, I need to buy a pair of new balances."

Warmth fills you at his words. You let out a small laugh picturing Bradley as a stereotypical dad. How he wants all of that with you. That you won't do this alone like you have mentally been preparing yourself for since finding out. You run your fingers up and down his neck trailing it down his shoulder as far as you can reach before tracing back to his neck. A content sigh falls from his lips, and his eyes close, enjoying your gentle caresses.

"What are some of the names?" You break the silence after his confessions.

"I like Westley," he says with a small boyish smile. You bite back a grin at the name, playfully rolling your eyes.

"Oh, and is Buttercup on your list for girl names?" You ask him teasingly.

"Maybe," he says. You lean forward and peck his lips.

"You're not going to leave me," Bradley whispers with conviction. You know he is still coming down from the emotional roller coaster you just went through together. You also know Brad is going to need time to fully process this conversation and the change about to happen in your lives. However, you also know, without a doubt, that Bradley will be holding your hand at your next doctor's appointment.

"No, I'm not." You confirm and brush your lips over his softly.

"Stay with me forever," Bradley begs you in a voice a little too small for you to handle.

You hold the hazel gaze for a very, very long moment. You let him examine you, see the truth, and honestly bleeding in your gaze before you respond. What you want to say at first is: I love you. However, those words weren't quite right; they didn't seem to fully capture your intention and the emotion in your chest you felt for this man. So instead, you settle on the words you think will most closely allow him to understand. You brush your lips against him again, whispering your answer into them.

"As you wish, Bradley."

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