#music in fanfiction

[pennybunpirate]

Fic writers using music in your stories (title, theme, linked songs, playlists etc), do you realise the power you have to cause emotional damage beyond reading your story?

[theoldaeroplane]

worried that thing you put in your art or writing or game or music is too self-indulgent, too self-referential, too niche for anyone but yourself? fear not! you can do whatever you want forever. and you should.

[acry-4-help]

remus: why is the dorm a fucking disaster?!?

sirius: *shrugs* record players broken…

remus: what does that have to do with anything?!

sirius: *unbothered* no music, no cleaning

remus: *starts humming and picking things up*

sirius: *jumps up* oh i know that tune!! 🎶CH-CH-CH-CH-CHANGES!!!🎶 *immediately starts making his bed*

[sl-newsie]

Normal people: look up an actor to see what other shows they've been in

Me: sees a hot character and immediately researches for fanfiction about them

It's an instinct now.

[helpallthenamesaretakensblog]

you wouldnt last an hour in the asylum where they raised me (those cringe percabeth and solangelo marriage proposal text skits from ten years ago on youtube)

[tervaneula]

let us catch you this time

[melanthaeunomia]

Do y’all ever reread an old unpublished fanfic you wrote and then get invested on the storyline but get sad because you never wrote the next part of it, just me?

[sigillite]

music (fanfiction) writing challenge!!

use your music taste to write a fanfiction or any story in this challenge!

first open your music app of choice and make sure your playlist is on shuffle -- then the first 5 songs that pop up will determine your:

Premise -- What your story is going to be about in the first place. What is going to be the main "selling point" of the story that sets it apart from the rest.

Main character -- Your main character's personality or inner struggle.

Main conflict -- The main conflict that drives your story and becomes an obstacle for your main character.

Vibes -- Is this going to be a light-hearted story? Angsty? Romantic? Whatever matches the vibe of the song.

Ending -- How this story is going to end.

yes, this is very vague, but that is the point! this can give you some ideas of what to write while also leaving plenty of room to be creative. feel free to switch up what songs represent what or even shuffle them a couple more times!

[lizthewriter]

messy / regina george

PAIRING  regina george x fem!reader

SUMMARY  you and regina have been secretly hooking up for months, but she breaks up with you when you ask for more. after she gets hit by a bus, you fear for her life and whatever relationship you have left.

TAGS  regina george x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, queer!, reneé rapp is so fine 😫😫, internalized homophobia, use of d-slur (lesbian slur)

QUOTE  "half of all my exes regret me, / but none of them will ever forget me, / loving me gets really messy," - messy by reneé rapp

WRITTEN  1.13.2024

WORD COUNT  1.3K

A/N everytime reneé showed up on screen, i literally started banging my fists against my seat because she SERVED CUNT!!!! SHE WAS SO FINE!!!! literally after the movie, my best friend said to me: "i think you're just gay. i think you're a woman kisser. you might just have a little fruit in your cup."

slammed up against the wall, you felt regina's teeth clash furiously against yours. it was all hot passion - how your lips ran feverishly against hers as though you'd never get to feel her touch again, the way her hands ran up and down the sides of your body as though she needed to memorize the shape of you. days the two of you had gone without a moment to yourselves. days you had spent fantasizing about her pressing you up against the wall. it wasn't that you didn't want a normal relationship. it wasn't that you didn't want to kiss and hold hands and go on cute dates, but . . . that wasn't regina's style. she was closeted. heavily. actually, you weren't sure that she even understood that making out with girls was perhaps the most gay thing she could do, but you were willing to take what you were given. it was regina george, after all.

she pulled away from you by biting gently down on your lip, letting go when she could no longer stretch it any longer. "god, you're so hot," she whispered with a smirk, unbuttoned the first two buttons of your shirt. she reclaimed the control she had over your body, pressing her lips to your collarbone. your hands somehow found their way to her beautiful blond locks, scraping her scalp with the sharp edge of your nails. fantasy was nothing like reality. you had forgotten how good it felt, but how terrible it was all at once. as her warm breath tickled your skin, doubts that had been haunting you the past few days filled your mind slowly. was this healthy? didn't you deserve a healthy queer relationship, one that would be open and free and full of love, real love?

you wanted it all. you wanted the life you saw other queer girls have all around the world. going on cute picnic dates with homeade muffins and favorite books, sitting in the lap of your partner and doing their makeup, snuggling on the couch while watching a movie. holding hands while strolling the town center. it was hard to keep these thoughts back any longer. they overflowed.

you felt regina freeze as you gently pushed her away from where she had latched onto your upper chest. "can we, um, talk?" you ask. she could hear the tone in your voice. you knew she could. the way her eyes met yours made your stomach twist with discomfort.

"talk?" she asked in an incredulous tone, pulling away.

"it's just that, well, hear me out first. i like you. i really like you, a lot! that's why i really want us to be more than . . . making out in the custodian's closet after school and sneaking into your room while your mom's asleep," you explained nervously, stumbling over your words. finally able to meet her eyes, all hope was shattered as you felt her icy stare fixed upon your flushed face.

"i thought we made a deal when we started this. nothing more than this." she barked out a bitter laugh and fluffed out her hair. "what, did you think i was some kind of dyke or something? this was supposed to be fun. nice job stamping out that fire." she opened the door to the closet and waltzed out like nothing had happened. as if you didn't spend the entire last three months building a bond. heart: broken.

-

fear couldn't describe the emotion you felt driving to the hospital. it was gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, heart-tearingly excruciating. the rumors swirling around made your sick with worry. could she really be dead?

you weren't there when it happened. you had been driving home and then doing homework, hiding your phone away in a drawer somewhere to keep you distracted. it wasn't until hours later that you checked your notifications to realize she had been admitted to the er.

you rushed into the hospital, demanding to hear about her condition.

"are you immediate family?" the nurse at the desk asked. of course you lied. of course you said yes. she gave you the room number and told you that you could wait in the hall - the doctors were talking with her mother and you would need to wait until she woke up herself.

when you arrived at the door to her room, you were afraid to look inside. you weren't sure why. she was alive, yes. maybe you were afraid she was still upset with you. or worse, she had amnesia and forgot about you completely. dejected, you collapsed into the very comfortable plastic chair next to her room.

a few minutes later, the door opened and the doctors and mrs. george exited the room. you stood up suddenly, expectant in your expression.

"she's fine. she's going to heal 100%, she just needs to wear a corrective neck bracelet for several weeks," the doctors assured you. you could relax, just a little. they walked down the hall, chatting softly. mrs. george grinned at you - you had met before, of course, being introduced as one of regina'a friends.

"well, look who we have here! did you hear the news? they said my name on the evening," she told you excitedly, as though her daughter weren't stuck in the hospital from injuries resulting for being hit. by a bus. "head on in darling, those cute boys said she'd be awake soon." her eyes trailed down the hall to the two doctors that had revived regina. with a mini-wave and a "toodle-doo!" she was down the hall and full on flirting with men much younger than herself.

the doorknob to regina's room stared back at you with intimidation so strong you almost turned around and drove home. you reached out a closed your hand around the cool metal, slowly turning it until you were passing through the doorway and standing feet away from her bed. it didn't feel as scary as you thought, entering her room, staring over at her bed. she looked more at peace then you had ever seen her, she looked prettier than you had ever seen her. without her mean-girl face, she seemed a lot more genuine. a lot more like the regina that opened up to you that one chilly night in december.

you silently pulled a chair next to her bed and sat there, waiting for her to wake up. you didn't mind the wait, in a way. because she was sitting there next to you, and she was going to be okay.

when regina awoke, she seemed more confused than anything. her brows furrowed as she looked around the room, her eyes finally landing on you.

"hey," you said all of a sudden, sitting up straight. "you're okay, you're fine. you're . . . in the hospital."

"what are you doing here?" not snappy or bitter or angry. genuine.

"i heard you got hit by a bus," you said, biting your bottom lip anxiously. would she yell at you? tell you she never wanted to see you again? "i heard . . . i you died. i just had to see for myself, to make sure you were okay. i'm sorry, if you don't want me here, i'll -"

"don't leave!" she shouted, grabbing your hand. you stared down at the place where her skin met your hand. this wasn't happening. this couldn't be happening. her fingers intertwined with yours and you find her eyes to be pleading you. "please, just don't leave."

"regina -"

"just shut up and listen, okay?" she told you, sounding upset, but it didn't seem to be an emotion she was directing towards you. you sat back down and scooted your chair closer to her. "i want us to be something more too . . . okay? i like you, loser."

you narrowed your eyes at her. "is this regina george trying to be nice?" you asked dubiously.

"don't ruin the moment or i'm taking everything i said back."

"no," you said quickly, shaking your head with a smile. you placed your other hand on the one clasped in hers. "it's a good look on you. really."

[pinkssluv]

Bsf! Matt Sturniolo Messages (11)

[leilanihours]

# SHAMELESS

pairing: kate martin x lsu!reader

word count: 1299

warnings: smut (MDNI), head + fingering (reader receiving), ab riding, mentions of strap

summary: you're tired of pretending you're not attracted to kate and kate is just tired of your attitude.

⭑ from lani: need her so bad after seeing that push during tds game! anyways second post of the day i missed writing 😊

masterlist !

YOU HAD NO idea how you ended up here, pressed up against the wall of your team's locker room, with kate martin's knee between your thighs.

you hated this girl. but did you really? apparently not since you've been begging for her touch for the past ten minutes.

it's agonizing. every part of this. the way she had been one of your biggest rivals for so many years. the way she had such a strong influence over you. the way she was doing everything except what you wanted. the way you needed her so indescribably bad.

everywhere her large hands traveled, your skin burned with both a sense of self-betrayal and unbeatable addiction. you wanted this for so long, you just didn't realize it until now.

you thought that all the built up anger against her was a result of her being from the school that kept yours from winning a championship. while part of that was true, it turns out that most of the frustration toward the girl was sexual. you needed her. and you hated that you needed her.

"fuck, kate," you sigh as her lips paint the skin on your neck purple and red, "don't leave hickies."

"why?" she mumbles against you, not slowing down or stopping in any way, "scared your teammates are gonna find out you got fucked by an iowa girl?"

"i don't need their bullshit," you agree, "tired of having to deny that i want you."

"then don't deny it. tell them how bad you need me. tell them how i fucked you in their own locker room."

"you can't-"

"i'll do what i want with you, y/n. you started this, we’re not stopping until you finish it."

with that, kate lifts her head from your neck and drags you over to your own locker. she pushes you onto the bench in front of it and immediately sinks to her knees.

hungrily, she pulls your shorts and underwear down and is met with your soaking cunt.

"fuck, you're this wet already? you must really hate me," she jokes, but there's no sign of humor on her face.

you move to take off your purple jersey, the body heat becoming too much to bear, but you're immediately stopped by kate's hands grasping yours.

"leave that shit on," she protests, "want you to think of this every time you put it on."

you let out a moan at her words, her tone. sure, you've seen kate angry and determined on the court, but this was so much more different. so much more enticing, addictive.

before you know it, she's diving straight into your dripping pussy, experienced tongue working wonders on your puffy clit.

her rough hands grip your thighs, squeezing to elicit more reactions from you. she works one of her hands between your legs, teasing your hole.

"think you can take my fingers, mama?" she mutters against you.

"please," you beg, "need it so bad," any self-pride long gone thanks to the girl in front of you.

"if you insist," she shrugs, shoving two of her long fingers into your cunt at a set pace, forcing your graphic moans to echo throughout the deserted locker room.

"god, just like that," you groan as she brushes against your g-spot and circles her tongue around your clit.

"that's not my name," she practically growls, "with the way you run your mouth talking shit about me you should know my name by now."

when you only whine at her words, she stops her actions just as you get close to your climax. you tilt your head down to see her glaring at you expectantly, her face red from both anger and infatuation.

"well?"

"please, kate, need you so fucking bad."

"good girl."

she stands up from her spot on the floor and strips out of her jersey, leaving her in a black nike sports bra and white basketball shorts. you salivate at the sight of her defined abs, reaching out to run your fingers over them.

however, kate has different plans once she sees how your eyes lit up when she took off her shirt.

"get up," she demands.

you oblige hesitantly, not sure what she wants you to do. when you don't move fast enough, the blonde pulls you up by the hem of your jersey. you jolt forward but are caught by her toned arms.

you're about to question her actions but slowly begin to understand what she's trying to do when she takes your spot on the bench and grabs your waist so that you're straddling her.

"ride them," she says bluntly.

"what?"

"are you that fucking dumb? you like my abs, i know you do. so ride them like the slut you are."

"kate-"

you failed to notice that you already subconsciously started rubbing your bare pussy against the hem of kate's shorts to relieve yourself.

"shut up and do it or i'm leaving."

her searing grip on your hips forces you to grind down on her sculpted torso, the friction sending goosebumps across your skin.

you rest your hands at the nape of kate's neck, occasionally pulling at the slightly wavy blond strands that were previously knotted into her stupidly sexy braid.

"there you go," she sighs, her eyes trained on the desperate bucking of your hips and her hands practically clawing at the curve of your ass.

"mmm, feels so good, kate," you moan shamelessly.

"yeah? you like riding me like this?"

"fuck yes."

"just wait 'till i have you riding my strap one day," she says darkly, "fuck, makes me so wet just thinking about it."

you pick up your pace against her stomach at her insinuation of a future rendezvous, her filthy words igniting a fire inside you.

as your clit repeatedly brushes up against the ridges of her abs, you can tell your release is near. your breath quickens at the feeling, kate immediately picking up on your behavior.

"you close?"

"so close," you whine.

"give it to me, baby, come on," she coaxes, sliding a hand underneath your jersey and bra to toy with your nipple.

she moves her head to leave more marks on your neck and collarbone, truly not giving a shit about who sees them.

her eagerness clouds your mind, the knot in your stomach snapping as you come all over her stomach with a loud curse.

her insistent grip on your waist pushes you to your high as she keeps you rocking against her.

"so good for me," she whispers in your ear as she places a soft kiss below your jaw.

you could get whiplash from her change in demeanor, not understanding how she was able to switch from such a dominant tone to one of comfort.

your chest heaves as you look down at the blonde below you. when your eyes meet hers, you are once again entranced by her beauty. the gentle blue of her eyes makes you melt in her lap, also reminding you of how she has yet to get off.

"what about you?"

"don't worry about me," she assures with a smirk, "there's always next time."

"next time huh?" your heart flutters at the thought of getting to have kate like this again.

"how else am i gonna have you on my cock?" she whispers in your ear as she guides you off of her to put your clothes back on.

"jesus, kate," you groan at her teasing.

she simply chuckles as she throws her jersey back on.

"promise there's gonna be a next time?" you say with a raised eyebrow, fully aware of how desperate you sound but not caring one bit.

"baby, if i don't get to fuck you properly within the next month i might lose my mind. so yes, i promise."

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[asapeveryday]

SOUND IS MUSIC ♪

PAIRING: Paige Bueckers x reader

WARNINGS: head (r/receiving), prn with no plot

SUMMARY: you run uconn’s college radio station and p is enamoured by the music (and you)

A/N: this one’s rlly short because writers block is so bad rn

YOU INTRICATELY SELECT…the songs you play every week. There’s a lot more thought that goes into it than people think, it’s not all about playing whatever you like or playing whatever is popular. It’s music that represents the student body, music that means something to the people who listen, music that you feel deserves some recognition.

So, you take time in choosing the songs played on the radio. You’ve gotten good in taking your time, not just when it comes to music, but other things too. When you saw that pretty girl, freshman year playing fiercely on the court you decided to bide your time, and that decision only furthered when you looked up her name and realized Paige Buecker’s popularity precedes her.

You bided your time as her shoulder brushed yours on campus, and even when she stepped foot into your little studio to ask about the music for this week. You bided your time as she slid you her number, or when she raised her hand to cup your face before her lips met your own.

Paige rarely felt the need to bide her time, and frankly you were finished biding yours.

“Please.” You whine, feverishly nodding your head. She’s just asked you if you’re sure you want this, and although you’ve been hesitant around her for far too long there’s nothing you’re more sure of now. “Please, Paige.”

She’s smiling a sick, satisfied smile; white teeth bared, hair tied back and eyes wide, staring up from in between your legs. Her calloused hands rub comforting circles against your thighs as her tongue darts out to wet her lips, before licking an excruciatingly slow stripe through the fabric of your underwear.

You can’t help but fall back onto your elbows to give her more room, accidentally bumping into the microphone mounted on the table you’re sitting on. It’s the same microphone you use everyday to report on sports team wins or losses in between songs.

Paige grins against your skin at your attempt to make her job easier, spreading your legs wide before hiking your underwear down. She sings sweet kisses into your skin; trailing from your inner thighs to your labia, and finally your clit.

The sight of her looking up at you and observing your expression as she sucks on your clit sends shivers down your spine and creates an excited, sinking feeling in your stomach, one that usually manifests when you listen to an exceptionally good song.

It’s the same kind of feeling you’d get late at night, your favourite borderline-erotic songs playing as you pleasure yourself to the thought of a certain blonde basketball player, except this time she’s here to fulfil your fantasies and there’s no music in the background, just the sound of your whimpers and the sound of her humming praises against your skin.

“Speak up.” She says, lapping at your pussy with a controlled pace. “You know, I’ve always loved your voice.”

“Shit.” You cry, resisting the urge to snap your legs shut. She’s experienced and comfortable, seemingly knowing exactly how to fluster you.

“C’mon baby, you’re doing so good.” She smiles, licking and sucking the sensitive skin and chuckling at how you buck and twitch against her. Every word she utters is breath against your body, extra stimulation that forms knots in your abdomen.

“Paige, s’good.” You mutter, fingers prying yourself open more as she devotes herself to you. The more vocal you are, the better she preforms, so you cry out and sing your praises until the buzz in your body is unbearable.

“You there?” She asks sweetly, and you whisper yes immediately. With one last sucker to your clit and gaze towards your face you unravel, practically melting around her mouth.

With that she raises herself from her knees, enjoying the sight of you up on the counter, legs caging her in and face contorted with pleasure. She presses sweet pecks across your neck and cheek before your lips meet hers in a lopsided kiss.

Every noise she makes is sustenance to you. To her, every sound you make is music.

[celestie0]

choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]

in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow

ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!

alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)

“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”

present day. summer.

“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.

Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.

You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”

You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.

Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.

“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”

Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”

The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.

“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”

They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.

The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.

“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.

“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.

“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.

You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.

You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”

“Um. Both of them?”

He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.

“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”

“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.

“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”

He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”

You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”

“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.

His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.

But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.

“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.

“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.

“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”

“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”

You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”

“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”

Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.

“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.

“And you love him?”

“So much.”

“Was he your first love?”

Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.

You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”

“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.

“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.

You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”

The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.

“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”

“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”

.

.

.

seven years ago. summer.

chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.

“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown. 

“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.

“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”

Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.

Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.

The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.

“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!” 

The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!” 

Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.

With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music. 

“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”

A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic. 

“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”

There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like  “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex. 

The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair. 

The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours. 

His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.

“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage. 

“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”

She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”

You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.

You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”

As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.

“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder. 

“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”

Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”

“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”

“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”

Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.

There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage. 

Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”

The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”

Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”

“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”

“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.

You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it. 

“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.

“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.

“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants. 

“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”  

“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”

Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.

You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.

“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”

Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”

Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”

Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there. 

Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.” 

Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.

“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.

She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”

She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”

You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.

Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”

Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”

Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”

Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?” 

His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”

Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”

Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex. 

“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.

Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”

“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.

“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.

You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.

“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.

He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”

Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface. 

“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”

Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.

“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”

Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”

Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”

“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”

Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”

“Take me,” you deadpan.

She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”

“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition. 

“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving. 

The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.  

Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”

You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”

“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”

“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”

“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot. 

Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering. 

Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.

Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of. 

His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest. 

He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”

You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.

“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”

He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”

“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”

“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.

“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”

He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”

“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.

There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.

You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in. 

When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.

“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”

Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast. 

You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.

“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.

“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.

You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment. 

You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.

“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”

His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”

Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.

“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all. 

His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again.  His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”

It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.

His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”

His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.

“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.

But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.

“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”

The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you. 

You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”

“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.” 

Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous. 

“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.

“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough. 

You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.” 

“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”

Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.

“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.

Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.

The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush. 

.

.

.

present day. summer.

“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out. 

“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”

The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”

There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.

“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”

“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”

“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”

You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.

“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day. 

“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”

You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.

“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”

Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized. 

“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”

“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”

You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.

You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”

.

.

.

seven years ago. autumn.

chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.

[to be continued]

a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.

taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode

love u all so much!!

[lovely-p-issues]

Fic idea - Astyanax in Ithaca

for times when my English will become acceptable because writing this in Polish feels not right sample of the story under the summary c:

Of course, I was thinking about Penelope's reaction to Odysseus showing up with a new kid (10/11 years old, give or take, Astyanax) at their doors.

I imagined it as the Game of Thrones scene when Ned Stark comes home and shows Catelyn a baby who, he claims, is his bastard. If I were her, I would lose my mind.

But I think that Odysseus explained himself chaotically, yet truly and Penelope didn't fight with the idea of raising the little prince as their own.

But Telemachus? Well, that's a hell of a different story.

He spent his childhood without his father, missing his presence and hoping to meet him one day. He lived in his shadow, as the problematic son of the absent king that everyone wanted to kill, or as a painful reminder to his mother that Odysseus wasn't around anymore and that she needed to be there for the two of them.

Now his dad is back but with a new child.

A new child who knows his father so well. Odysseus was his only parent for ten years (if we forget about 600 uncles, but they died after like 3 years? if I get it right?) and they just get themselves on an impossible level.

Odysseus knows Astyanax's nightmares (they share them).

Astyanax knows his father's past and doesn't need to ask many questions, and Telemachus does. He hates to do it because he sees Odysseus's pain, he sees Astyanax's reproachful look, like he is going to fight Telemachus if he doesn't leave their father, and-

and he sees the sad, concerned eyes of his mom.

So he doesn't ask much about those 20 years. And somehow it's even worse.

Because Telemachus doesn't know Odysseus. Because it feels weird and not home, like they are forced to be close, but they are not. Because he knew his father from songs, stories and legends, and this man is not who he heard of and he doesn't know how can he fix it.

Telemachus doesn't like to think about it but feels like he gives up on Odysseus. He spent the last 20 years of his life trying to reach that man and- Telemachus is tired.

Besides, Odysseus has another son anyway, right?

The prince of Troy, cursed boy, son of Hector, Astyanax, who also turned out to be a pain in the ass.

He knows that he can't blame the kid for his existence or even for the fact that Odysseus took him to their home.

For that Odysseus often takes Astyanax for horse rides to show him the island. The thing that Telemachus did alone.

For that, Odysseus teaches the boy how to use a sword and they laugh a lot during that. The thing that Telemachus did with strangers, got dozens of bruises, always trying to do everything he could to impress the person that wasn't there.

He doesn't blame Astyanax.

He just can't stand him.

But the boy seems to love the idea of going after him whenever Odysseus manages to pull him off for a moment. It's okay when Astyanax watches him during the trainings with eyes shining with excitement. However, it's bad when Astyanax starts to talk.

Father said I'm getting better at parrying-

When I was with father on Calypso's island-

Father does this completely differently-

Telemachus is a patient man. He waited for his father for 20 years. But sometimes he asks himself if Astyanax knows that all this talking about Odysseus, the man he missed but can't actually get to know, is such a trigger for him.

Maybe Astyanax teases him to show how much more of a son Odysseus is?

With every day Telemachus is more and more irritated. He does his best to hide it, but he can't ignore this fire burning him from the inside.

The reason for this fragile peace collapse is, relatively, very stupid.

Telemachus was tired after all day when he met Odysseus.

"The situation in the city is now calmed down,’ he informed his father, combing through his wind-tangled hair."

Odysseus nodded and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Telemachus. Well done."

Telemachus froze, not knowing what to say. He couldn't even move. Finally, he nodded, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of his every interaction with his father.

"Of course, father."

Odysseus seemed equally perplexed. However, the whole situation changed when Astyanax appeared in the courtyard where they stood.

Or, he ran into it, almost toppling over, just to get to Odysseus faster and embrace him around the waist.

"Dad, you will never believe what I found with mother in the garden!"

Telemachus watched with unhealthy interest as his father's face lit up with a smile as he listened to Astyanax's excited chatter.

A sudden anger, though senseless and petty, flared his veins. He had to avert his gaze and drive it into the ground so that no one could see his anger. His jaw was clenched tightly.

Twenty years of life based on a vague memory. An entire journey to find his father. His faith, his efforts and his devotion. All this to not be able to have one real conversation with his father. All this to watch both his parents melt down over his new, little brother. All this to stand by and watch his dreams fade away.

He no longer watched.

He walked away before he could do something stupid. Something that would distance him even further from his father.

He holed up in one of the cool and dark corridors of their palace. He concentrated on his breathing and massaged his temples.

He was an adult and knew how to deal with his feelings. Not that anyone had ever taught him that.

"Telemachus, what's wrong? You don't even know what we found in the garden, you went too fast!"

He didn't know shit about how to deal with his feelings.

"Could you, for five minutes, let me live as I lived before you came along? Five minutes without your constant footsteps and shouting behind my back. Five minutes of peace and quiet! That's all I'm asking for!"

But Astyanax took a few steps back as if frightened by Telemachus' sudden outburst. A grimace twisted his face and he squinted as if Telemachus was an extremely difficult puzzle for his quick mind.

"Why are you so angry? I don't understand."

"At this point? I'm not sure anymore. All I know is that I wasn't this angry even once before you dragged yourself home with father and decided to act as if it had all been yours forever."

Telemachus had to calm down. For bloody hell, he had just shouted at the eleven-year-old as if he was guilty of anything.

‘Are you angry about your father bringing me with him?’

Damn it.

It wasn't true. To be fair, he did not want Astyanax to die that night in Troy or be lost in the depths of the burning city.

Still, did he want him here? He let his thoughts wander before he could finally admit it to himself.

Astyanax, essentially, was not the problem. Everything else was. Telemachus was as well.

"No. There are many other things I'm angry about, but not this."

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the cool wall. He hid his face in his hands and let the anger leave him with his next breaths.

"Forgive my shouting. You got me at the wrong time, brother."

And he heard the boy slowly slide down the wall and sit down a few steps away from him.

"You should be grateful, you know?" suddenly said Astyanax. "He travelled all the world to see you and Mom."

You won't scream, Telemachus said to himself. He took a breath.

"Yeah, he didn't really know me, so. I don't know if that counts."

"That's even better. I mean, he loved you anyway. All this time, he was thinking about you"

This logic was wrong, but Telemachus doesn't find enough strength to fight over it.

They stayed silent for a few minutes.

"He didn't want me, you know? He just didn't want me dead and I reminded him of you. He was also scared of what I would become if he just left me alone. And you are so awful but he wanted you from the beginning and he loves you and he was so proud and-" Astyanax put his arms around his knees, his voice breaking as he spoke his next words: "You're a terrible idiot, you know. But he still wants you."

Telemachus needed a few seconds to see that every now and then, Astyanax would rub his wet eyes with his little fists.

He wasn't ready for this, even after months of training he wouldn't be ready. He stays silent for a moment. Slowly, he puts his arms over the crying mess and draws him to his side.

"And you think that father carried you all over the world because he doesn't like you?"

"Because he's kind and he would be ashamed to tell uncle Polites what he did."

"As far I know he wasn't so nice all this time, right? But he never turned his back on you. If you don't trust me, trust that. Odysseus came with you to Ithaca, because he wants you."

Astyanax did not reply but rested his head on his side. Telemachus let him.

Later that night, Telemachus carried a tired Astyanax straight to his parents' bedroom and knocked. When confused Odysseus finally opened it, Telemachus threw the sleepy child at him without hesitation.

"Hug your bloody kid."

And he walked away. This was his moment to avoid uncomfortable questions.

Let me know what do you think. And yes, Telemachus and Odysseus have a proper conversation about being father and son, but later.

BTW sorry for all the errors, I'm so sleepy right now I barely see my screen

[jaestrz]

𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 김민규 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐦

A/n: this is not proofread, it’s been a while since I last posted so my writing skills are rusty ㅠㅠ. Enjoy!!!

• Husband!mingyu x wife!reader

Mingyu know for one fact, he would do whatever he could to guide you and his daughter to the path of joy.

He wanted to give you the whole world if he could.

So when he happen to talk to an old friend of his during high school at an event. Most of the questions caught him off guard- yet, put him in a confused position.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve last seen you Mingyu! I never knew I could see you at an event like this in the future!” Hyunwoo chimed, extending a hand for Mingyu to take. To which he did.

“I didn’t know I could see you at a place like this as well. Heard you were settling in France, how’s life there?” Mingyu asked.

Hyunwoo smiled from ear to ear when Mingyu mentioned about his current home. “It’s been wonderful. In fact, I flew to Korea with my girlfriend. She should be here somewhere. I was hoping you two would get to know each other. ” Hyunwoo said, lightly placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Mingyu didn’t really know much about Hyunwoo. Perhaps it’s been years since he last talk to his friends, he didn’t bother to dig much information about Hyunwoo.

Back then Hyunwoo was amongst the richest kid in school. Everyone seemed to know his father as the CEO of a famous company. Other than that, how he and Hyunwoo had become acquaintance seems to be blurry in his mind.

A few minutes have passed with catching up, Mingyu came across a blonde haired girl in red who interrupted the conversation between him and Hyunwoo.

“Oh Jung eun! This is Mingyu, Mingyu this is my girlfriend Jung eun. Babe, can you believe it? The last time we met was back in high school!” Hyunwoo laughed, snaking his arms around his girlfriend’s waist when she got closer.

“Nice to meet you Mingyu, I heard a lot about you just now from my friends. You must’ve been an amazing person to everyone.” Jung eun complimented, Mingyu on the other hand could only force a smile.

It was different from what Mingyu had expected. He remember Hyunwoo dating a girl named Areum but it didn’t last long before they broke up on their 2 months anniversary.

And he couldn’t keep track of who Hyunwoo dated because really… there was just too much.

There was a moment of pause, as if he was running out of ideas to continue the conversation.

Until Jung eun asked.

“So… how about you?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?

He didn’t intend to laugh but he didn’t expect her to ask such things.

Hyunwoo eyes lingered towards the metal ring wrapped around Mingyu’s ring finger. It was a simple white gold band. How come he didn’t know Mingyu was married.

Hyunwoo looked surprised. And he spoke faster before Mingyu could answer.

“You didn’t tell me you got married recently. I thought you would at least have a girlfriend by now? You should’ve invited me, I would’ve love to see who’s the lucky girl.”

Mingyu smiled, shaking his head in denial. “Actually I got married before graduation.” He confessed, making Hyunwoo more confuse.

Hyunwoo thought Mingyu was joking. There was no possible way.

“But you were in a such tough position… How- it’s impossible. You know you can just tell me you got married recently, it’s not something to be ashamed about. Since- you did grew up with nothing.” He nervously laughed, trying to cover the shock impression. But when Mingyu didn’t seem to be kidding, he grew more furious. “You were going through a financial crisis even when you were in school. You were the quiet kid back then.”

“I didn’t know there were girls who were interested in you. Until now?”

To Mingyu, of course there was.

He wouldn’t think he would reach this far if it weren’t for someone’s support.

*

Mingyu didn’t have a lot back then like he has now.

A week before graduation, the both of you got married at a church near your hometown. Wearing a $20 cheap silver band as the rings. Although he had warned you many times that you shouldn’t be expecting too much from him, you were unbothered by his warnings.

You two were just two fresh young adults, living in a rented single room while Mingyu balanced his work and study life. He would work 4 different jobs while attending university. Same goes to you except he didn’t allow you to work like him.

It was the time where you and Mingyu would prepare budgeted meals together. Talking about what you two would want in the future.

A house.

Maybe kids.

Even a vehicle was something you two couldn’t afford to own.

“I have something for you love.” Mingyu said while you two were on your way back home. Both of you shared an umbrella (he was lucky enough to bring one when he went to fetch you) so there was such limited space for you both to not get wet.

A slight confusion planted on your face when he took out a snack from his backpack

It wasn’t much but it was something that could lit you up after a long day.

Pepero.

But back then it was considered expensive so you and Mingyu tried to avoid buying it and bought a cheaper version. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t know the real taste of pepero anyways.

“Gyu but I thought-” your words were cut when he pecked you on the lips, his hand intertwined with yours.

“It’s yours. Take it okay?” He smiled.

“But will you share it with me?” You cautiously ask.

A chuckle left his lips.

“If you want to, then yes love.”

*

“Sorry, am I interrupting?”

The three heads turned their heads towards you, the corner of Mingyu’s lips formed upwards. Taking your free hand and bring it up to plant a kiss on your ring before taking Minji from your hold.

Mingyu shakes his head no. “You’re not, I was just talking to an old acquaintance. From our high school actually, if you remember.”

Judging by Hyunwoo’s expression, he feel like his head could burst from the amount of questions he’s been holding to ask.

You?

The girl who he had been taken an interest since your sophomore year.

Turns out to be a mother and Mingyu’s wife.

But you had gotten more prettier. More mature looking and not just some girl who would open her locker to find dozens of gifts and letters from boys like him.

He was too lost to even speak his mind.

“Hello y/n it’s been a long time since we saw each other.” He extended a hand but you politely bowed as an exchange. “Do you remember me? Hyunwoo?”

And it took you a while to answer because you kept looking at Mingyu.

And he didn’t expect the answer either.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I do…” you replied and the pure disappointment just flushed over his eyes. Silence filled in the gaps. “I know it’s terrible of me but I believe it’s been 8 years ago? Were you someone important?”

“Not at all! Like your husband said, we were just acquaintance,” he said with a forced smile.

And before it started to get awkward, Jung eun quickly changed the topic.

“Well! It was nice to see you two. If you were ever to plan on traveling to France, we should see each other there.”

Hyunwoo coughed. “We also have to go now. Or else we might be late for our flight.” He kept his tone cool, before politely excusing himself and Jung eun.

You give it a few minutes when the couple left before turning over to a furious Mingyu with an eyebrow raised. Minji in his grip was playing with the two rings on his finger. You were holding in your laughters, it was possibly hard to breathe anymore.

“Cut the acting sweetheart, you’re terrible lying in front of me.” Mingyu stiffled a laugh when you let out the biggest exhale.

“There was no such thing as acting.”

“mama lie.” Minji murmured before rubbing her face in Mingyu’s neck.

“Even our daughter said so.” He grinned and you playfully rolled your eyes. “But why didn’t you admit it? Hyunwoo was hoping you would remember him.”

Mingyu was a nice person. You remembered back then when Hyunwoo looked down on Mingyu for being financially broke. He didn’t treat Mingyu like today.

You despise him more than anything.

“Because he used to be mean. Even if it’s not to me, he was mean to someone I love.”

You watched his eyes softens, his expressions turn into somewhat concern. It was something he didn’t want you to remember nor reminisce. It was something that he wanted to keep it away forever.

“Hey, I thought we agreed to move on sunshine?”

“We did.” You replied, watching his free hand tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “But then I saw you talking to him today and I remember all the mean things he said about you. How you were just some kid working a part time job to earn a living and you wouldn’t survive the outside world.”

And everything is true, Mingyu can’t find a single false in your words.

He wasn’t someone popular to begin with. Neither he has any knowledge on business. He was never trained to do those things.

Seeing Hyunwoo today took a big toll on you.

“But I just need you here beside me y/n. If you didn’t then maybe I’m nothing according to him.” Mingyu alleged. “We still have to be nice about it hm? I’m sure my princesses are such sweet girls.”

He got closer, planting a kiss on your cheekbone. Minji on the other hand was trying to adapt what was going on.

“Daddy, mama sad?” Minji asks, looking at you.

Mingyu put on a soft smile, planting a kiss on her temple.

“Mama is just a little tired. But she’s okay.” Mingyu assured.

“Uh oh, mama have to sleep!”

“Not a bad idea, maybe we should all go home and cuddle together in bed. How does that sound?” Mingyu suggested and Minji’s eyes lit up from the idea. “Should we ask mama if she’s okay with leaving early?”

The toddler turns to you, gripping onto your arm to get your attention. The satisfaction in her eyes when you said yes was heartwarming.

Mingyu’s gazed burnt your skin, as your eyes met with his, it was like he was asking if you were okay.

“Don’t worry anymore okay?”

Your lips formed into a thin line. Nodding.

“I love you.”

“I love you much more than you could possibly imagine sunshine.”

[jazzmasternot]

I love this character so much, I wanna get him pregnant….