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celestie0 · 19 days

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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!!

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hannaedits · 2 years

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Book Review: Heather Bay Series by Charlie Novak

This post includes reviews of the following books in the Heather Bay series: Like I Pictured (#0.5)Like I Promised (#1) Like I Pictured (Heather Bay #0.5) This novella is available as a free download via Prolific Works as part of the Your Book Boyfriend’s Boyfriend M/M Romance Group Giveaway 2022. Novellas that act as a shorter prequel to full-length novels in a series are a bit of a mixed…

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#book cover #book review #books #Charlie Novak #contemporary romance #fiction #gay romance #Heather Bay #Like I Pictured #Like I Promised #novel #novella #queer romance #reading #romance #second-chance romance

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sweetcherryharry · 3 months

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Begin Again — 04

Synopsis: Harry and Y/N had a secret relationship for almost two years, until they broke up. A year later, she shows up at one of his Love On Tour shows.

(masterlist)

There he stood, right in front of her, a smile playing on his lips as their gazes met. Y/N felt a rush of emotions, a mix of surprise, nostalgia, and an underlying current of something more profound. The unspoken words of their past seemed to linger in the air between them.

Harry, with his soft brown curls and a simple white shirt paired with jeans and worn-out vans, looked like a page from a memory that she had been trying to forget. Yet, as he stood there, the year they hadn’t seen each other melted away, and they found themselves suspended in a moment that defied time; it seemed like the past months never happened.

The Love Band's living room, with its soft lighting and the faint melody of Fleetwood Mac in the background, turned into a cozy space where only the current moment held importance, at least for Y/N and Harry.

"Hi, sunflower," he replied, the words carrying a weight that transcended the casual greeting. The endearment was a throwback to the days when Harry used to affectionately call her by that sweet nickname, a reminder of their time together.

To Y/N, hearing it from him sounded bittersweet, like the echoes of a melody that brought both the joy of nostalgia and the ache of what they were once.

As Harry spoke, his heart seemed to beat in his chest like the rhythm of a familiar song. In awe of her presence, he couldn't help but marvel at the woman she was. The way her eyes sparkled, the slight curve of her lips as she smiled – it was a sight he had missed more than he realized.

In that suspended moment, their gazes held a conversation that words struggled to capture. Without a word, Y/N found herself stepping forward, drawn by an instinct that transcended logic. Harry, as if guided by the same unspoken force, opened his arms, a silent invitation.

As they embraced, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the comforting warmth of each other's presence. The hug felt like coming home after a long journey, a familiar haven that resonated with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the soft melody of their intertwined past.

For a moment, the cozy living room encapsulated the essence of what they used to be – a refuge where their souls met without pretense. The faint scent of Harry's cologne, the gentle rise and fall of their shared breaths, all contributed to the sanctuary of the embrace.

However, as they lingered in the hug, reality began to reassert itself. The made-up living room, once an intimate haven, became a stage where the complexity of their emotions played out. They reluctantly pulled away, a mutual understanding passing between them. The connection was undeniable, but so was the need for boundaries.

"I loved the show, Harry, you did amazing," Y/N said, a soft smile on her lips as she attempted to bridge the transition from the warmth of the hug to the safer ground of friendship. "I love the new album, too."

Harry's eyes crinkled at the corners, appreciating her genuine compliment. "Thanks, Y/N. It means a lot coming from you."

In his mind, he couldn't help but think that she was the muse behind the songs, wondering if she realized the entire album was dedicated to her. The melodies and lyrics, born from their shared experiences, whispered a silent acknowledgment of the impact she had on his creative journey.

"I can see how much you've all grown as a band," Y/N continued, her gaze drifting to the people surrounding them, all engaging in conversation between them, trying to give the couple a little privacy. "The Love Band has really evolved, and it's inspiring."

Harry nodded, a humble gratitude in his response. "We've put a lot of heart into it. It's been quite a journey."

"Speaking of journeys, these are my best friends, Natalie and Maia," Y/N chimed in, a playful glint in her eye, pointing towards the two girls that stood a few meters away. "Let me present you to them; they're fans, just like me." She joked, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the playful introduction.

Both Harry and Y/N walked towards them, and as they neared, Natalie and Maia exchanged excited glances, their smiles widening at the sight of the acclaimed musician in their midst.

"Harry, these are my best friends, Natalie and Maia," Y/N chimed in, a playful glint in her eye, gesturing towards the two girls who stood now close to the pair. "Natalie and Maia, this is Harry."

Harry offered a warm smile, extending his hand to each of them. "Nice to meet you both."

Natalie and Maia, both trying to contain their excitement —understanding that he was also their friend’s ex-boyfriend— shook his hand enthusiastically, exchanging introductions with genuine joy. "Nice to meet you Harry, we enjoyed the show so much," Natalie admitted.

Y/N, sensing the formal atmosphere, playfully rolled her eyes. "Okay, you two, you can fangirl. It's okay."

This broke the ice, and they all burst into laughter. The living room, with its soft lighting and the distant hum of Fleetwood Mac's tunes, witnessed the easy camaraderie of new friends. As they settled into conversation, the transition from fan admiration to genuine connection felt effortless, the shared laughter echoing in harmony with the melodies that surrounded them.

Y/N, sensing Natalie and Maia's eagerness to get to know one of the artists they both admired, decided to give them some space. With a smile, she excused herself, mentioning she needed a moment and headed towards the conjoined bathroom.

As she closed the door behind her, Y/N took a deep breath, grateful for the chance to collect her thoughts in the brief solitude. The room's distant chatter and laughter, though comforting, served as a stark reminder of the evening's unexpected reunion with Harry.

As her eyes met her reflection in the bathroom mirror, a mix of emotions played across her face. There was joy, undoubtedly, at the sight of Harry again after a year of separation. His presence evoked a rush of memories, laughter, and shared moments that had shaped a significant chapter of her life. Yet, intertwined with that joy was an ache, a reminder of the emotions she thought time had dulled.

The realization hit her; she had missed him more than she allowed herself to acknowledge. Seeing him, hearing his voice, brought back the echoes of the past, the shared dreams and the bitter taste of the breakup that lingered beneath the surface. It was as if time had folded, and for a moment, the wound felt fresh again.

She held back tears, feeling the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. The bathroom, with its muted ambiance, became a sanctuary where she grappled with the bittersweet truth of their renewed connection. The mix of emotions was a testament to the complexity of their history, a narrative that had left an indelible mark on her heart.

Lost in her whirlwind of memories and emotions, Y/N hadn't realized how much time had passed. The knock on the bathroom door jolted her back to the present, and she hastily wiped away a stray tear. "Coming!" she called out, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

A familiar voice responded, breaking through the door's barrier. "It's me, sunflower. Can I come in?"

Y/N took a big breath, her heart fluttering at the endearing nickname that held echoes of a shared past. With a decisive nod, she unlocked the door, letting him in.

The bathroom door swung open, revealing a smiling Y/N, standing amidst the faint glow of the room. Yet, as normal as she tried to portray herself, he knew her more than she knew herself.

Harry stepped in, closing the door behind him, his green eyes holding a mixture of concern and understanding. "Are you okay?" he asked gently.

Y/N nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah, just needed a moment.” The bathroom felt like their own little bubble and privacy; vulnerable. And for a moment, this was her Harry —well, was— and decided to just be honest. “It's just… a lot to take in, you know?"

Harry mirrored her sad smile, acknowledging the weight of their reunion. "I understand. It's a lot for me too." He gently touched her arm in a comforting gesture, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes. "I never expected to see you in the crowd again… after everything.”

For him, the sight of her in the audience triggered a strong sense of déjà vu, as if time had folded back on itself, recalling the moments when she used to be a familiar face in the crowd every night during their time together.

Feeling the warmth of his touch and the weight of shared history, Y/N found herself enveloped in a spontaneous hug. Harry's arms wrapped around her, a familiar embrace that brought a rush of mixed emotions. At that moment, words seemed inadequate, so they let the hug speak for itself.

"I missed you, bug," Harry whispered, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I'm glad you're here."

Y/N, her eyes damp with unshed tears, managed a small, heartfelt smile. "Me too." The simplicity of those words carried the depth of the emotions they both felt. In the shared hug, amidst the echoes of their past and the uncertainties of the present, they found a moment of solace—a bridge between what was and what could be.

hellooo i'm back!! :) if you want to be added to the taglist, please reply to this post! thank you so much for the support, hope u enjoy <3

taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @one-sweet-gubler @jjsgirlp4l @lovingmesstuff @gem1712 @tinyhrry @kipperthedog2004 @behindmygreyeyes @theekyliepage @winterrays @drunk-teens-doing-drugs @slutforcoffein @a-strange-familiar @grapejuice-rry @tranquility-moon @tpwksummer @awkwardbisexuall @ameerakane20 @harryspirate @that-one-little-soybean @voniikg @lovergirl42442 @daydreamingwithaseaview @harrysdaydream22 @lonelyxhabit @obsessed-with-every-book-ever @silenthappyplace @ameerakane20 @hesdebility

#harry imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harrystyles #harry styles series #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #famous!harry #second chance romance

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xspeter · 1 month

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soon :)

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idlerin · 1 year

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NONSENSE

an oikawa tooru social media au

pairing. celebrity!oikawa tooru x f!reader

synopsis. you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).

tags. social media au, celebrity smau, college au, exes to lovers, second chance romance, idiots in love, crack, humor (hopefully), fluff, and perhaps a little angst? ehe (groveling !!)

warnings. time stamps dont really matter unless i say so, cursing, some drinking alcohol n stuff and sometimes suggestive but nothing graphic

status. completed (01/15/23 - 02/11/24)

— playlist.

teasers

teaser 1 — teaser 1.5 — teaser 2

profiles

[name]’s pe(s)ts | in need of medical attention

episodes !

(⚘) — has narrative parts

ACT I

01. rid me of my despair

02. murder is ethically wrong

03. he’s literally everywhere

04. i’m NOT petty (⚘)

05. i think i’ve seen this film before

06. he’s back !

07. baby girl of all baby girls

08. the famous friend

09. forget me not

10. why are you running!? (⚘)

ACT II

11. blast from the past

12. i despise you (⚘)

13. villains are hot (⚘)

14. adulting and other important stuff (⚘)

15. what we look forward to

16. a nightmare dressed like a daydream

17. antithetical girlie

18. this is the tactic (⚘)

19. honey it hurts (⚘)

20. exes and ohs

21. takoyaki cravings

22. kill me with kindness

23. tell me, tell me (⚘)

24. do you think about me?

25. wish u were sober (⚘)

ACT III

26. you look like shit (⚘)

27. a taste of fame

28. reminds me of

29. helpless, breathless (⚘)

30. oh how you woo me

31. all over again

32. disconnected

33. this love is so illogical

34. don’t care if you ruin me (⚘)

35. hate clingy men

36. need you like oxygen (⚘)

37. media craze

38. hard to love (⚘)

39. coming home

40. only your love

EPILOGUE

41. new friends

42. love languages

43. utterly nonsensical

end

✦

bonus content

post break-up [name]

don’t you know that i’m intoxicated !

you said you liked the way i spoke

unsent letter #1

one of the boys

kuroo being a menace for 12 panels straight

taglist is CLOSED !

to be REMOVED from the taglist you can just send an ask or comment :)

notes. hey so i’m starting my first smau series?!!? *squeals and kicks feet in excitement* i hope i get to finish it lmao i plan to not make it that long prolly around only like 30 chaps! hope u’ll enjoy reading it as much as i’ll enjoy making it! also thank you everyone for 200 followers! i rlly appreciate it <3

icons used as pfps are not mine but the content of this smau is. please do not repost this on any other platform. © idlerin 2023

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lihhelsing · 9 months

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Hate That I Loved You

Now complete on AO3!

Despite Eddie's wishes, everything just keeps on moving.

In a way, it's a little comforting to know that no matter how badly Eddie fucks up, life keeps going. It kept going when Lou almost broke him, it kept going every time he dumped someone or got dumped. It kept going when his mom passed away in the middle of the European leg of their tour.

It kept moving when he and Steve stopped walking in the same direction.

Eddie sits in his dressing room, waiting for his make-up to be finished. He barely slept during the night, a mix of anxiousness and fear of whatever was to come.

Eddie wants to talk to Steve and clear the air and explain that what he had seen the night before wasn't what he thought it was. There's nothing between him and Lou. Not anymore.

It's not like he thinks Steve still wants something with him. He's not delusional or anything, knows Steve is doing this only as a favor to him and nothing more. But he's done hurting Steve, needs to put an end to all this once and for all.

There was no time in between the band finishing up their part of the music video at around 3am and the super early call time they all had for the last day of shooting. When he got there, Eddie got dragged to wardrobe and make-up and had no time to even look for Steve.

He hoped Steve hadn't bailed because of whatever it was that he thought he saw last night, but if he had, they would most likely know by now. Probably.

But to be completely honest, Eddie doesn't even realize he's holding his breath in anticipation until the moment he lay eyes on Steve again.

Eddie gets into the studio all ready for the shooting. His clothes are a perfect match to what he used to wear back then, right before Corroded Coffin made it big. A sleeveless CC shirt with ripped skinny jeans. Always black. Chains and rings and a leather jacket on top of everything.

It feels even weirder once he gets a good look at it. The studio had been completely modified and now he can see a perfect representation of his uncle’s old trailer. The place where he made most of the music for their first album.

The place where he fell in love with Steve.

But now that Eddie is really looking at it, he can see only half of the trailer. The other half is actually the recording studio where they had made their first album.

Half and half, torn in the middle, just like Eddie had been back then. Unable to choose between life with Steve and the band.

Whenever Eddie was with Steve, his brain was thinking music and lyrics and chords. He itched to put his hands on a guitar, to take notes, to write.

Then, when he was with the band, he kept thinking about Steve, missing him, missing his touch and his kiss and-

“Hey,” Steve’s voice sounds unsure, like he had tried getting Eddie’s attention more than once.

“Hi. Sorry, it’s… Weird being back here,” Eddie says and Steve gives him a soft smile which… Don't seem like a bad thing.

“Yeah. Brings back a lot of memories,” Steve agrees and motions forward as if he’s going to touch Eddie’s arm.

But then the director is calling their names and asking if they are ready and Steve drops his hand, turning away from him.

“Can we, uh, talk? After? I really wanted to explain what you saw yesterday.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Eddie.”

“No, I know. But I want to. If you… Please?”

Steve looks over at him and there’s this unreadable thing about his expression that tugs at Eddie’s heart. He needs him to say yes. Needs him to listen to him. He needs to still have a chance.

“Yeah, ok,” Steve says finally and Eddie can barely react before they are being directed to their places for the shoot.

They have both the places that tore Eddie apart, and they are separated by a thick glass. Steve is standing on one side, a symbol of Eddie’s past life, the one he left behind when he started to pursue a life in music.

The other is all his dreams coming true. Everything that he ever wanted becoming real. Back then, Eddie thought Steve didn’t fit in it. Steve didn’t feel he fit in. He never made Eddie choose, but soon it became clear Eddie wouldn’t be able to balance the two things at the same time for long.

He’d be away too much. And Steve needed him near. Wanted him there and Eddie wasn’t there. They fought, screamed at each other out of frustration and heartbreak.

Eddie wanted to stay and he knew he needed to leave, but he only found courage to do it when Steve told him he didn’t see a future for them, that Eddie should put his chips on something more certain.

He realized that day he would never be enough for Steve. He was splitting himself in half for him, trying to make everyone happy, and even then he was failing. Couldn't get things right.

The day he walked away, Eddie felt like his heart was going to give in. And he feels that way again as he looks into Steve’s eyes and sings how he hates that he loved him.

There's this glass in between them and Eddie can't get through. No matter how loud he sings, no matter how much he tries, he can't have it all. He starts to wonder how much different his life would be if he had bet on his relationship with Steve.

Wonders if he would've been happy with any other job. Maybe he would have become a music teacher somewhere. Have a white picket fence house with three cats and Steve. Maybe that would've been enough for him.

Or maybe he'd resent Steve, like he always said he would. Every time Eddie missed something related to the band because Steve, he said that. Like Eddie couldn't make his own decisions.

He knocks on the glass as Steve walks around the trailer with his back to Eddie. He wants to reach him, but he can't, and suddenly there's this suffocating need to tell him everything. To tell Steve how he feels.

It's not past tense. His feelings for Steve never went anywhere, always there, always alive. He needs him to know. Even if Steve doesn't feel the same anymore, he's sure Steve has moved on from their thing a long time ago. He just needs him to know.

Maybe back then it wasn't time for him and Steve, but maybe now it can be.

#hate that i loved you #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfic #stranger things #rockstar AU #second chance romance #I wrote this in one sitting and never looked back #forgive me if it's awful #next part will be better I promise

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the-power-of-stuff · 9 months

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(nearly) finished fic!: the words to keep you

I haven't been keeping up with chapter-by-chapter updates for this fic on tumblr lately, but the last full chapter has been posted! The story is almost complete, just an epilogue after this.

the words to keep you: chapter 11

Rating: M (for mild sexual content in just a couple chapters)

Genre: Romance

Relationship: Sukka, plus some minor Kataang and Maiko

Summary: It’s been five years since Sokka and Suki’s fraught breakup. They haven’t seen each other since then, but when Aang and Katara get married, the wedding provides the perfect venue for a long-awaited reunion. It doesn’t take long for old feelings to rekindle, except reconciling isn’t quite as simple as it may at first seem, and now Sokka and Suki have to figure out if it’s even possible to find their way back to each other.

---

Chapter Preview:

The wind at the top of the cliffs was always feistier than the playful breeze by the sea shore — one of the many reasons Suki thought the cliffside was the perfect spot for Kyoshi’s shrine. She closed her eyes, tilted her face into it, and let it whisk away the sweat from the trek up the hill that was beading at her hairline. It carried with it the orangey scent of the golden tea-olive trees that flowered in autumn, and it clattered the wooden prayer plaques together that villagers hung on the rack just outside the shrine’s entrance.

In a few moments, the other warriors would be joining her for their seasonal shrine cleanup. But in this moment, alone at the edge of her world, Suki breathed the fragrant air and tried to imagine what it had been like for Kyoshi herself to stand here, on the eve of the island’s creation and every day thereafter, having carved a home and a life for herself out of molten earth and bubbling sea.

“I’m doing a bad job of honoring your memory,” she spoke into the tenacious wind.

continue on AO3!

#sukka #sokka x suki #suki x sokka #fic #my fic #sukka fic #fic: the words to keep you #second-chance romance #getting back together

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 5 months

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Never Say Never

Chapter 1

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule. With also writing Everybody Hurts, I don't want to make promises and fall behind. I'm a working mom with a hectic life and don't always have time to write every single day. I've been wanting to write this Steve book forever and once I got the first chapter down, I couldn't wait to share it.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 4.3K

“No, Janice, it’s absolutely hopeless. I am telling you. I’m done with dating,” you sighed as you wiped the crumbs off the table and into your hand from Eli’s after school snack.

Making your way to the garbage can, you brushed them in. Grabbing the empty cup of chocolate milk, you popped it into the dishwasher, trying to stay on top of things so you didn’t have to do a last minute clean-up when all you wanted to do was go to bed.

“You can’t just give up,” your friend urged. “Come on, girl. You’ve only been on a few dates so far. I know they’ve been duds but the right guy is out there. I know he is.”

“I really don’t think he is. I’ve been on four dates in the last month and they have all been awful. And I only went on those dates because you’ve been pushing me to put myself out there, might I remind you. I was perfectly content with my life the way it was. The only guy I need in my life is my son. I’m telling you. Good guys don’t exist.”

“Except you know that’s not true because you had one.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the reminder. That familiar pain that tightened its hold until you felt you couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter that it had been two years. Any mention of Justin’s name and you were instantly sent straight back there, struggling, fighting for air you couldn’t find, descending into the pitch black of despair that had swallowed you whole for far too long.

But you couldn’t let it consume you, not anymore. You knew what you needed to do. Remembering your therapist’s words, you didn’t fight it back, letting the pain wash over you for a moment. Accept your emotions. It’s okay to feel them. Let them come, acknowledge them, and then move on. Don’t get stuck. Forward motion. Always forward motion. Remember the 3-3-3 rule when it gets overwhelming.

Your eyes roamed through your kitchen, searching for three objects. The box of Scooby snacks that Eli had, the smiling face of his favorite cartoon dog looking up at you. The tulips on the table that you'd picked from your garden two days ago, bringing a little spring into the house. The bright painting to the left of the fridge that Eli had made for Mother’s Day last year, his handprints creating bright yellow and orange flowers, with the words If mothers were flowers, I’d pick you.

You felt yourself returning from the dark, your chest loosening as you closed your eyes, focusing on sounds now. Your son’s feet moving across the floor of his bedroom, a lawnmower running a couple houses down, the low rumble of a motorcycle driving down the street.

It was working. You wiggled your fingers, rotated your ankle, rolled your head around on your shoulders. 3-3-3. Three sights, three sounds, and three movements. And just like that, you were back. Hand on the table, you slowly sat down in one of the wooden chairs you'd so lovingly sanded and refinished the summer after you and Justin bought this house, opening your eyes. You were centered. You were okay. You were moving forward whether you wanted to or not.

He was gone. There was no changing that. And as much as you'd wanted to curl up and die after it happened, you knew you couldn’t. You had Eli, this sweet little soul who depended on you, who was hurting too, and you had to be what he needed. You had to pull yourself out of your grief to be the stability and strength he needed. Fake it until you make it, right? That had worked for a while until it didn’t.

“Hello?” your friend’s voice called through the receiver. “Hey, are you okay? Is it happening again? Do I need to come over? Come on. Just say something, honey.”

“No. No. I’m okay.” Your fingers pressed gently against your forehead, wondering if it would ever get easier. Everyone said it would and sometimes you could even go hours without thinking about him but when you did, it would all come crashing down around you. He’d left you alone, alone to care for your son, alone for eternity based on the dating pool out there. “Sorry. I just…I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because I’ve already got my keys in my hand and I can be there in ten minutes.”

You smiled. Of course Janice already had her keys in her hand. She was your lighthouse in a storm, your safe harbor, your source of encouragement and support. She’d been there to pick you up when you could barely lift your head. She’d been the one to convince you to go to therapy. She’d been the one to come over and cook dinner for Eli, playing games with him, amusing him so he wouldn’t notice that mommy was falling apart in your bedroom on days when you just couldn’t find the strength. Janice was your lifeline and you had no idea where you would be without her. You certainly wouldn’t be the functioning human being you were right now.

“No. Really. I promise you, Janice. I am fine.”

“Okay…but you know I’ve always got you. Just say the word, girl and I’m there. Anytime. Anything you need.”

“I know. And I love you so much for it.”

“I love you,” Janice stated. “You’re my soulmate, you know.”

You laughed, “What about Matt? I don’t think he’d appreciate hearing you say that.”

Your friend snorted, “Oh, he knows. It was part of our vows. Didn’t you know that? He took this woman and her best friend on the day we got married. He’s aware of his place in my life and he’s okay with it because he loves you too. Also, he doesn’t have a choice because he knows I’d get rid of him before I’d ever let go of you if he tried to make me choose. You’re always my first choice.”

Matt would never make her choose. Janice had met Matt a little over a year ago and they had just gotten married in July. It had been a beautiful outdoor wedding on the beach. You'd been the maid of honor. Janice hadn’t even asked you, not really, just rolled her eyes when you asked if she planned on it and said she didn’t have to ask because it should have been assumed. Eli had been so handsome in his little tux as their ring bearer. You had fought back tears throughout the day, memories of your own wedding day ripping you apart. But you'd held it together, reminding yourself that this was your friend’s day. You were supposed to be overjoyed for her, not wallowing as you tripped down memory lane.

You loved Matt and the feeling appeared to be mutual. He was perfect for your best friend. He was the rational to Aly’s crazy, the simple to her complicated, the organization to her chaos. He was absolutely crazy about her and every single one of her little quirks, including her intensely close friendship with you and Eli. He’d been openly accepting of you being their third wheel from day one.

They’d only gone on five dates when he offered to take Eli to the batting cages for a few hours so the girls could enjoy an afternoon. When Eli got back, red-faced and shiny, a huge smile on his face, you had given your friend a look that said everything without you having to speak. It said hold onto this one. And your friend had been smart enough to do just that. They were already talking about trying for a baby and you couldn’t wait to plan a shower and shop for all the cute little baby things. To be Auntie, to cuddle a sweet little one against your chest again, to inhale that delicious newborn smell.

Everyone always said it went by too fast. You'd thought they were crazy when you were in the midst of sleepless nights and a screaming baby, feeling it would never end. But they were not joking. Your sweet little baby, with his head of downy blond hair, just like his father’s, had somehow become a little boy in what felt like a span of seven minutes instead of seven years. You found yourself willing time to slow down, to let you keep him little for just a while longer, but it just kept racing ahead, leaving you frantically trying to catch up.

“So, anyway, what was so awful about this one?” Janice asked, bringing you back to the present moment.

“Ugh…what wasn’t awful? He showed up to the restaurant already drunk. He kept trying to touch me, stroking my arm and placing his hands on my thigh. He kept slurring about how he was going to show me the night of my life. He ordered spaghetti and was eating it with his fingers, just picking up the noodles and dropping them into his mouth. It was disgusting. His hand was in a cast and when I asked what happened, he told me he broke it punching out the car window of his ex because he caught her cheating on him last week.”

“Holy shit!”

“Seriously! I can’t make this stuff up, Janice. It’s so bad out here. I don’t know why women even bother trying. From the guy who seemed okay until I walked into his place and he had the pile of toenail clippings on his coffee table to the guy who asked for the barista’s number while I was standing next to him to the guy who invited his ex so she’d see him with me to this guy, I’m just done. Maybe we only get one shot at real love in our lives and Justin was mine. Maybe that’s all I get. I mean, it was only ten years but a decade of happiness is more than some people get. Shouldn’t I be happy with that?”

“No. I refuse to believe that,” Janice argued. “You are far too amazing to spend the rest of your life alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have you and Eli.”

“Yes, but one day, Eli will be all grown up and move out and start a life of his own. And yes, you will always have me but do you really want to live in that house all by yourself? Don’t you want someone to fall asleep next to, someone to wake up next to, someone to rub your feet after a long day, someone to be your person?”

“You’re my person. Justin was my person.”

“Oh, honey…”

“Janice, I just…this dating site thing isn’t for me.”

God, it was so awful. With the birth of the internet, online dating was a fairly new thing. But when you weren't getting e-mailed dick pics or getting asked if you were looking for a booty call, then you were getting tricked by guys who acted like they were normal until you met them and found out they were anything but.

“Okay. So, ditch the dating site. Honestly, it probably wasn’t the best idea but Lauren was going on and on about these hot guys she’d met on there. She said it was like a pond full of fish and any woman could have her pick of them. I figured it would be worth a shot. At least, it would be a good place to start. I should have known better. It’s Lauren. She’ll hook up with anybody and gets bored way too easily. I am sure a different guy every night is exactly what she’s looking for. Maybe you just need to meet someone more organically?”

You sighed, “And how exactly do you think I’m going to do that between work and Eli? I don’t have a lot of down time.”

“No, I know, but maybe try to pop into the coffee shop more or the bookstore? I mean, you could do the bar but you’re more likely to find a sleaze who’s just looking for a one night stand or the guy with the tan line where his ring should be. Lord knows I’ve made that mistake more than once. But a bookstore, a coffee shop, the library? You might find a nice guy there, an intellectual who reads and writes poetry in his spare time. Oh! Maybe find your own Mr. Coulson.”

“Except I’ve actually been kissed and I am not a reporter and I definitely am not passing for a high school student,” you laughed, remembering how in love you and Janice had been last year in the theater. “And trust me, Michael Vartan is not teaching at the local high school.”

“Okay, fair enough. But don’t give up. You deserve the world, my friend. You deserve a man who looks at you like you’re the moon and stars because you are. I know he’s out there.”

“Janice, I…”

“Mommy! You have to take me to baseball practice, remember?”

Your eyes shot over to your son and then up to the clock. You'd completely forgotten. After Matt had gotten him into baseball, he’d begged you to let him join the little league team this year at school. You'd dreaded having to lug him to practices and games, giving up what little free time you had, but you could never deny your son anything. Their first practice started in fifteen minutes and now you were going to be late. Just one more reason for the mothers in this town to judge you and your inability to do it all as a single mom.

“Shit! Janice, I have to go. Eli has baseball.”

“Okay. Ohh, maybe you’ll find a hot single dad.”

“Oh my god. Good bye,” you huffed, hanging up. Your brain raced, thinking back to the paper that had come home with him about practices. What did he need to bring? “Okay, okay. Eli, go grab your mitt and I’ll fill up a water bottle for you.”

Your son raced off up the stairs and you groaned, knowing he’d probably be yelling down to you in two minutes that he couldn’t find it. You grabbed his bright blue water bottle, quickly filling it with tap water. Was there anything else? You smacked your forehead loudly. Cleats! You were supposed to buy him baseball cleats and you hadn’t.

“Mommy! I can’t find my glove!”

You closed your eyes, inhaling slowly through your nose before making your way to the stairs, “I’ll find it. Just change into your athletic pants and a long sleeve shirt. And grab a sweatshirt, honey. It’s kind of chilly out today.”

Eli sat on the floor, pulling his pants on, when you entered the room. Your eyes did a quick scan, instantly finding the glove, lying on the floor right next to his bed. With a small smile and a shake of your head, you bent down and grabbed it, tossing it to your son just as he stood up, all dressed and ready.

“Ready to go?”

“But my shoes. I don’t have baseball shoes!” he yelled, pointing at his feet as if you weren't aware.

“I know buddy. I’m sorry. Mommy forgot but I will stop tomorrow right after work and grab you a pair, okay?”

“But then I won’t be ready for baseball! All the other kids are going to have the right shoes and I won’t!”

“Eli, we don’t have time to stop at the store right now or you’ll be late.” You walked up to your son, cradling his face, your favorite face in the world. Cobalt blue eyes, so like his father’s gazed up at you, anxious about not fitting in, not having the right things. “Look, I will explain to your coach. I’m sure he will understand.”

“He’s really nice. He’s Jeremiah’s dad. I like Jeremiah. He’s my best friend. We play superheroes at recess all the time. He’s Superman and I’m Batman. And sometimes we swap lunches because his dad always packs peanut butter and jelly and you always pack bologna and sometimes we like to switch. I asked you if he could come over and play and you said maybe but he’s never come over. Remember?”

You winced at your son’s words. It came back to you, months ago, Eli asking if his new best friend could come over to your house. You'd said maybe, the answer you gave when you didn’t have one or you were too busy to stop and really answer him. Being a single parent was hard. It was exhausting, often leaving you feeling like there wasn’t enough of you to go around.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I shouldn’t have said maybe and then forgotten about it. I’ll talk to his parents about it after practice today, okay? Now, come on. Let’s get going so you’re not too late.”

__________________________________________________________

You barely had the car in park before Eli was jumping out, racing across the pavement, eager to join his teammates on the diamond. You made your way over, taking in the gathering of young players, the air full of energy and excitement. Bringing a hand up to cover your eyes against the glaringly bright spring sun, you watched as Eli ran up to a young boy with a full head of caramel brown hair.

That must be Jeremiah. Wow, that kid was going to be all the girls could talk about when he got older with a head of hair like that. Eli pointed at him with a huge grin and you gave your son a thumbs up, letting him know you'd seen. He would never let you forget it if you didn’t follow through on setting up a playdate.

“Aly! Hey! Eli’s playing this year?”

“Oh, hi Tracy,” you replied with a smile as Jackson’s mom walked up with a coffee in hand. “Yeah. Janice’s husband, Matt, has really gotten him into baseball and he was so excited to play.”

“It’s so good that he has someone to stand in as a strong male role model in his life. You know, with his dad gone and everything.”

Your teeth gritted, the smile you were working so hard to keep plastered on your face now painful. Of course. You couldn’t possibly be enough for your son. He had to have a man in his life to be whole. It didn’t matter that you worked your ass off to make sure that your son never went without. It didn’t matter that you'd had to step up and work even harder, take on the job of two people. It would never be enough.

“Yeah, we’re really grateful for Matt. He’s really great. Eli just adores him.”

Tracy leaned in, looking like the cat who got the cream, your faults as a mother forgotten. “Have you seen the baseball coach?”

“No. I…I just got here but I do need to talk to him. Eli’s become best friends with his son this year and he’s never going to let me live it down if I don’t don’t talk to him about Jeremiah coming over to our house to play.”

“Lucky you. I’d do anything for Jackson to come play at our house if it meant his dad would come over to play too.”

“Umm…aren’t you married?”

Tracy laughed, shrugging, “I mean, what Tom doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? Seriously, wait until you see this guy. I am talking about grade A beefcake, honey.” She rolled her eyes, her head following, over to the right where a man was bent forward, pulling baseballs out of a bucket. “I just want to take a bite out of it. Have you ever seen anything so delicious?”

“Ooh! Are we talking about the coach?” asked Lilian as she idled up, her tongue running along her upper lip. “Have you ever seen such a delectable slice of cake in your life?”

You grimaced. No, they weren’t wrong. The ass that was currently up in the air, making it impossible for you not to notice, was quite nice. No. That wasn’t fair. There wasn’t a Georgia peach in existence that could outdo the one in front of you. He filled out a pair of jeans better than most women did. However, the way these women were drooling over him was pathetic. They were married. They were moms. And this guy, no matter how great his ass was, was a person. He wasn’t some piece of meat to be ogled.

“Well, thanks for pointing him out to me. I think I’m going to try to talk to him before he gets busy,” you said, eager to get away from these bored, spoiled housewives who were looking for excitement to fill their monotonous days. Striding over to him, you paused, realizing you had no idea what his name was. “Uh…excuse me? Coach?”

He straightened and turned and you gasped. Oh hell. The front view was even better than the back. Two eyes, the color of honey, peered down at you, coating you in their sticky sweetness, filling your mouth, making it impossible to speak. Jeremiah came by that head of hair honestly, this man's caramel locks falling effortlessly around his face. He smiled and it was even worse, lightning striking you where you stood. His entire face was pure sunshine, warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah?” he encouraged when you hadn’t said anything.

“Uh…oh…I’m so sorry,” you stammered, eyes closing, shaking your head. What the hell was wrong with you right now? “I’m Eli’s mom, Y/N.”

His eyes lit up with recognition, his hand running through those beautiful locks. Another lightning strike, but in an entirely different place, when you realized how large his hands were. Long thick fingers that had you thinking things you really should not be while standing at a child’s little league practice. Shame filled you as you realized you were no better than those moms you'd just judged. You simple weren't saying your thoughts out loud.

“Oh! Of course. Jeremiah talks about Eli non-stop. He’s been bugging me for months to have him come over.”

“Well, that’s actually why I came over to talk to you. Eli’s been bugging me too and I promised him that I wouldn’t leave practice without setting up something with you. So…is there any time over the next week that works for Jeremiah to come play?”

“What works for you?”

“Any afternoon or evening is okay, as long as there’s no practice. But of course then Jeremiah would be unavailable too so that would be silly. And obviously, you’d be coaching so you know when there’s practice. But I, yeah, anyway, I work in a pediatrician’s office and I get off at three every day so that I can get Eli from school. So, I am available for a date. I mean, for the playdate. For the kids. To have a playdate. At my house.”

The corner of his mouth curved into an amused smile and you just wanted a hole to open up in the dirt and swallow you. Why were you tongue twisted like a fifteen year old girl who was trying to talk to the cutest guy at school? You were a thirty-two year old woman. You'd been a wife. You were a mother. You were a nurse. You were educated. You'd gone to college. You should be able to string words together to make a coherent sentence.

“How about tomorrow?” he asked and you noticed how his eyes flitted down to your left hand, your recently bare ring finger. You'd removed it a month ago when Janice had kindly urged you it was well past time. “I actually have a meeting tomorrow night and my best friend is busy so I have no one to watch Jermiah. If you wouldn’t mind him coming your way for a couple hours, it would really help me out.”

“Oh, no. That would be fine. What time?”

You did not focus on the fact that he needed a babysitter. You did not think about how it sounded like Jeremiah’s mom wasn’t in the picture. You definitely did not feel a thrill that made your stomach flip at the thought of what that could mean for you. Nope. No reason for you to care if he had a woman in his life.

“Four thirty? My meeting is at five. It shouldn’t take more than an hour so I should be there by six thirty.”

“Four thirty is great. I’ll make the boys dinner and I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to have a couple hours to play. No need to rush or anything.”

His head tilted, tongue tracing his bottom lip, one eyebrow lifting, “Or I could grab a pizza on my way over. You know, as a thank you for helping me out and everything.”

“Oh…” Your stomach twisted at his words, the drop on the roller coaster, plunging fast, fear and excitement colliding within you at the thought of him hanging out at your house. The two of you sitting at your kitchen table, sharing food, talking. Those warm eyes, like the earth when the sun comes up in the morning, staring into yours. “That would be nice. I mean, Eli will be ecstatic. He would eat pizza every night if I’d let him.”

“Great.” He flashed you that smile again and you swayed on your feet, completely dazzled by that flash of white teeth, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Daddy! Come on! Stop talking! We’re ready for practice!”

“Duty calls,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows as he leaned in, his mouth so close to yours that you could smell the peppermint gum on his breath. “We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah…see you tomorrow.” You stood, frozen as you watched him make his way toward the group of second graders eager to start running around the bases. No, you definitely were not checking out his ass again. Nope. Definitely not. It suddenly hit you that you still didn’t know his name. Cupping your hands around your mouth, you yelled, “I didn’t get your name!”

He turned, grinning, “Steve! Steve Harrington!”

Chapter 2

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darkeralmond · 10 months

Text

Dance With Me

Luke Hughes x Reader

song: dance with me - beabadoobee

synopsis: luke and you dated all through sophomore, junior, and part of senior year. luke had his hands tied with hockey, so the both of you decide to break up. now, you’re alone at prom and luke is back to make things right

warnings: fluff, high school au!, exes to lovers, second chance romance, luke being the cutest ever, dance with me lyrics literally everywhere

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i’ve been posting a lot of conrad stuff so i would like to post something luke hughes related bc i just love him so much! i have a lot more conrad stuff coming don’t worry!! ALSO I LOVE BEABADOOBEE SHE IS THE CUTEST I SWEARR!!

masterlist | request info

4 MONTHS AGO

You would’ve preferred spending the night hanging out with Luke instead of sitting alone on your couch eating rocky road ice cream while watching Scream 2. Luke was busy preparing to go to Team USA for hockey. You wanted to be supportive and have him stay focused on that instead of you. He’s always wanted to go to the national hockey league, which is why playing on a national team was super important. You knew that.

Someone knocked on the front door which interrupted you from your movie. You looked back as your eyebrows knitted together. You placed down the quart of ice cream and paused your movie before heading up to the door. What if you were about to get killed? This was the start of every horror movie. Someone alone in their house while watching a scary movie.

‘Whatever,’ you thought. You opened it up to see Luke standing in the doorway, a frown on his face. Something was wrong. “Hey, baby. What’s the matter?” you asked.

He flashed a false smile, “Hey… can we sit for a bit?” That was never a good sign. You nodded your head as you listened to the beat of your heart as it pulsed. You invited him in and he sat down on the couch. “Look, Y/N…”

Instantly, you knew. The hanging of his head, the lack of eye contact, his anxiously toying with his thumbs. “You wanna break up,” you cut in. His brown eyes were full of sorrow as he met yours.

You nodded your head and looked at the tub of ice cream melting in the container. The lump in your throat grew, but you didn’t want to crack in front of him.

Luke placed his hand in yours, “It’s not because of you, I promise. It’s not that I don’t love you anymore. It’s just..”

“You’ll be gone for hockey,” you finished. He nodded his head, now looking down at his knees again. You watched him in your peripheral vision because you knew if you met his eyes, he would know how much it truly hurt you.

It didn’t take a look for your face to scrunch up as tears escaped your eyes. You took in a sniffled inhale through your nostrils and let out a shaky exhale through your mouth. “It’s okay, I understand.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.

He looked up and smiled sadly at you before leaning forward and kissing your forehead. You reached for the tissue box on the coffee table and retrieved a tissue. You dabbed at the salty tears staining your cheeks.

His lips met yours gently before he said, “I love you so much.” You stared into his brown eyes that were now red from holding back tears.

“I love you too,” you whispered. Holding back the sobs stuck in your throat felt impossible, but you had to stay strong for him.

His hand then slipped out of yours as he got up from his spot on the couch. He used the back of his hand to wipe away the few tears that seemed to escape. “Good bye, Y/N…”

“Bye, Luke…” With that, he left out the front door. You watched from the window in the living room as the headlights to his car turned on and pulled out of your driveway.

You hysterically cried on the couch, now letting all your emotions free. Your chest hurt and your body burned, it felt like your heart could explode right out of your rib cage. You hated the feeling that you were selfish for reacting this way. Luke was only following his dreams like you told him to, it was your job as your girlfriend to let him go when a bigger opportunity came. It’s just that no one warned you that letting go would hurt so bad…

PRESENT DAY

“Who’s having fun tonight?!” The DJ shouted over the mic. It was finally prom night and your first prom without Luke.

You had a date, Jason Porter. He was someone who showed an interest in you near the beginning of senior year, but you were with Luke. It wasn’t like you wanted to go to prom with Jason in a romantic way, but all your friends had dates, so it felt mandatory to ask someone.

When you all finally arrived at the dance, he immediately ditched you to go hang out with his baseball buddies instead of you. He stuck with his friends while you stuck with yours.

Your friend, Andrea, wrapped her arm around you and pulled you into a side hug. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Prom finally transitioned to the slow dancing period which is what you dreaded. The instrumental for Perfect by Ed Sheeran began playing, so your friends and their dates went onto the dance floor after you insisted you’d be good chilling by yourself.

You looked down at your hands and fiddled with your thumbs, something Luke would do when he’s nervous or upset. Just last year, you were dancing with him out there to this exact song. Now here you were, alone and miserable. You couldn’t help but feel pathetic.

You assumed Luke wouldn’t be back for prom, but you didn’t want to call or text him for confirmation. You figured he was too busy to talk to you which is why you didn’t make an effort to contact him.

“Y/N,” a voice spoke.

Guess you were wrong. You looked up and there he was standing right in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him in disbelief. “Luke?” You stood up and grabbed his face. It was him. You pulled him into a hug, laughing as you did so.

When you pulled back you rested your forehead against his. His hand was behind your head, resting on your neck. “Oh my God, Luke. I missed you so much!”

He kissed the top of your head and smiled widely, “I missed you too, Y/N. How have you been?”

You giggled, “Well at the moment, not too good. All my friends are out dancing with their dates, so I’m kind of lonely.”

“Well, where’s yours?” he asked, looking around.

“Um,” you mumbled. “He kind of ditched me, but it’s fine. Just sucks that there’s really no one to dance with.” You were obviously hinting that you wanted to dance with him.

He looked behind him at the people dancing and then back at you. “If you wanna dance… then dance with me.” Your mouth became too dry to speak. The fact he was here and the fact he wanted to dance. “It’s pretty fast, but this is what you do at prom, right?”

You cracked a smile and said, “Of course I want to dance.”

He led you toward the dance floor where you both started swaying with the music. He lifted your hand and rested it against his hip, he grabbed the other with his own hand as they moved to the beat. You looked up at his face to see his smile widening. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said.

You giggled and looked down at his suit. “Thank you, you look handsome.” You met his gaze again. “How’s Team USA?”

“Really fucking time consuming,” he laughed. You laughed with him as he continued his answer. “We’re always playing, and when we’re not playing we’re busting our asses on the ice.”

You felt unfamiliar with him holding you so close, you took a couple deep breaths. ‘Just take it slow and move your feet,’ you thought as you held onto the brunet. He held your waist and your eyes trailed along every feature of his face, memorizing each detail.

When you glanced up, his eyes were already trained on yours. He leaned towards you, capturing your lips in his. The kiss wasn’t long or passionate, instead it was sweet and comforting.

When you broke apart, he said, “I’m sorry about how things ended.” He ran his fingers through your hair to get the baby strands out of your face. “I’m sorry it ended at all.”

“I’m sorry for not reaching out,” you admitted. You bit down on your bottom lip as you stared into his gorgeous eyes. They held something else, some sort of pain and guilt.

“I’ve been miserable without you and I just really want to make things work. I don’t care about the distance, I only care about you.” His voice lowered to a whisper.

“Luke,” you frowned. “Are you sure you can handle a relationship while you’re gone?”

“You’re more than just a relationship, Y/N,” he said. “I know it’s kind of hard to tell, but I really like you.”

A small smile appeared on your face. “And I really like you too, Luke.”

He grinned at you, causing your heart to skip a beat. He brought a finger to your chin, raising it up. “Then will you give me another chance? I promise you won’t regret it.”

You nodded your head, trying to keep the tear that threatened to fall from falling. You didn’t want your makeup running down your face or to get mascara on your dress, so you quickly wiped away the escaping tears with your thumb. “Yeah…” You nodded once more. “I want that.”

Luke placed his forehead against yours again and held you closer. “So does that mean we can try again?” His words caused your heart to flutter once more.

“Of course it does, dummy,” you teased before kissing him gently.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #nhl players #nhl fanfiction #new jersey devils #exes to lovers #second chance romance

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celestie0 · 20 days

Text

does anyone wanna be on taglist for this choso x reader fic? 🧚‍♀️✨

edit: hellooo if you're seeing this now, i already uploaded the first chapter here!! you can comment under the chapter post if you would like to be added to the taglist :)

HI BABES i’m starting a new choso fic series :””) here’s a bit of info about it:

ᰔ title. in another life

ᰔ pairing. rock band au - punk rock!choso x fem!reader ft. fiancé!nanami

ᰔ genres. smut, fluff, angst, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, messy decisions, jealousy, etc.

inspired by a lot of things lol but mostly the anime nana, the movie past lives, the book before we were strangers, and the song about you by the 1975 (aka angst galore)

here is a little teaser:

lol i literally couldn’t choose which part to tease but i feel like this part kinda fits the vibe

the first chapter is already done! it’s 11k words and will be posted tomorrow apr 4th @ 2pm PST :)) very exciteeeddd for it hehe

but anyway, if you’d like to be on taglist for it, please leave a comment under this post!!

thank u to anyone who supports the fic 🥺💕

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iaxsl · 7 months

Text

while shanks and mihawk are like those divorced exes that still talk occasionally. shanks and buggy are the whirlwind once in a lifetime tragic romance. met and fell in love too soon and got together before either of them were ready. their story was destined to end in heartbreak

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hbyrde36 · 9 months

Text

It's never too late for a second chance

written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt

🍰Cake🍰 wc: 311 | rated: G

“Dinguuus. You in here? It’s time to cut the cake. What are you…” Robin trailed off when she spotted him huddled on the floor of the men’s bathroom

Steve looked up at her, eyes swollen and rimmed in red.

“I can’t do it.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “You already did it, babe.”

He mumbled incoherently.

“What?”

“I didn’t sign it, Rob!”

Steve sighed, rubbing hard at his eyes and relishing the pain it caused. He deserved it after all. He’d gone through with this farce.

“What does that mean?” She asked.

“It means, I signed my name fucking Mickey Mouse on that marriage certificate. It means, it’s invalid. It means, I need you to help me get the hell out of here.”

When the coast was clear Robin escorted him through the kitchen and out the back door of the event hall.

He glanced around looking for his car, but it was nowhere to be found. Robin had also suspiciously disappeared once he was outside.

A throat cleared nearby and Steve froze.

“A little birdie told me you needed a getaway driver.”

It was a voice he never thought he’d hear again outside of his dreams. Not after he’d fucked things up in such a spectacular fashion.

Steve turned, and gasped at the sight.

Eddie looked good.

The simple black suit he wore was tailored to fit, hugging his body in all the right places. He was standing far too close, and Steve’s mouth went dry.

“You were there, weren’t you? At the church. Why didn’t you object?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, sweetheart.”

“It’s always been you, Ed. I’m so sorry that I made you feel like it wasn’t”

“Well then,” Eddie began, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “What’dya say we get out of here, big boy?”

#steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficaugust #steddie fanfic #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #second chance romance #second chance at love #writing prompt

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kitorin · 10 months

Text

one more time.

contents. 6.031k words (gave up on proof reading i'm sorry-), second chance romance, hurt to comfort, author + psychologist reader, swearing, nsfw (not smut just mentions), getting drunk, one nightmare, abandonment issues, kaiser’s terrible with people, it takes a while for kaiser to appear

part two to this

a/n. i guess you could read this as a stand alone, but a lot of the details won't make as much sense (like they'd have a lot more relevance and meaning if you've read part 1). and you're being referred to by your first name by your nephew for the sake of keeping it gn

"y/n?"

Your nephew's question brings some of your attention towards him, with the rest focusing on the road. Rain droplets raced along the windows, and he must've gotten bored of guessing which one was the fastest.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"When are you getting married?"

The innocent yet so significant question made you choke on your own spit. It was unexpected for a child to not gag at the idea of intimacy and love, let alone one questioning your marital status.

"Why are you asking something like that?" You carefully dodge the question, given that you have little to no experience with any sort of romance, the closest to love was an eternity ago. Despite graduating from college already, nothing about that had changed.

"Well." He begins explaining himself. "Mama and papa met each other in high school, they got married when they were younger than you." Unlike you, your sibling had a quite successful love life, already married and with a child. The fact that they were even high school sweethearts seemed to only accentuate your sorrowful envy.

"Your parents were lucky. Not everyone gets to meet the person they love forever in high school. Even if they do not everyone ends up marrying them." It was a difficult approach. You wanted him to fully understand the possible outcomes of love but didn't want him to avoid it entirely. "Love is dumb luck. Sadly, not everyone ends up loving someone who loves them back."

"Hmm." He sounds like he's deep in thought, which also surprised you given that he was still young and oblivious to these sorts of discussions. "Were you unlucky? Is that why you're not married?"

The query stung a bit. Not necessarily because it hurt to be reminded of him, but because it wasn't mere misfortune. It was ultimately up to him to act that way.

"Hmm, I guess. Your father got all the luck I suppose." You chuckle, an attempt to conceal that your heart was begging for some sort of closure, even after all this time.

"But that's not fair."

A sigh leaves your lips as you continue. "It isn't. But that's just life."

"What happened to them? Did they not like you?"

"They did at one point. I think. It was pretty obvious but after I liked them back, they became a bad person" It felt so weird. You've bottled up all the memories and emotions, sealing them away from the world, yet with this tiny child you've decided to open up. It's odd, but not uncomfortable.

"They're dumb."

"You can't say that. It's not their fault for not liking me-"

"But you're amazing. You always spend time with me since Mama and Papa are too busy to. You bring back yummy snacks and tell the best stories. You even teach me so many new things. You're the best person ever."

Although misery from the past had been reawakened and nurtured at the topic of the conversation, his kindness seemed to combat that, you can't help but grin.

"I'm glad you appreciate that."

"You deserve better!"

That makes your breath hitch up, a weird, indescribable sensation accumulates in your chest, and for the first time in a while your eyes begin to prickle.

You blink away the sensation. Three, simple words uttered by a literal child, yet it seems to affect you so much to the point you're moved to tears.

Because no one ever told you that.

No accusations of you being delusional and crazy. No sort of discomfort inflicted through others attempting to make it public.

It was what you've been waiting to hear for so long.

"Thanks bud. Keep this a secret from everyone else, yeah?" You come to a stop at a red light, turning towards him with a grateful smile.

He mimes zipping his lips. "Of course!"

"I know everyone's asking about me getting married, but it won't happen."

"Why?"

"Because." Because you feel undeserving of it. Because you're terrified of being abandoned like that again. Because you're simply just scared. "Because it just won't. I'd rather focus on making sure you and your parents are happy."

"Am I supposed to do that when I'm older?"

"Maybe not to my level. Make sure you treasure your family, but your lover too." Now that piece of advice makes you wonder what it'd be like if you got lucky.

"I don't want to get married even if I'm lucky. I want to be cool like you and take care of family too."

"Then do that. But don't close off your heart completely. Your dad didn’t think of love when he was a kid, look at him now. But it's completely okay if you don't love anyone." Obviously, you'd support him no matter what, but a part of you desperately wished that he'd be lucky enough to never experience what you did.

He nods but changes the topic. "What about you? You seemed happy when you talked about that person. A different kind of happy."

What was that supposed to mean?

"It's just nostalgia."

"That's a hard word. What does it mean?"

"You'll learn when you're older. Promise." And with that you dodge the topic of love, adjusting the conversation to one about the new Doraemon episode he watched the other day.

"Holy shit Ness look at how good they are at this."

"Fucking useless."

"Please help me with trig, I'm begging you. Really? Thank you so much."

"That's such a bitch move. Class average was so low, yet they're still scared of showing their high B. Fucking pussy."

"I love you."

Fuck.

Another nightmare. It's only a mess of his words, both the good and the bad; followed by overwhelming dread and fear swallowing you. A wave of relentless cold engulfing you and drowning you in the depths of torment.

The dream leaves you drenched in sweat and panting. It doesn't fucking make sense. It's been years, you were only kids and now you're an adult. Yet it still leaves you so affected. You don't even clearly remember what he looked like. Only the cerulean orbs and the blonde wolf cut.

Most people brush off any sort of heartbreak in high school as trivial and temporary, yet yours has clung onto your heart so persistently, that it still constantly haunts you.

Nothing's working. Attempting to date others only accentuated your paranoia and abandonment issues. Trying to open up to trusted ones caused the words to get stuck in your throat, to the point it feels suffocating. You even wrote an entire book about it; sure, it was effective in expressing yourself and it was a huge hit and profitable, but something deep down still hurts.

You keep trying and trying, heart craving for closure. But the only way you'd satisfy that miserable desire is through meeting him.

Only you know that so damn well.

Maybe that's why you keep fiercely trying. It's your own way of hopelessly trying to escape him.

But it's futile. It's so draining.

It doesn't matter though. It should stop soon. It's such a stupid thing to be sad over. You're successful, a now bestselling author known for your beauteous expression of love and hurt, while still working as a psychologist. You've achieved something majority of people couldn't do, and you're seeing the fruits of diligence and hard work. But it still hurts.

You do your best to shrug off this sense of dread, focusing on what's important.

"Thank you for today!"

Your nephew wore his signature grin, one that was adorable and so full of joy. It was almost impossible to not smile back at him.

With the commencement of school holiday, you decided to take him to a nearby soccer match, France vs Germany. You didn't know anything about soccer, but he loves the sport, constantly practicing and rambling about Julian Loki (a.k.a. his favourite player of all time) You got extremely lucky, if it weren't for Yoichi and his connections to the JFA you wouldn't've been able to surprise your nephew. Yoichi wasn't prepared to see you constantly thank him ("You're my closest friend, your nephew's a good kid too. Lemme coach him some day!"). He even managed to get you three VIP seats.

"Yocchan, how do I win more? I want to shoot the most goals in my team!"

You passively listen to Yoichi's advice for your nephew, as you can't understand or contribute to the conversation much. It's impressive how people play with this many people watching. The whole stadium was flooded with people, except for the VIP section but that was purely due to how expensive it was.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to France vs Germany!" The commentator booms, earning a cheer from everyone. You expected it to be loud, but not to the point you think your eardrums would burst.

The event went on normally. Player names were read out, with an energetic screech from your nephew when it was Loki's turn. At this point in time, you were pretty laid back, given that you recognized no one.

"Aaaaand Germany's ace and forward, Michael Kaiser!"

You froze.

Michael Kaiser, the Michael Kaiser from back then?

Finally, you have a vivid image of what he looks like. His blonde hair was partially dyed blue, the pretty shade slowly fading out, and navy roses decorated his neck. Red eyeliner adorned his almost feline like eyes. He looks almost unrecognizable yet he's still the boy who had a crush on you.

Suddenly, VIP seats weren't so tempting anymore. Suddenly, you want to drag yourself out of there and ask Yoichi to supervise your nephew.

But he still looks beautiful.

"I hate that bitch." Same Yoichi, same, you silently agree with him. "He's insufferable and a fucking prick."

"Language." Although you'd agree with him, it was a bit too early for your nephew to start speaking like Yoichi (though you wouldn’t mind him learning how to verbally defend himself from Yoichi).

It's only 90 minutes. There's over 20,000 people. Kaiser won't notice. Besides, high school was years ago. He's a professional player and seemingly a famous one, he would've met plenty of players and coaches, too many to even remember your existence.

You suck up your fear, the three of you cheering on Loki.

"Do you think I can be like Loki?"

The game concluded, and to your nephew's joy with France's win, 3 - 2. To be honest, you were still clueless about the sport, but you could at least tell Loki lived up to his name, rapidly scoring and leaving his opponents in the dust.

"Of course, you could be better than him!" You appreciate Isagi's support but that probably wasn't the right thing to say in an environment full of soccer fans. Nor the smartest.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom, I'll meet you outside." You hurry away, ready to get out of the stadium.

You were being too paranoid earlier, obviously nothing would happen. To a national athlete like him, someone he hurt all the way back in high school, someone who he entirely ignored for a few years too.

"Fucking found you."

As if the universe was transpiring against you once more, you're dragged into some unknown corridor, a hand silencing you.

It's him.

Michael Kaiser, now a full-grown adult. His high school popularity bloomed into real world fame and glory now. While your success had sprouted from seeds of hurt.

Now you're pressed up against a wall by him again. This time with his arms having an iron grip on your shoulders, roughly pushing you against the wall.

You can't help but reflect on last time something like this happened. But instead of childish affection it’s aggressive and rough, with his aquamarine eyes clouded with something unreadable. That wasn't particularly new, but what changed was that the foreign but hostile glint flickering in them.

All Kaiser does is stare, hair messy from the match and breathing unstable.

You don't say anything either, you can't even think properly, let alone find the right words to say.

"I've waited for this for so fucking long. You're too distracting."

His arms wrap around you, tightly, as if his life depended on it.

You can't move. Your body won't let you. It's not like you were petrified with fear. It was more so all the conflict of emotions. You weren't sure if you wanted to reciprocate the hug, scream for help, or spit in his face and swear at him.

"Kaiser... Please let go."

He abides, partially, changing back to his original position of holding you against the wall.

"No."

"Please?”

" You always fight back when you're uncomfortable." He wasn't wrong, you didn't exactly hate being in his proximity. You hated how he treated you, and how he's suddenly here again.

"You don’t mind this, right?”

Despite his words, his releases you, allowing you to run away whenever.

But you don't.

Because even though it'd be smarter to run away and never see him again, the tiny hope within you is still pleading for closure, and Kaiser himself.

"Kaiser, I can't, my nephew-"

"Is with Yoichi." Kaiser brings his face a lot closer to yours. "If you wanted to run away, you would've already."

Both of you remain silent, as your cheeks heat up at his touch and presence. His hands reach towards your face to caress your cheeks, the roughness of his calloused hands contrasting your soft skin. Annoyingly, you whimper at the unfamiliar sensation. It earns a cocky smirk from him.

"Cute, you really haven't changed."

"I don’t want to see you."

"Why? We both know you would've already kicked and slapped me if you really hated me."

"Because" Because he scarred you beyond words. "Because you hurt me. A lot." Your voice cracks up at the end, he's the one person you didn't want to be vulnerable around, both before and after heartbreak.

For the first time in forever, there's something vaguely readable in his eyes. Was that regret? Sorrow? Guilt? Empathy, even?

"I know, I could tell-"

"Then why did you do it?"

You've given up on sounding stoic, evident anger was displayed in your voice.

"I tried everything, dating other people. Yet you still haunt me to this day." Years of accumulated feelings were finally released. "Just when I finally figured out, I liked you, you fucking did that then, and then." The rest is cut off by him.

"... You liked me back...?" There's a significant shift in his tone, from cocky and confident to vulnerable and shocked. "You, liked me...?"

"Of course I fucking did Michael." A quiet gasp leaves his lips at the sound of you finally using his first name again. "You were so sweet and was always there no matter what, until you decided to hate me for no reason."

"No, I've never hated you-"

"Just stop lying. Please. First you lie about loving me and now-"

He swallows the rest of your words with a kiss, denying your claim. The kiss gives you butterflies, your cheeks heat up even more and his lips taste you and him; sweet and irresistible.

When he's done his face is flushed as well, lips swollen. His chest rises up and down, he seems more flustered from the kiss rather than the actual match itself.

It's back to the uncomfortable silence, his hands gripping your shoulders tight and various emotions clouding your mind and heart.

Without a word, Kaiser just leaves.

The action evokes a nostalgic yet dreaded emotion, it's just like how he initiates whatever he wants without considering anyone else.

You swallow your hurt, leaving the hallway and finding Yoichi and your nephew.

You don't lie to your loved ones. You’d rather die than deceive your nephew or your best friend Yoichi. But tonight, was an exception.

It's not like you wanted to make Yoichi baby sit your nephew ("Sorry, work suddenly called me in), but you were too hurt to spend time with anyone.

The bar's loud, all the noise drowns out your thoughts, as you're up to the nth bottle of alcohol, no one was keeping track.

It's out of character for you to drink so much, but the state of being disconnected from the world, not having to deal with any worries was irresistible.

"You're drinking a lot." A stranger seated next to you comments, you don't bother questioning who they were.

"I desherve it." You slur out, evidently flat out wasted. "I hate men! Especially the German ones." A few glares were probably received after you said that.

"Why's that?" Their calm tone juxtaposed your upset and livid one.

"Because, because, this bitch leaves me heartbroken for years, appears out of nowhere, kisses me and." You're cut off by a hiccup. "Disappears again! I, I-" You're a complete mess, hiccupping while chugging down alcohol, and now sobbing with tears messing up your expression.

The stranger doesn't respond, taking a quick sip from his own glass.

"Did you know," You begin explaining, despite them not asking. "I did so much. I never wanted to date much but I tried to so I could forget him. I even went to a party, and I'm scared of those. Heck, I wrote a whole ass book! At least I can monetize my pain."

"You must hate this guy."

"Beyond words, he's the reason why I think everyone will leave me, but I still feel like I have some kind of hope. If you want to know more, you should read my book." Now you were self-promoting, but the alcohol diminishes your shame. At this point it wouldn't be surprising if people were concerned about how much you've drank. "There's no point of a stupid psychology honours degree if I can't fix myself."

All they do is chuckle, still calm. "I'll read it, and I'm sure he likes you back if he kissed you. There's nothing about you to fix."

You burst into laughter; you sound borderline manic. "That's what I thought after he said he loved me." Another glass, swallowed down by you with ease.

"After all, there's no way the Michael Kaiser would actually love me."

The next morning you wake up, with a splitting headache and swollen eyes.

You try to get up and get started with the day, but the lights are so blinding, only amplifying the splitting headache.

How much did you drink?

Now you start remembering last night, the (probably) unhealthy amount you drank, your inconsolable bawling and that mysterious yet kind stranger. Your immediate reaction is to grab your pillow with plans of screaming into it, out of embarrassment, praying that you'll never meet that person again and that they'll forget who you are.

Wait.

Since when were your pillow cases white?

And where did your bookcase go? What about the drawings from your nephew and childhood you cherished and decorated your room with? And what happened to your clothes, since when did you own white robes?

Shit.

"Finally awake?"

Your eyes have finally adjusted to the light, and blinding white melts into something, no, someone.

Kaiser.

He's seated at the end of the bed, white robe matches yours, with his exposing his toned and muscular chest, and the navy roses blooming on his neck.

What the hell happened.

It's as if your fight or flight response was triggered, and your brain decided on flight with full confidence, you scurry backwards, avoiding him like the plague.

"Did we-?" The new and completely different outfit and waking up in his bed were obvious hints.

He blinks.

There's no fucking way.

"Did you at least use protection? If I get fucking chlamydia because of you, I'll ki-"

Kaiser laughs. So hard that it sounds like he can barely breathe.

"I didn't say we slept together. The y/n who never understood anything remotely sexual, instantly assuming we went that far." He composes himself, "No, we did not fuck. You were too drunk to consent."

"Then..." Your hands grip at the robe.

"Nothing happened. All I did was give you that to change into"

Alright, now you've confirmed that you don't need to get tested for any STDs or STIs.

"Goodbye then, where's my stuff?" As you try to get up, his hand holds you and your shoulder down, denying your question.

"Don't run away."

It's so ironic for him to tell you that when he stopped talking to you, avoided you, and even went as far as treating you badly. Anyone would want to run away if their first love who had scarred them emotionally randomly reappeared in their lives.

You remind yourself to remain rational, to stay calm and respond maturely, to deescalate the cascading sentiments overwhelming your heart, like a proper, polite, and perceptive adult.

But you don't want to be an adult. Not when it feels exactly like your high school years, ones where you had stayed up late just to innocently fawn over Michael Kaiser. Only for your heart to be a toy, one that he had thrown away and ruined merely because he had enough of playing with it.

You're a scared teenager alone in your room again, fearful of everything, heart closed off to the point not even you could fully comprehend what it was feeling.

You just want to run, to run away from all your problems until they'd give up hunting you down, until they found other prey to pursue, until you could live at peace with your scars.

When people mention 'confronting your fears', most would imagine someone fearless and undisturbed, someone who knows what they're doing. Yet you completely contrast that curated image, a troubled individual who wants to return to how they were before their irremediable suffering.

"Don't give me that crap. You're the one who fucking did that to me."

He's the one who decided to poison you with the suffocating fear of abandonment.

"You never cared for me in any way, why should I bother listening to you now?"

To break your heart was one thing. To do it out of nowhere without explanation after years of captivating affection was another.

Kaiser remains silent, expression still stoic.

"I hate you."

That's what you've told and convinced yourself for so many years, yet something inside of you refused to fall for your self-inflicted dishonestly. The part that miserably prayed that Michael Kaiser would one day go back to the boy who was head over heels for you.

You've managed to forget this torment for years, but all he's doing is ruining it, making it even more difficult to get over him and the indescribable hole in your heart.

But now, it doesn't seem like you're the only hurt one.

By the end of your speech, you're panting, despite only staying still in bed. You still have so much more to say, but you're already in disbelief that you've finally expressed the hardships plaguing you, and to the reason for said burdens.

"Why'd you hurt me?" And it finally happens. Tears. Ones that had hid from the world, cowering at the thought of another witnessing this pathetic vulnerability. “Everything would be so much easier if you never appeared again, but you had to randomly appear again to kiss me, only leave again.”

He finally speaks. Voice equally soft and weak as yours. “I know I did. And I know it wasn’t right. But I never wanted to, I never wanted you to hate me or end up hurt. I’ve always wanted the opposite.” Kaiser shuffles closer, hand inching closer towards yours, not daring enough to hold onto it.

He inhales, deeply, as if this whole ordeal had an emotional toll on him too.

“I didn’t avoid you because I hated you, or wanted you to get hurt. I wasn’t trying to play with your emotions either. I was young and foolish.” For the first time, he’s readable, evident sorrow painting his features. Right now, he was a complete juxtaposition of his image on the field, assertive and lionhearted to now frightened and uncertain.

He’s not done yet. “I’ve always liked you, from the day we started talking. I wanted to love you properly, to take you out on nice dates and to be a boyfriend no one could ever compare to. I was just… scared.” The Michael Kaiser admitting to fear was something new. “Scared of ending up as a disappointing lover or you never reciprocating. I ran away yesterday because I was a coward. But I don’t want to stay as one. I refuse to."

Kaiser continues. “It feels unreal, the idea of you liking me back when you’re so perfect. You’ve always been mature, diligent, and hardworking, your future seemed so bright with how academically proficient you were. At the time I was so unsure of myself and felt so inferior, it doesn’t justify anything I’ve done but I wanted to rather hurt instead of being hurt.”

“You, think I’m perfect…?” It’s such an innocent question. The praise seemed to melt away the resentment accumulated within your heart, and momentarily you forget wanting to leave.

“Of course, I do.” There’s still the same vulnerability in his expression, but this time it’s complemented with a soft smile. “I mean, look at you. You always got the top marks, and you’ve achieved a dream of entering the psychology field. I still love what you wrote about PSTD.”

How did he know that?

“I never mentioned my job.” He still remembers that one piece you wrote, a task that your English teacher had given. You were allowed to write anything you wanted to, and that was the birth of that PTSD essay, which Kaiser had found impressive for the level of detail it had.

“Your books state it.”

And how does he know about those too? You used a pen name for privacy and to avoid any attention to your personal life and loved ones.

“I never mentioned being an author.”

“You certainly did last night. I quote ‘you should read my book’.”

Wait.

A wave of realization crashed over you, the poor individual you complained to about Michael Kaiser was Michael Kaiser himself. Now the memories are flooding in, the declarations of hate, the miserable murmuring, and your stupidly embarrassing behaviour.

But even after recalling all the events and details of that night, you don’t remember providing a title and your pen name. It’s a complete secret, not even Yoichi or your own family know.

“I didn’t tell you the novel name though?”

Kaiser’s now grinning, but there’s still the soft feel to demeanor. “I’m a bit of a fan. ‘Where the Sea and the Horizon Meet’ is my favourite." It’s the book you wrote about him.

“But how did you know I wrote it?” Anyone can write about their tragic first love and the bitter yet beautiful saccharinity it entails. Your pen name didn’t allude to your legal one in any manner, and you dismissed any questions that interviews that attempted to intrude into your personal life.

“Because I instantly knew it was about you, about us. I’d never forget that day, right before English. When wanted to tell you I loved you since it was so pretty that day. I missed bothering you. I missed you.”

He actually remembered?

All this time you had assumed it was a memory that had been sitting at the back of his mind, only to be forgotten so easily after a couple of years.

You don’t say anything. It’s so confusing and overwhelming, the person who hurt you did it out of the fear of hurt, yet still missed you.

“You didn’t forget?”

“No. You were the first and only person I’ve ever loved.”

First… and only too?

You hadn’t shown any signs of auditory hallucinations recently, right?

Even though he himself just said it, it’s still a fever dream to you, unreal and fictitious.

Did you hear that right? You’re the first and only person he’s ever loved; all those touching memories were real, that heartfelt proclamation of love wasn’t fake.

Despite Kaiser’s confession to being in love with you, there was the tiny part of you that was still convinced that you were dreaming; that none of was real.

Because someone who completely destroyed you so long ago shouldn’t be able to waltz back in so easily.

Yet every part of you is begging for him to come back.

You haven’t said anything for a while, only lost in the storm of thoughts while trying to navigate the seas of your emotions.

“Same.” You whisper, you wish you had said something more than a simple agreement, but it’s all you can muster. And it’s true. No one else had been that loving with you. “I don’t hate you. I hate the pain I felt.” You take back your claim, and he looks like he’s received the best news of his life, relief washing over his features.

“I know, which is why, I would never do again. That’s if, if you’re willing to give me another chance.” He finally has the courage to hold your hand with his own, fingers ghosting over your knuckles. “I want to love you. Again. This time properly, and until I learn how to do perfectly.”

There’s an undeniable fear of you have of vulnerability and love, yet the offer is so tempting.

Is the risk really worth it?

You’ve always depended on logic and rationality to make decisions, and here, it’s clear that trusting someone who hurt you isn’t a smart idea. It’s common sense, but something about him makes you want to oppose your usual ideals; to get hurt over and over again until something works, to finally break down the walls you’ve miserably built, and to expose your heavily guarded heart.

“I love you y/n.”

It doesn’t the possess the same grandeur it did that day, years ago, but it still conveyed the same passion, laced with his true feelings for you.

Only this time, you say it back.

“I love you too… Michael.”

“Am I allowed to kiss you again?”

You permit his request, pressing your lips against his, and it tastes just as saccharine and tempting, but this time it’s now garnished with satisfaction.

“Congratulations on your wedding, Kaiser!”

A smile tugs at his lips as his teammates congratulate him, well pleased with how the event had been turning out so far. His parents were overjoyed about you and the occasion, and everything was running smoothly.

It’s been around three years since you had given him another chance.

You looked flawless, the outfit you chose complemented all your tones (though he’d argue that any colour and shade would’ve looked beautiful on you).

Kaiser couldn’t find the right words to describe how euphoric he felt. The closest to this happiest he’s ever gotten was when you accepted his proposal.

He's relieved and buzzing with a sense of pride. Not the typical, cocky kind, but the kind of proud where he’d be able to happily tell his younger self about all of this, that it all works out in the end, that he eventually makes up for his actions; that he ends up marrying his long time crush.

Everyone was happy, at least, except for one person.

“I can’t fucking believe you’d date and marry this man.”

Kaiser snickers at Yoichi, someone who he’s been competing against constantly and has been his rival for years but is also your best friend.

“I swear, he’s not that bad. But I understand if you’re disappointed.”

“Excuse me, I’m the perfect boyfriend and husband.”

“Oi, did you hear something? Must’ve been a fly. Didn’t expect any here.” Michael’s jaw drops at being ignored by Yoichi.

“Shit, I’ve forgotten the bug repellent, my bad. My mother might’ve brought some.” Michael lets out an exaggerated gasp at the betrayal.

“You guys are so mean.” You and Yoichi grin at his faux pout.

“Well,” Yoichi begins to slip away. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone; I’m going to go say hi to Kunigami and Hiori again. Kaiser I’ll kill you if you ever hurt y/n.” He waves a small bye to you before running off.

“Someone seems to trust you a lot.”

“I- “Before Michael can try to defend himself and respond with a witty comment, your nephew interrupts, with his parents following from behind.

“y/n! Congratulations!” He comes running towards you with a bouquet, so big that it was almost the size of him, it’s a miracle how he’s able to carry it. You quickly accept, hoping that it wasn’t a hassle for him to bring it.

“Thank you. How’d you carry these? They’re too big for you.”

“He insisted.” Your bother replies to you, his wife nodding. “He said he wanted to be the ones to give them.”

A hand playfully ruffles his hair. “Thanks bud.” Even after years he still has the same kindness and enthusiasm.

“We’re going to say hi to everyone, are you coming?”

“Can I talk to Michael and y/n more?” They nod, reminding him to be polite and greet everyone afterwards.

“I can’t believe you’re dating the Michael Kaiser though.” Kaiser stands with pride at your nephew’s disbelief, about to make a confident statement until your nephew continues. “You better behave properly, you clown.”

Again, Michael’s jaw drops and the sight has you biting your lip to avoid laughing uncontrollably. Your nephew runs off to his parents, saying that he wants to see his grandparents.

“Since when did he talk like Yoichi?” He nudges you, still shocked at being called a clown again. “He even waited for his parents to go. And he ran off immediately. ”

“No idea, but I like it.”

“Of course, you do…” He takes a few moments to stare at you, dazed by your beauty and seemingly in a trance. “You’re stunning.”

“What’s with that suddenly?”

“It’s not sudden, you’ve always been cute. And pretty. And just perfect in general.”

“Someone’s cheesy.” But your smile is out of control.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Giving me a second chance.” The morning you woke up in his hotel room comes to mind, and although you were conflicted on whether to let him back into your life again or not, you don’t regret anything.

“Liebling, I’m truly forever grateful for it.” His hand takes yours, planting a kiss on your knuckles.

Because it’s been amazing with him. From the small yet sweet things like how he'd pay attention to literally everything about you, and remember every time detail about you to his grand proposal by the beach, the one that was located near your high school, the one outside of the window when he first declared he loved you. You adored it all; the connection you and him had that no one else would ever understand, to how the sun sunk into the sea, breathtakingly beautiful. Even the aftermath of arguments because he always refused to deal with them immaturely, knowing the consequences of not doing things right better than anyone else. The mere thought of you crying could bring him down to his knees.

Now, if someone were to ask you about Kaiser you'd end up stumped, thinking of all his actions of love, from always defending you no matter what, even if it's him against the world and the media, to how he constantly teases you (he never shuts up about how you assumed you had slept with him when you woke up in his hotel room.) He's your everything, your boyfriend, lover, your own proof reader and soon to be husband.

Now, you'd describe him as your favourite, someone you adore beyond what words could capture, not even your experience as an author could ever change that.

“I love you, so so much. I would die for you Liebe.” Kaiser eagerly kisses you, and no matter how many times he does you never get sick of how he tasted, or how soft and tender they were.

“I love you too Mihya.” You breathe out, crimson dusted all over your face as you’re panting in between words.

He really wasn’t lying when he said wanted to love you properly.

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