#(seriously take ten seconds and ask yourself how something like that hurts you)

[awakefor48hours]

I don't care if someone who isn't trans wants to transition. I don't care if someone who doesn't experience gender dysphoria wants to transition. I don't care if someone makes up a new gender and pronouns just to feel special.

I don't care

I don't care

I don't care

I DON'T CARE

[bruisedboys]

Eddie loves his shy girl so much, he’ll always call her “my girl” or “the wife” “the mrs” around others just to watch how red she gets 🥹🥹 but soon he finds that calling her the wife feels natural and right, he realizes she’s the only girl he ever wants

he totally does omg. bro def calls you his wife with absolutely no shame. thank u for the ask angel!!

summary: eddie calls shy!you a lot of names. all of them make you flustered beyond belief

shy!fem!reader 1k words

Steve’s invited you all to drinks to celebrate him and Robin finally copping a job that isn’t slinging ice cream or sitting behind a video store counter all day. Eddie’s helping you pick out an outfit. It’s taking longer than you’d expected. Something about posing for Eddie makes you so nervous you can barely walk.

“Are you done yet?” Eddie’s voice on the other side of the door is far from impatient, even though it should be by now.

You grumble something incoherent instead of answering. Eddie heard you and laughs.

“Y/N,” he says seriously. The effect is ruined because you can hear his smile in the way he says your name. “We’re gonna be late, baby. Come out and show me the dress. I bet this is the one.”

You stare at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds. It is a nice dress. It’s a good length and makes your chest look nice, the colour looks pretty on your skin. Still, you’re embarrassed. You don’t like dressing up. It feels attention-seeking.

You scrub your face with both hands and take a big breath. “Alright, fine.”

You turn away from the mirror before you can stop yourself and yank the bathroom door open. Eddie’s waiting for you on your bed, sitting pretty, if a little slouched. He has bad posture. But his back goes rigid when he sees you — he sits up straight and lets his jaw drop.

“Babe,” he half-whispers, totally in awe, his eyes blown wide. He’s definitely laying it on thick but you can sense the genuineness underneath it all. His eyes traverse a path down your body and back up again, leaving your skin burning. And he hasn’t even touched you yet. “Baby. Honey. Darling. You look amazing.”

You flush all over despite yourself. “Eddie,” you say, chiding.

Eddie pretends to look offended. “What?” He leaps off the bed and gets one hand around your waist, the fabric of your dress shushing under his touch. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re a real stunner, you know that?”

His other hand finds your elbow and pushes all the way up to your bicep, his fingers pressing into your skin. You burn like a furnace where he touches you. You knew this part was coming.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, genuine underneath all the shyness.

Eddie looks like he’s about to say something more but you’re saved from his doting by the phone next to your bed ringing loudly. You make to get it but Eddie beats you to it.

“Hello?” He says into the phone, sounding half-annoyed. “Oh. Hi, Steve. Yeah, no, we’re coming. The Mrs is just getting ready.” A pause in which Eddie meets your eye and winks. You flush even worse than you already were. Eddie goes back to talking to Steve. “Uh-huh. Yeah, we’ll be there in ten. Bye, Harrington.”

Eddie puts the phone back and you try to compose yourself. The Mrs, he’d called you. You feel like you could die.

Meanwhile Eddie’s grabbing his jacket from the bedpost and shrugging it on. “He’s badgering us about being late,” he says, pushing his arms through the sleeves. “We better get going, dove.” He looks up at you, half in his jacket. “Do you need me to carry anything for you?”

My heart? You think. Then maybe your chest wouldn’t hurt so much. You shake your head.

“No, um. That’s okay.” You push your hair behind your ears and try not to show how much he’s undone you with his antics. “I’ll just grab my purse.”

Eddie smiles at you. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the car?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Ten minutes later you’ve arrived at the bar and Eddie’s leading you inside with a hand at the small of your back. He smells good, like the cologne you’d bought him forever ago that he wears basically every day.

You step inside the semi-crowded bar and Eddie spots your friend group before you do.

“They’re over there, by the window,” he says, pointing. “C’mon.”

He takes your hand and pulls you in the direction of your friends. You let him guide you and he pleases, his hand a warm weight in yours. You stare at the back of his head until you arrive at the table. Steve, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan are all here.

“Munson!” Robin cheers. Your eyes zero in on the drink in her hand and you think she’s maybe already a bit tipsy. Then she spots you and beams. “Y/N!”

You smile back. “Hi, Robs. Hi, everyone, sorry we’re late.” You give a sheepish laugh and glance at Eddie. “My fault.”

“It was worth it though, right?” Eddie says enthusiastically, to the group at whole. He throws an arm around your shoulder and jostles you gently. “Doesn’t my girl look great?”

My girl. Your face burns. There’s a chorus of agreement from around the table — it makes you feel better but not better enough that you’re not still flushing furiously.

“Eddie,” you mumble, avoiding everyone’s eyes and staring at the tabletop instead. You elbow him in the side, too gentle for what you feel he deserves.

Eddie laughs loudly. “What?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what.

You huff and wish the floor would swallow you up. When it doesn’t, you let Eddie pull you into the booth next to Robin. It’s a tight squeeze and Eddie’s thigh presses into yours, his jeans warm and rough on your skin where your dress rides up your thighs.

You think Eddie notices this too because he lets his hand fall to your lap instead of his own, spreading his hand over your thigh, his fingers grazing your bare skin. He squeezes you and you try not to show how much he affects you.

“Drinks?” He asks you, like everything is completely normal and you’re not a nervous, flustered wreck right now.

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

-

“Okay,” you say, unable to get more than one word out.

Eddie grins wolfishly. You think he’s probably planning on being like this all night. You don’t mind as much as you should.

-

[planetpedri]

Could you write something for jobe. Maybe you guys gets into a fight and you’re surrounded by his family all day. They seem to notice the tension but doesn’t say anything but at some point or after a comment from him you break down and leave to be alone in your room. Leaving everyone shocked and surprised by the situation since you guys are very private. Maybe it could be during Christmas or a holiday?! Anyways if you want to. Thanks !

Never is a promise — Jobe Bellingham.

Pairing: Jobe Bellingham x Gn!Reader

Summary: After an argument and some back handed comments during a Christmas dinner, you’re left humiliated and upset, and you realize never was a promise Jobe apparently couldn’t keep.

Word count: 830

Disclaimer/s: arguing, yelling, & angst, ends happishly!

A/N: tbh idk where i was going with this

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you hiss, trying to keep your voice low enough as to not disturb his family that was in the next room.

Jobe lets out a low groan. “Yes, it is!” You’d been arguing for the past ten minutes all because you didn’t mention a job promotion to him before your family.

“Listen, Jobe. Seriously, it’s not a big thing! All it gives me is a higher income, other than that it’s not a big deal! Let it go.” You rub your temples, “can we please just go back to the table? This is embarrassing.”

The boy rolls his eyes, pushing his body away from the counter. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He speaks through clenched teeth, glancing to the kitchen door before striding his way through it.

You follow after him, forcing a smile onto your lips as you take your seat beside your boyfriend. Tension flows throughout the dining room, everyone was on edge. It wasn’t like Jobe’s argument with you was subtle. It had started at the table before you had excused the both of you into the kitchen.

“So! How do you like the food?” Denise asks, a wavering smile on her face as she looks in your direction.

You mirror her expression, fork playing with the food on your plate. “Good! Thank you.” You nod, taking a bite although you had no appetite whatsoever.

Silence again. Deafening silence.

“So this promotion—“ Your lips clamp shut, eyes darting to your boyfriend. His jaw clenches tightly, a laugh of disbelief escaping his lips. You loved the woman, but she did not read context clues well.

“Yeah, tell them all about it.” He says sarcastically, eyes finding yours in a heat of annoyance.

That was your final straw. Your eyes flutter to the ceiling, blinking a few times to calm yourself. You slowly stand up, “I need to go take a breather!”

The second you left, making haste to your bedroom, Jobe’s parents, and Jude, look his way with disappointment evident in their faces. “Mate…” Jude sighs, “come on. It’s Christmas.”

Jobe takes a quick glance to the Christmas tree a few feet away, lips pursing tightly. “Stay out of this, Jude.” He was more annoyed at the fact that this was all happening in front of his family, than the original reason you were even fighting over.

Meanwhile, you were sat on your bed, hands rubbing your thighs as you took even breaths. You knew you should’ve told him. But in your head, the promotion wasn’t a big deal. It was small and nearing meaningless, but apparently not to Jobe.

He’d never gotten mad at you. He’d been upset sure, but mad? That was a reaction you had not expected. At the beginning of your relationship, a whole year and a half prior, he’d promised he would never hurt you, never raise his voice. And he hadn’t. Until now. ‘Never’ is a big promise, and you knew you shouldn’t have held it to such a standard.

The soft click of the door opening and shutting had your head snapping up, “What’re you doing?” Your eyes narrow slightly.

Jobe leans against the doorframe, chewing on his cheek. He lets out a long breath, hand running over his face. “Listen—“

“It’s fine.” You snap. You didn’t want to argue, just wanted it to go away. You wanted to enjoy the holiday, to pretend anything even happened.

Too busy staring at your hands, you only notice Jobe sat beside you when the bed dips and your body slips closer to his. Your thighs touch, but you are quick to scoot over. Your boyfriend sighs at the movement.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just wish you told me these things! They’re important to me, and you never tell me things anymore. I mean, it’s not just the promotion.” He clears his throat, “I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t want to fight and ruin the holidays.”

You look back to Jobe, “right. Okay.” No apology from you, which Jobe’s jaw ticks at, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So, we can go back? Talk about this later?” He suggests, playing with the strings of his hoodie. He doesn’t make a move to stand up, though.

Standing up off the bed, you nod. “Yeah, sure.” You begin to walk away, but you’re stopped when Jobe’s hand wraps loosely around your arm, pulling you back into him. His arms securing around your torso, keeping your back flush to him.

Held in his arms, Jobe’s head rests on your shoulder, placing a soft kiss there. “I’m sorry I got upset.” He murmurs, giving you a quick squeeze, which you reciprocate reluctantly. Your hands resting on his arms.

“I know.” You huff, “i’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the promotion.”

Jobe hums into your neck, using his index fingers to turn your chin in his direction. He gives you a dimple showing smile. “I love you, always. Even when I am upset.”

Now you were a little less angry with the whole situation, those few small words meaning more than a petty argument. “I love you too, idiot.” You add, giving him a playful scowl.

Likes , comments , & reblog’s are all appreciated. Let me know if you want tagged in any of my posts <3

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Scoot over

frat boys x reader x Ruhn Danaan

a/n first time writing for cc don’t come at my neck.

summary: you had a long and shit day and come home to your friends ready to take care of you. One in particular.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You parked your car by the house entrance. Noting the two cars already parked there. Light was streaming through the downstairs windows. A sense of ease instantly washed over you. The day had been long, and you would be lying if you tried to deny that you hadn’t been looking forward to seeing your stupid roommates. Yet you stalled for a moment. Giving yourself an extra minute for composure, you breathed out a deep sigh before stepping into the cold night.

The bickering caught you by the entrance. And even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell that it had to be serious. The view you were greeted with was far from what you imagined, however. Here they stood. Declan was nose-deep in his phone, ordering Flynn around as the male tried to stir whatever that was sizzling in the pan. Even if this felt more like an unsupervised toddler discovering cooking.

“What are you two doing?”, you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. A string of curses rang through the room. The two must have been seriously invested if they didn’t hear you come in. “Urd spare me," Dec sighed, placing a hand on his chest. “Fucking hell, I could have burned myself, woman," Flynn grunted, reaching for the spoon that had found its resting place in the sink. "Sorry, sorry, I thought you were solving world hunger, with all that noise and not trying to tame a house fire," you said, finding it endearing that the two even tried to make food when it had been your responsibility for a hot minute.

“You look like shit," Flynn pointed out bluntly, and Dec was quick to wack him on the back of his head. "Geez, thanks; you do know how to flatter a lady," you sighed, lifting your bags onto the kitchen island. “He’s been single for ten years; don’t expect him to still know what a lady is," Dec chirped, rounding the table to walk closer to you. “Fuck off, you have been single for way longer, dude," Flynn grumbled back, making you let out a slight chuckle.

But it was Declan’s amber eyes that pierced through you now. “No, seriously, what’s up?” A guy might be head first in his technology, but nothing ever slipped past him when it came to his friends. But it didn’t hurt to try, right? So you plastered on the best fake smile you could. “Nothing, nothing; you need help with that?” You pointed to the stove. Earning a loud no from Flynn. “First of all, rude. We can handle a pan. Second of all, you do know that we see through your bullshit?” You simply nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. Dec had become somewhat of a brother to you over the years together. There had always been something special about him. Something that screamed home.

“Do we need to call Ruhn?”, he asked softly, already reaching for his phone, but you stopped him with a shake of your head, “Will you vouch for our balls because I don’t want them on a Christmas tree?” His words managed to get a slight chuckle out of you, but you knew that it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Leave your shit here," Dec said, yanking the bags with food over the table. “Yeah, go upstairs and take a bath or something," Flynn chirped in. You knew that even with his back turned to you, he could sense the shift in you. “A support hug before you go?” Dec extended his arms out to you, and you instantly felt the same burning sensation rising. So you shook your head no, quickly wiping a couple of the tears away as you muttered, “I might start sobbing if you get close.”

Ruhn had been in a piss-poor mood all day. There wasn’t a single thing that hadn’t made him annoyed. His father, of course, graced him with a cherry on top as he sent Ruhn to the other side of the town to finish some of his dirty work. Yet all he wanted now was to smoke himself into the oblivious. Lay down, and not move for days. A sharp pain shot through his eyes as the sound of his phone ringing filled his car.

“What?”, he grumbled the moment he picked up. He was hoping the two hadn’t gotten into any trouble because he would probably leave them to their own devices just because he was in a piss-poor mood. “Y/n got home," Flynn’s voice was barely audible through the sizzling. "Great!", Ruhn grunted, but he already knew it. Had seen the notification of your car passing through the gates. “And she’s not feeling well." That was enough to make all the racing thoughts halt for a moment. “What do you mean?”, Ruhn asked, already starting his car. That last meeting could get fucked, for all he cared.

There was some grumbling on the other line until a much-smothered voice filled Rhun’s ears. “I think something really upsets her, or she’s just in one of her sad moods," Dec muttered, “She nearly cried, and she doesn’t cry." That same tightness clenched Rhun’s chest. Why today, when he was by the outskirts? When he couldn’t get to you fast enough. “I’ll be back as soon as I can," he tried to say, sounding unfazed. As if this only concerned him because you were roommates. But if he had managed to slip past Flynn’s radar, Dec had been on him for years. "Dec," Ruhn called out right before hanging up. "Yeah," his friend muttered. “You look out for her till I get back," Ruhn’s voice was barely a whisper, as if, by saying it any louder, he would chase it away. As if someone would wish bad will on it. “You got it, prince," Even if he couldn’t see it, Ruhn was convinced that Dec had the stupidest grin on his face. “Fuck you," he added before hanging up.

You didn’t bother to go downstairs. The bed was practically calling to you. Dec and Flynn found you between the sheets. And to your luck, neither one commented on the fact that it was Ruhn’s bed that you were lying in and not your own. After forcefully feeding you their noodle concoction, that wasn’t half as bad for the first attempt. The two had taken a guard dog position on either side of Ruhn’s bed. Talking about the most random stuff and, even without your noticing, chasing away all the bad thoughts one by one.

“So then I told him to fuck himself sideways," Flynn was on his fourth story for the night. Debriefing the last meeting he had. “I bet he loved that," Dec snorted, his hand absentmindedly moving up and down your ankle. “The old fuck just went on a rant about how that would be impossible to perform," Flynn huffed with a laugh.

And then, as if on cue, the energy in the room shifted. Growing heavy before it faded away. The sound of the rushed footsteps was hard to miss. You had barely managed to turn your head towards the it when the door to the bedroom swung open. “Out you two," the voice filled your senses even before Ruhn’s frame came into view. The two males snorted. "Okay, daddy issues; don’t yell," Flynn muttered, earning a middle finger in return. Dec gave your leg a couple of taps. “You finish that," he said, pointing to the bowl that still had some pasta left. “Will do," you muttered, giving him a slight smile.

As soon as the door was closed, Ruhn’s eyes met yours. "Hey," he breathed; he was breathing way heavier than usual. So he had either ran or been worrying ever since the two snitches told him about you. "Hi," you muttered in return. Watching him quickly undo his shirt before he yanked it over his head.

“Oh wow," you said, “you’re undressing quickly today." Ruhn let out a snort as he reached for his belt. His hands didn’t even tremble as he undressed. “You never complained about my speed before," he shrugged with a smirk. Reaching for his discarded clothes before throwing them across the room.

“Scoot over," he said, gently nudging your shoulder. “Get in from the other side," you grumbled. You had already warmed his side of the bed. “Scoot your cute ass over," he said, more like an order, and you knew him too well to not obey. It didn’t matter where or in what shape you two were. He was always sleeping on the side closer to the door. Even in his drunken or high state, if you two ended up in the same bed, this thing of his never faltered.

“My shirt?”, he chuckled as he moved closer to you. The territorial male inside him was clapping hands from joy at the sight of it. The warmth of him already making your body shiver in anticipation. His scent wrapped you in a cloud of happiness, followed by his strong arms that snaked around your middle. Fingers reaching just slightly beneath the material to meet your naked skin.

“I just wanted to feel you; it’s stupid," you breathed out as he nuzzled closer to you. Leaving a tender kiss on your shoulder blade here and there. “You should have called me," Ruhn said firmly. “You’ve been busy," you said quietly, turning just a bit so you could see his purple eyes. “Never too busy for you," he said. He didn’t miss a beat with his words, and you knew that they came straight from the depths of his heart. If there was one thing that he was great at, it was looking over the people he cared for.

“Do you want to talk about it?”, he asked after a moment of silence. "No," you said. “But do I need to kill somebody because...", Ruhn pushed slightly. “I'm sure those two downstairs are waiting for that too, so get in line," you breathed, reaching out to brush your fingers over his tattoo. Let your brain get lost in him. The warmth of him. The beat of his heart. The breathing. You didn’t even feel the tears running down your cheeks, just the way Ruhn’s arms tightened around your middle, bringing you even closer to him.

“It’s okay, let it out," he muttered against your ear. “I’ve got you gorgeous," his lips brushed against the side of your face. “It’s just a bad day," you hiccuped silently. “We all have those, baby," he said tenderly, his fingers moving to brush through your hair, massaging your scalp softly. Slowly dragging you into the tired, slumbery space. Your hold on him had loosened before you flinched slightly, wrapping your arms around him once more. “Will you stay with me?”, you turned back at him once more, your heavy eyelids drooping. A warm smile spread on Ruhn’s face, “I won’t move an inch, baby”, he muttered, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.

[blasphemecel]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Wardrobe Malfunction

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 1.6k TYPE: Humor, Clothes Swap NOTE(S): For the purposes of this situation, reader is on the shorter side, and also because I feel like they have the evil of a short person in their soul. Also, same Y/n character as Dog Walking, but you don't need to read that to read this at all!

Despite whatever airs you put on, you like wearing your Bastard München uniform. Mostly because it makes you feel like a big shot professional, which appeals to your sense of self-importance.

You don’t think much of it when you slip on your shirt, but soon enough it becomes apparent to you that something is off. It feels wrong, too loose. And it’s falling down way lower than what you’re used to. You take a few seconds to scrutinize it in between owlish blinks, although the emboldened logo on the front doesn’t aid you in figuring out this mystery.

The easy way to check comes to you soon enough, and you lift your leg to see a traitorous ten in the corner of the shorts instead of your number. A look of horror takes over your face… No… You’re going to get Kaiser’s cooties. He is contaminating you with his germs.

You can already feel them loosening after the movement, and once you put your foot back down, they immediately slide off. With a huff, you grab them from the floor and resolve to strut up to the crux of your dilemma.

When you approach, Kaiser has his back on you, and you immediately notice the big eight, and the wrong name accompanying it. Ness is struggling to fit into the shirt he got, and while his jersey isn’t too ill-fitting on Kaiser, it’s too short, leaving him to fumble with the hem to try and hide the exposed part of his waist.

“It’s just like the pants, I can’t put it on,” Ness cries.

“What do you mean, you can’t put it on?” Kaiser asks before taking a handful of fabric and yanking down with too much force. “See, you can put it on just fine.”

“I can barely move! This is ridiculous-”

Oh, you see how it is now. Are they stupid, though? How have they been talking for so long without pinpointing the problem? You sneak behind Kaiser and reel in your arm before smacking him on the back with the shorts, exerting all of your might.

He lets out a grunt of pain you believe is overdramatized since it can’t have hurt that much, shoulders jerking up. “Whoever did that, I will fucking curb stomp y-” and then, after he whips around and sees you, the threat dies down on his tongue.

“Your dirty pants, sir,” you say in a fake fancy voice before throwing them at his face.

Kaiser flings them away on the bench, narrowing his eyes at you with this weird mix between taunting and adoring. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re so cute right now. Let me see.”

With this new positioning, Ness seems to finally realize what happened, too, because he says, “Wait, Kaiser, that’s… m-mine.”

Ignoring him, Kaiser steps around to examine you, and his ugly grin that you can’t stand grows even wider somehow when he reads his name. His name that’s on you because you’re wearing his jersey. “Holy shit.”

“You look like an imp.”

He disregards you with ease, too — you have to admit he’s good at this ‘only hearing what he wants to hear’ stuff — and opens his locker to rummage through it. Ness says, “You’re- you’re wearing Kaiser’s? That’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing mine. Stand proud. You’re blessed. Millions would kill to be in your place. Everyone’s gonna wear this merch in the future, but you get the real thing.”

“You seriously live in la-la-land, it’s unbelievable.”

You spin your finger in the air, seeming way too pleased with yourself. “Do a little twirl for me, I wanna see how it looks on you all around.”

“I will NOT be doing that,” Ness denies with a huff. He’s so uptight when it comes to anyone who’s not Kaiser. Someone would’ve thought you have gangrene or that you asked him to clean roadkill off the street or something with the way he’s acting.

What Kaiser was searching for in such a rush turns out to have been his phone, you come to find out when he starts taking pictures of you without even a modicum of shame. Multiple of them, if the repetitive pressing he’s doing is indicative of anything.

“Don’t point your phone at me, you sick fuck,” you say, reaching out to cover the lens.

Your efforts go in vain, since he just lifts it up high where you can’t reach and continues. “No way. You’re just way too cute right now. I mean, shit.”

Mocking you aside, there’s this thinly-veiled wonder on his face, and it’s making you want to vomit because of course he’d be the type to get a kick out of stupid shit like this. He’s so fucking lucky, too, it’s pissing you off. Among the three of you, he’s the only one who’s kind of in presentable condition.

Once you come close to swatting the device out of his grasp with a jump, Kaiser presses his palm to your face and shoves you away, keeping you at an arm’s length. Then he diverts his attention to Ness, snapping photos of him now and laughing. “You look stupid as hell.”

“Nooo, Kaiser, don’t! Stop!” Ness says, red-faced, to absolutely no avail.

He even takes a few steps back and does a bad job of covering his stomach with his hands while inching towards the bench, which… he makes a genuine attempt at ducking under. This doesn’t deter Kaiser from continuing his paparazzi session or whatever it is that he’s doing, nor does it conceal Ness from view.

You detach your cheek from Kaiser’s hold and announce, “Don’t worry, Ness, I’m gonna save you from the vile pig,” before you take an unnecessary leap and stick your fingers where the shirt is riding up, tickling his sides.

This startles him enough to let go of his phone (the apparatus of evil), sending it flying. You at least have enough decency to catch it, since you’re not really above letting it shatter either. Then you start scrolling through it with the intention of deleting the photos.

It doesn’t take Kaiser long to recover from your attack, and when he does, he reaches out to you. You assume he’s just trying to get his phone, so you kind of twist around to try and prevent him from doing so, but what he does is much worse.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him before collapsing his stupid ass on the bench (which, at this point, has witnessed many horrors), leaving you to sit on his lap. Then — as if this isn’t offensive enough already — he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re such a touch-starved freak, it’s actually appalling.”

“You probably won’t look this good in your life ever again.” You roll your eyes at the stupid comment, and he starts tapping the screen along with you, and he even has the nerve to snicker. “I needed to be opportunistic.”

“Whatever, man.”

The weird battle results in a lot of random apps opening and closing, until eventually the gallery comes up on accident. With a feeling of triumph, you slap his hand away, so he won’t get in your way anymore. There you see the long string of pictures depicting Ness’s progression towards hiding under the bench, which, in your opinion, would make a great slideshow. Next are the images featuring you, where you’re looking up at him and struggling to even graze the phone, swiping your fists at thin air. Wow, you never thought you’d see your Great and Almighty Self from such a… pitiful perspective.

Before you can mope about how vertically challenged you are, however, something else catches your eye, and you burst out laughing, borderline dry-heaving from the acuteness of it. “What-”

Kaiser flusters and snatches his phone out of your fingers before pushing you up and away from him. This, for better or for worse, doesn’t wipe your memory or make you unsee the comically large amount of shirtless mirror selfies he has accumulated.

Despite your stumbling, you don’t fall. “How did you always manage to make the exact same pose and exact same expression in every single one of them?! Seriously. That’s spine-chilling.” You pretend to wipe a tear, even if it’s not that funny.

Kaiser doesn’t respond and turns around to toss his phone back to wherever he got it from. Ness — whose presence you kind of forgot about — deems it safe enough to stand up and reemerge. He asks, “What? What did you see?”

“His shrine of himself,” you say. “By the way, I think he’s a stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” argues Kaiser as if there was a possibility Ness might believe you.

For the first time, it’s Ness who is pretending Kaiser didn’t say anything. “Did you delete them?”

“No.”

He slumps, disheartened.

You make your way behind him. “Alright, let’s switch back,” you say, rolling up the material of your jersey. Surprisingly Ness accepts the help without any complaints and just accommodates you with a high raise of his hands.

You’re nearing the biggest problem area — his shoulders — when Kaiser deems it fit to intervene. “Ness, bend over. You’re taking too long.”

He does as told and Kaiser, for some godforsaken, idiotic reason, hooks his fingers inside of the collar. But you don’t see that since you’re trying to focus on your part, so instead you just comment on his willingness, “Slutty.”

“S-Shut up- Oh my god, don’t pull like that, what if it tears?!”

“It’s not going to tear.”

This exchange alarms you somewhat, so you shift your gaze to Kaiser, and what greets you is the sight of him tugging on the collar, trying to hoist it over Ness’s head. Your eye twitches. “If you damage mine, I’m gonna make good use of yours. Naturally what I mean by this is that I’ll use it as toilet paper.”

“It’s not going to tear,” repeats Kaiser, yanking harder. Apparently your collective lack of faith in him is vexing him.

… You hear a rip.

___

Happy valentine's day (I wrote this yesterday i was with my boyfriend today lol. He's american so he thinks valentine's day is a real holiday)

[i-amm-mj]

Convenience - Katsuki Bakugo x Reader - Angst

Part 2 here!

You just rejected Katsuki Bakugo´s marriage proposition after 3 years of relationship in front of a full restaurant... The reason? You know he doesn´t love you, at least not as much as you love him.

And you know that because he mentioned twice that he hasn´t contemplated marriage on his short-term plans. The first time he mentioned it, you both were having breakfast. He said he didn´t want to get married, not before he got to the Top 3, and right now he were the fourth, but his agent and the press have been pressuring him to get married and start a family because Deku, the Number Three hero already did, which was helping him to get the approval of the citizens. “There´s nothing better than a man of family to protect civilians” they had said. 

You are sure Deku got married because he wanted to. Everyone noticed how in love he was with his wife when he started to cry after seeing Ochako in the beautiful dress you and the girls helped her choose. And you are sure of what Katsuki thinks too... You know him too well to know that the explosive blonde would never waste the opportunity to compete with Deku and show him that he was better than the “fucking nerd”... and as a girlfriend, you were good with it. You admired Katsuki and were proud of him for being so compromised with his dream. You just never thought that he would use you to achieve it and it hurted you... it hurted you so bad that when he kneeled in front you, you started to cry, but not because of happiness, your crying was a product of sadness. 

In other conditions, Katsuki proposing to you would have been the happiest moment of your life and you would have accepted him without any doubt. You really wanted him to be the man next to you at altar and the father of your children, but it seems that to him you are just a ladder to help him escalate the ranking, and you were not going to take it. You had dreams too, you wanted to do things by and for yourself and he didn´t considerate that at all... so you just left the restaurant without saying a word and headed straight to your apartment to cry even harder to your bestfriend... 

“Are you sure you are not overreacting?” your bestfriend asked through the phone “I mean... you´ve been together for 3 years now...” But no, you weren´t overreacting, you heard him yourself, but you didn´t want to remember the second time he mentioned it and his hurtful words. 

It was one week ago, when you finished your shift and headed to his office just like any other day. His secretary had gone home a few minutes before so there weren´t anyone to announce your presence. When you were ready to enter his office you stopped, there were voices coming from it. You recognized Kirishima and your ex-boyfriend´s.

“C´mon, man” Kirishima said “It´s not that bad. The press said that i look ridiculous in swimsuit and haven´t take it so seriously, they say shit all the time about everyone” 

“Those fuckers have been up my ass for four months since that nerd and Ochako got married...” Katsuki groaned “They even dared to say that marriage could help with my image of an asshole”   

Kirishima laughed “Yeah, that could be true, but you can´t force yourself into a marriage, can you?”

“Not with her at least” he murmured. Was he talking about you? You felt the pain in your chest but tried to ignored it, Katsuki would never talk about you like that, wouldn´t he? 

“Of course not! You couldn´t do that to Y/N” Kirishima protested. 

You then knocked the door, panic crawling your skin at his words: He was talking about you... and you didn´t want to know the rest. Your brain was processing. Did you really hear that? No, it was not possible. You have been together 3 years, he must love you. He wouldn´t say something so crude. You were in denial, yeah, he was just chatting with his best friend, it was just and inocent conversation between two legally single men, the type you would have with your best friend too.  

Ten seconds later he let you in. You fixed yourself and put on the best smile you could offer. 

“Hi, honey” you said “You ready to go home?” When he heard your voice, Katsuki got up from the chair and a grin appeared on his handsome face, matching yours. 

“What´s up, pretty girl?” he walked towards you and gave you a kiss on the lips “I´m ready when you are ready” 

You were now laying on your bed. Remembering. Crying. It was really hard to know that Katsuki Bakugo didn´t love you that much. And you really didn´t get it. You were sure of his feelings for you for a long time now, but all this happened so quickly that it didn´t give you time process it. You weren´t sure why Katsuki would do this to you... 

[whirlwindimagines]

Listen your Vash and Wolfwood writeups are my favorites right now!

If it’s not too much too ask, how about we get a reader where they don’t like to ask for help a lot. And the one mission they come back from, they end up having a hard time walking and ask Vash or Wolfwood to help them. Maybe they can carry them depending if it fits.

Can you tell I’m touch starved 🥹

Ugh same I want to be carried by Vash so bad, don’t mind me acting up. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed what I’ve written!! 💙😘 And I hope you enjoyed these little short stories, I hope this was what you were asking for. I am also very touched starved ;p; Haha I see you asked for either one, but I wrote something for both because I can't read correctly. 

Vash and Wolfwood (Separate) helping you while injured. 

Vash the Stampede:

You roll your eyes at Vash’s lecture, because seriously? He’s lecturing you about hiding injuries, mister oh I was just shot but it’s only a little bullet wound it’ll be fine. You begin to zone out thinking back on how you even got here…

You remember running, and then a small explosion the ground under you shakes and then gives way, you fall fast barely having time to scream out for help. Yet somehow Vash is there, peering over the edge of the cliff, eyes wide. He jumps after you, if you live, you’re going to kill him yourself.

You only fell a short distance off that cliffside before Vash manages to catch up to you, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you towards him. He takes the brunt of the impact when the two of you luckily crash into an overhang. Even with Vash shielding your body, you feel the hit of the impact hard. You must have hit your leg on the way down because it hurts like a bitch. You stare at Vash eyes wide, and jaw-dropping, you’re going to scream at him but Vash quickly gets the two of you to your feet.  

“Are you okay?” Vash asks as if he didn’t just fall off the cliff with you, “Yes.” your voice is breathless, but you mean your words beside there weren't time to think about it when the shooting continues. Both of you scrambled up the cliffside to get to some flatland and cover. 

Once the dust settles and the adrenalin subsides you drop to your knees, you don’t know where Vash had run off to at this point, you were thankful though wanting a moment to yourself to assess the situation. Trying to stand was painful, but you managed to get to your feet. Okay, you could do this, placing weight down on your right foot made you see stars. 

Grounding you self you leaned against a nearby building. You could hear Vash calling out your name, shit not wanting to worry him. You bite down on the pain and place the weight down on your foot lightly. 

It was fine you were fine, nothing seemed broke anyway. You called out to Vash, and he rounded the corner smiling brightly once he saw you. “You, okay?” You nod not trusting your voice for a second. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You say with a small smile, growing nervous under his gaze. 

You push ahead maybe making it ten steps before Vash grabs your arm, startling you. He looks unconvinced by your little show of bravery. “Seriously Vash I’m fine.” You say maybe a little harsher than you meant. Vash huffs places his hands on hips, as you try to contain an eye roll. “Your hurt!” 

Thus starts the argument, going back and forth for a good ten minutes. You are brought back to the present with a snap of Vash’s fingers, “are you even listening?” You sigh rubbing your temples now you have a headache, “I’m not, look it’s very sweet how concerned you are, but I’m fine end of conversation.” 

You turn on your heel, turning on the wrong foot you yelp and stumble catching yourself on a wooden crate next to you. You feel your face burn at Vash’s scoff, you’re going to give him a piece of your mind. Before you can Vash scoops you into his arms, one arm going under your knees and another around your back.

You blush even brighter stuttering over your words Vash doesn’t look at you a blush high on his own cheeks. “Can’t you just accept my help?” Vash whines, tightening his grip on you. Feeling like you’re going to cry either from the pain or the embarrassment of it all, you grip Vash’s jacket burying your head in his chest. “Fine.” You mutter, and then a softer ‘thank you’. 

Nicholas D Wolfwood:

You’re so tired, the blast of gunfire is loud off to your side. You wonder how long this fight will last, you’re sure once Wolfwood gets serious it’ll be over quickly. But you have no idea where the man ran off to, weapon in hand you aim around the corner and shoot. 

Your aim is a little off, but it doesn’t kill the man so small victories. Hiding back behind cover, you reload your weapon. When you move out of cover to aim, your face to face with one of the bandits. Oh man, you think as the guy lunges for you. 

Managing to sidestep the guy, you use your gun as a blunt object to hit them over the head. They move and you miss your gun coming down hard on their shoulder, they cry out in pain. Aiming your gun, you don’t get a chance to shoot though when the bandit backhands your face with his own gun.

You hit the ground hard, seeing black spots. You have no idea where you dropped your gun, but you try to scramble to find it. The bandit grabs you by your ankle twisting it hard, you cry out in sudden pain. Kicking out and away, the man not taking a liking to that stomps down on your leg hard. It was painful, but it doesn’t fully requester, as you finally get ahold of your gun and get a shot off. The bandit goes down, it’s quiet all around you. Maybe it was over? 

You force yourself to stand, swaying from side to side as you do. Taking deep breaths, you start to move the pain makes you take a miss step and you drop to your knees. A hand on you shoulder makes you lash out; the person catches your hand and you drop your shoulders when you make eye contact with Wolfwood.

“Shit sorry–“ 

“Are you alright?” He interrupts you, his gaze going up and down your body, you wave a hand dismissively, brushing his hand off in the process and moving to stand with the help of the alley wall next to you, his hands hover around you but he waits for an answer, “fine, guy got the jump on me that’s all” you were fine, you just needed some time by yourself to fix yourself up and you would be good.

“Oh yeah? Walk towards me.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he’s standing there with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Your too damn stubborn for you own good, and maybe a little bit too prideful. You snap a ‘fine!’ at him, before taking a step towards Wolfwood. The moment you put pressure down on your bad leg you crumple, but Wolfwood is there to catch you. 

Faceplanting into his chest you can feel him shake with laugher, as you blush brightly gripping his suit jacket in your hands. “This doesn’t mean anything.” You grumble out. Wolfwood laughs loudly, he maneuvers you a bit so he can swing your arm over his shoulders, his other hand resting on your waist. 

You are embarrassed but grateful that Wolfwood isn’t continuing to tease you as he helps you limp around. “Thanks.” You mutter it softly, he leans his head down toward you, “sorry didn’t quite catch that.” You can hear the smugness in his tone, you don't repeat yourself. The silence stretches out, but you hear him say a soft ‘you’re welcome’ and well it does warm your heart a bit, maybe in the future you’ll be a little better about asking for help.

[itscatchyouintherye]

Do you have a minute? [ReaderxStevenGrant]

Steven is a guest professor at your university for this semester, giving a lecture on Egyptology. The last class of the semester stresses him out so much that Marc needs to take over. No problem – he did this before. Then, however, he’s the one to finally realize that you were flirting with Steven the entire semester.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“Please don’t mess this up!”

“I’m not!”

“Seriously, I need this to go well.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“It’s just-“

“Do you want to do it?”

“I can’t!”

“Then be quiet.”

“Alright.”

“It will be fine. I practiced my British Accent, mate.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“I need to hang up now to start the lecture.”

“Hang up? What? Oh- we’re already here.”

Whispering: “Who’s that hot girl staring at me?”

“That’s- Hey! She’s looking at me! And don’t say that. She’s very sweet and smart and nice to talk to.”

Outside – Marc & You

Steven’s eyes look different today, you think to yourself as you smile at him. He gives you a nod as he says something else into the phone before hanging up.

You wonder who that was. Honestly, the way Steven talked to you before made you think that he doesn’t, well, talk to other people. And somehow, for some reason, he managed to make that sexy.

You’re very aware that today is the last chance you get to ask him out. Yeah, sure, you like had coffee and he even invited you to have lunch with him one time; however, you don’t think he caught on to the fact that you’re into him – bad. Which, again, bless him, is sweet and somehow sexy, but you also really want to…

“Morning everyone!” He speaks up.

You furrow your eyebrows. He sounds different. You cannot really pinpoint it, but something is off. You look around: the lecture hall is busy, but no one else seems to notice. The conversations subside quickly, and people get their pens out. So do you.

Maybe you’re just nervous. That’s probably it. You are overanalyzing his every move, to find any indicator that he likes you or that he’s just being polite or- oh my god, shut up. Focus on the lecture and worry about everything else later.

You do manage to keep your eyes on the screen and take notes. Then, though, half an hour in, Steven keeps looking at you. It’s as if his own ability to focus on the lecture shrank.

In your peripheral, you can make out that he’s facing your direction and his gaze burns your cheek. You hold on to the pen in your hand tighter, forcing yourself to look at your notes. It almost hurts your eyes how badly you try to control them.

It’s rather embarrassing how extreme you react to him simply looking in your direction. You have to blink rapidly to be able to refocus and at least hear every second word.

You’re relieved when his voice finally is louder than the white noise that’s caused by your heartbeat again. That only lasts about three seconds, though. Because then you realize that he is walking in your direction.

It’s just impossible to not look up now.

You raise you head to find him almost in front of you.

You’re sitting in the second row, and he is looking up towards the last rows as he’s talking, but it still feels like he’s cornering you.

You gulp and give up on taking notes. You put your pen down and blindly reach for your water bottle to take a sip in hopes that it will calm you down.

It almost worked, but then he makes eye-contact. You immediately hold your breath, and your body feels like it’s sinking through the chair.

Steven’s eyes shimmer and the corners of his mouth turn upwards while holding your nervous gaze. You never reacted like that to him. Somehow, he suddenly is intimidating. Then he smirks at you. It’s inconspicuous and probably invisible to anyone who hadn’t paid attention, but it’s very visible to you. You press your lips together.

After another moment, he turns around and walks back to the screen to point at something. The entire silent exchange lasted maybe ten seconds, max. He did not interrupt his lecture once while it happened. That wasn’t necessary to leave you flustered.

You run your fingers through your hair and close your eyes, listening to his goddamn attractive voice. The entire semester he did not do anything like this during a lecture. He did smile at you whenever he came in and find you in your usual seat. He asked you about the essay you handed in, talking to you about it over a coffee. He wiped his hands off on his pants, drying his sweaty palms. Never, never did he so openly flirt with you.

Oohh, you breathe out through your mouth. It’s the last class – and he is obviously aware of that as well. Is he finally shooting his shot with you? Shit, is that what’s happening?

You’re not willing for him to do that, are you? It’s not you getting your hopes up unreasonably, is it?

Inside – Marc & Steven

“See, she like you.” Marc whispers while turning his back to the classroom so that the students cannot see his mouth moving.

“I think-“

“Shush. You know I’m right.”

“But what if-“

“Do you want to go out with her?”

“Oh my god yes.”

“Then I will ask her.”

“No, don’t! I-“

“As I was saying,” Marc turns back to the class.

Outside – Marc & You

The rest of the lecture flies by, you constantly bouncing your leg under the table.

You equally dread and cannot wait for what’s going to happen when Steven ends the class.

“Any last questions for me?” He asks.

“Yes, Professor Grant! Could you…”

You don’t listen to the student’s question. You’re way too amused by the fact that they call him Professor Grant. To you, he was Steven from the first time he spoke with you privately – he insisted. He does not request that from the other students. You smile.

Suddenly, everyone begins to clap. You enthusiastically join, catching on to the fact that the class is over.

Then Steven’s face changes for a moment. His expression softens, his eyes become a bit wet, and his posture shifts in a way that he looks smaller than before. He looks intimidated but also proud. It’s very sweet and the demeanor you are used to see.

When everyone starts to get up, he blinks several times and straightens his back, before looking at you. Other than the rest of the class, you show no intend to leave. It’s not entirely by choice. It’s more like you can’t really move, too entranced by the eye-contact. He looks excited.

You inhale deeply and finally get at least your arms to work and pack up your stuff.

Steven then quickly walks back to his desk and gets his stuff as well. He puts on his light-blue cotton jacket and swings his bag over his shoulder.

Slower than necessary, you stand up and zip your backpack.

The lecture hall is almost empty by now and there is not much time left until it becomes very obvious that you are lingering around on purpose.

But Steven is still at the front, turning off the projector and whatnot.

You start to feel like a fool, and disappointed. It’s fine. You shouldn’t have read so much into his behavior.

Legs wobbly, you turn around and start to walk up the stairs to the exit. Your heart is beating quickly and with every step you wonder if you should simply ask him. Maybe he’s too shy? Since he only was a guest Professor, it’s not inappropriate to go out after the class ended. You lightly shake your head, trying to get over the heartache before it can even fill your chest.

Then he calls your name. You take another step before you register that he actually is talking to you and that it wasn’t in your head. Swallowing hard, you turn around.

“Do you have a minute?” Steven asks while following you up the stairs.

Oh, you have so many minutes for him.

“Sure.” You smile, expecting for him to maybe ask you what you thought of the lecture or-

“Would you like to go out for a drink with me?”

Your next heartbeat is so violent that you almost put your hand on your chest to stop your heart from jumping out of it.

“Very much, yes.” You reply.

His smile brightens: “Are you free tonight?”

“Yes!” You sound a little too relieved.

While you let your eyes dart over his gorgeous face, he gets out a notebook and a pen.

He opens a random page and holds it out to you: “Give me your address and number?”

Hands shaky, you take it from him. He’s actually taking you out, like, picking you up and everything. Jesus Christ – bless men over forty.

Trying your best to write legible, you scribble down your information.

“Does seven work for you?” He asks when you hand the notebook back.

You have no idea if it does. At this point, you don’t even know what day of the week it is. Of course, you agree, nevertheless.

Inside – Marc & Steven

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Steven takes a deep breath: “I got this.”

“Just ring the doorbell.”

“You won’t be, like, watching?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay…”

“Ring the doorbell already!”

Outside – Steven & You

You want to look good, but you definitely don’t want to overdress. You don’t know how casual this will be.

When the doorbell rings at two minutes past seven, and you immediately open, you’re very glad that you didn’t put on heels. Steven is wearing his signature dress shirt and jacket – the shirt, however, looks very straightened. And he definitely showered and did something with his hair.

“Hey.” You breathe out and only now notice the flowers he brought. No one ever did that for you – you have no idea how to react. Giving you a slightly insecure smile, he holds them out to you. When you take them, your fingers touch and you almost let the flowers fall to the floor.

“Thank you so much.” You tell him, eyes darting to his lips and back to his eyes.

“I’ll put them in water and then we can go.” You quickly add and hurry to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill up a glass with water. He brought you flowers!

Is it embarrassing or weird that that makes you wet?

Lord, chill out.

Steven is waiting outside your apartment for you. Checking for your keys, you take your handbag and let the door fall shut behind you.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“There’s a bar I like nearby, is that okay?” He needs to clear his throat halfway through the sentence, making you realize that he didn’t say anything until now.

You nod.

“Or would you like to eat something first?” He backpaddles even though you already agreed.

“Bar sounds good.” You assure him. A drink will probably be good for both of you.

Miraculously, you’re able to make comfortable conversation on the way. It’s easy to talk about something that has to do with factual information. You really like when he gets passionate and shares his knowledge. For some reason, he seems surprised that you enjoy listening to him – even though you literally took a course in his field.

“Here we are.” Steven opens the door to the bar for you after a ten-minute walk.

“Thanks.” You really like this sweet, polite thing he has going on. You noticed it, of course, before, but never to this extend. After all, this is your first official date.

This is a date, you remember. You were so caught up in listening to him, that you forgot. You have to avoid eye-contact while choosing a table to have time to collect your thoughts.

Just enjoy it. This is what you so desperately hoped for. You better get your game on.

As soon as you have a drink in your hand, it’s like you’re able to reach the switch inside you that makes you flirtatious instead of awkward.

Steven shifts the focus of the conversation to you, visibly nervous but also really interested. His eyes are attentive and the way he asks questions tells you that he genuinely cares.

You do too, but you now and then lose your train of thought, distracted by your longing to kiss him.

What you dare to do, as you turn to the bar to wave over the waiter, is to put your hand on his to let him know that you want to order more. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his lips part. When the waiter approaches your table, you gently take your hand away to open the menu and point at the drink you’d like. Steven says: “I’ll take the same.” Without knowing what you ordered.

“Coming right up.” The waiter says and leaves.

You raise your gaze from the table to look back at Steven’s face. His cheeks are lightly flushed. It could also be the heat from the candle on the table, but you don’t think that’s the case.

His hand still lies where you left it: on the middle of the table.

Propping your head up on one hand, you reach across with the other and lightly touch his fingers. His eyes light up and he intertwines them with yours.

This officially makes this more than just a date with your professor (as if that weren’t already exciting enough). This is the both of you admitting that you want each other.

So, after gulping the next drink down, Steven pays, and you willingly get up as well. He only lets go of your hand for a moment, so that you can put on your coat, and then takes it again to lead you outside.

You walk a few meters away from the entrance of the bar.

Since it’s during the week, only a few cars are driving by, leaving you alone with the quiet humming of the street lantern.

“I wanted to do this all semester long.” He tells you.

You turn your head, surprised by his candid statement.

“Take me out?” You smile.

“No.” He tugs on your arm, making you step closer. “Kiss you.” Steven murmurs and pushes his hand into your hair to pull you flush against him. Your lips meet and you sigh, throwing your arms around him.

He kisses you softly, cradling your face. Despite the chilly air, it makes you feel hot.

“Me too.” You whisper and tilt your head to kiss him deeper.

When you break the kiss to take a breath, you ask: “Would you like to come back to my place?”

He leans back, hand still on the side of your face: “Yes, but…” His voice trails off.

You caress the back of his neck and wait for him to finish the sentence, your eyes soft.

“I want this to be more than a one-night stand.”

Your heart flutters and you press another kiss to his lips before telling him: “It will be.”

[eris-snow]

Hi I was thinking if you could do aizawa having a sibling or daughter. Like a younger sister or daughter who he teaches and do some type of angst with them. Like him not paying much attention to her or she’s caught doing something (like smoking,drugs). Something like that. Thank you ❤️

I’m not comfortable writing any mentions about underage smoking or drinking (cause I assume that she's still in high school when this scene occurs) but I’ll try to make it up by making y/n kind of ‘bad girl’ ish!

I don't condone underage smoking or underage drinking. Please take care of your body :D

Note for the requester below!

Tags: daughter!yn, Aizawa, angst

“So, mind explaining what that was?” Aizawa asks, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his room door in the dorms of Class A.

You think it's ironic because, even as his daughter, you’ve only seen this place once.

Your arms are littered with scars, a nasty bruise already forming on your cheek at where you’ve been punched. It throbs, sure, but it's nothing compared to your father's words.

No, his words are a knife to the chest. They’d make your heart bleed so much more than any quirk every could.

“Don’t want to,” You grouse, shrugging of your school bag. It lands on the ground with a loud thud as you try to reach for the door handle. A hand shoots out to grab yours firmly, making you freeze in your spot.

“May be I should have rephrased my statement,” Your father growls. “Tell me what happened, Y/n.”

His grip is controlled, gentle but firm in a way that makes you want to scoff. So he only cares now, when you kick up a fuss.

How flippant.

And yet, a small part of your mind still cowers at Aizawa’s anger. Your father’s icy wrath can be as cold as a snowstorm or as explosive as Bakugou, and you’re already anticipating and analyzing different ways you could mould yourself back into the person he wants you to be.

Pathetic.

“Nothing happened,” You mutter, not daring to move. “All I did was lose control a little, that’s all—”

“You picked a fight with my student, Y/n!” Aizawa raised his voice, causing tears to prickle your eyes. “Bakugou’s a ticking time bomb that blows up every 10 minutes. You know that, and you still did it! If it weren’t for Midoriya’s quick thinking to get me, you could have been seriously hurt!”

And that’s when it snaps.

“Your s-stu—” You break off, jerking your hand away from his. Your father’s eyes narrow, about to snap again— “Your daughter lost control of her quirk, Dad! Your daughter! Why is it you still care about your own goddamn students over me?”

Aizawa’s eyes widen, fury snuffing out. “Y/n—”

“NO!” You yell, shaking with emotion. “I’ve listened and watched for my whole fucking life. It’s my turn.”

Aizawa opens his mouth, but the minute tears spill from your eyes and a sob escapes your mouth, he presses his lips into a tight line.

“Your students have always been the priority. Ever since day one, you’d throw yourself in front of a villain crime lord to save them when I didn’t know if you’d even spend my birthday with me each year.” You bite your lip, trembling as the word vomit finally spews from your lips. You can’t stop it, and it just keeps coming and coming because now that the lid is off, the words bubble over like a volcano.

“Do you know what everyone in Class B says?” You grit your teeth, clenching your dirt-ridden shirt with your fingernails digging into your skin. The tears burn hot like magma, and you can’t stop yourself from choking the next few lines out. “They’ve labelled you the second father of Class A, Dad! Did you know that?”

A bitter laugh wrenches itself out of your lips, and you’re pretty sure your skin is bleeding at how tightly you’re clenching your shirt. “Am I not your daughter, Dad? Am I not important now that Mum’s gone?”

“I loved your mother—”

“But do you love me?” you sob out.

The question causes Aizawa’s heart to plummet faster than a ten-pound bowling ball. Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it makes Aizawa’s heartache. Do you-do you seriously think that? That he didn’t love you?

His hesitation was a fatal mistake, because for the first time in a long while, you look up to him with defiance in your eyes. You’d always been a good child, Aizawa had taught you well, after all. But this? Your eyes were hard, stone cold, and it makes Aizawa stop short.

“That’s what I thought.” You curl into yourself with a small choke, hands finding the door handle before you glance back at him with a teary, broken gaze. “Go check on your precious Bakugou. They seem to need you way more than I do.”

The door slams and knocks down the picture frame hanging on his door, shattered glass fragmenting with a loud, high-pitched crash.

On it, is a photo of you and him on Father’s Day.

To be honest, he has already forgotten how long ago it was taken.

--

Note to the requester: I'm so sorry it's so late! I was debating if I should make it a happy ending and ultimately decided to go with this so it wasn't forced. Sorry if it wasn't exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Thank you for requesting! 💛

[swords-and-starlight]

ok i think this is my first time ever watching a show while it’s coming out so i’m gonna write out my reactions as i watch the episode for the first time, even though i’m watching it from streaming (i don’t have cable rip) and i already got a bunch of spoilers.

obviously spoilers ahead

CARLOS!! first time we’re seeing him with his friends this season! and he looks so good!

Natacha looks so good in green, man. they seriously need to have her wear it more.

TK Marjan and Mateo look so good in that shot even if the person they’re being mean to is Paul :((

i really want to see them actually play a whole game of catan it would be so fun

i fs know those two boys are from paul’s past. i thought they might be people he lost but i feel like people who bullied him would make more sense in the context of the nightmare?

i know this is gonna turn out badly but i feel like this dinner is going surprising civilly for now

“LT” aww

why is the chore chart so big i don’t think we’ve ever seen it before

this is kinda making me miss clipboard Marj

paul is gonna crash and burn poor baby

wyatt is so cute omg but i miss gracie

i missed judd soooo much he’s the ultimate cutie pie

paullll why you doing this to yourself

PAUL CALL FOR HELP JESUS

tommy is so nice actually i would never facetime someone i didn’t like just to check in on them

love tk and nancy giving each other looks lmao they’re so siblings coded

gina torres is literally the cutest woman on this show (with the exception of sierra) i love her so much

tk and nancy “it’s convenient” “a little too convenient” omg this feels like one of those disney movies where the kids are trying to solve their parents kidnapping or something

why does tk know that??

nancy loml keep being a dramatic suspicious bitch please

“the enemy is behind the gate” so dramatic for no reason omggg what’s cassandra gonna do?

love paul and owen bonding time, i feel like we barely saw owen interact with the house on a personal level so far this season

genuinely how does judd afford that house by himself especially when grace was out, he didn’t have a job, and he was taking care of wyatt

TOMMY UP TO SHENANIGANS AGAIN oh i’ve missed you devious bitch tommy

i love that tommy has just fully embraced her work kids’s delusional ideas and judds the one trying to talk sense into her now

aww i know judd and tommy have been best friends forever but i know if sierra was here she would be going to grace :(

PAUL BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING

rich people are so strange

i already love jenna hope nothing happens to her

nancy and tk sending each other looks again lmaooo

ofc the elevator broke down

damn poor augie

aww ok they’re better now

WHAT THE SHIT why is she bleeding from her eyes!?!

it’s really cute that wyatt takes all of 126 medic teams calls it feels like he’s trying to look out for them after they saved his life

paul’s gonna get hurt and mess up on this call isn’t he

oh nooo paul it’s so hard to see him cry

i feel like we need more people to die yk like how does tnt consistently bring people back from the dead? like the kid that was trapped underwater in a frozen lake for at least ten minutes and was expected to make a full recovery but tk who was in there for ten seconds was in a coma? but it was for the drama so whatever

tommy’s hair is my favorite part of every episode. is she even allowed to be whipping that horse tail around?

weed pen lmao

judd is such a nice probie

ok so i was kinda right about the kids in paul’s dream

aww paul he must have been so lonely growing up

i’m sorry i can’t take the weed pens

girl miss melody how did you think poisoning your mom and getting ur sister suspended would be better than just asking to live with your mom

episodes almost over :((( i don’t wanna wait till next week

tkmarjan friendship i’ve missed you!

im glad joe and marjan are still together! they were so cute

PAUL!! i love this entire scene with my whole heart

controversial but i really love it when people choose logic and their personal values over love. this show does that so well. like with marjan and salim, they were both in love but marjan couldn’t see herself building a life with someone so flaky and that’s a valid reason to break it off! with tommy and trevor, i think it makes sense that tommy can’t love someone who might contribute to a family breaking apart.

i know that tk and nancy are gossiping about all of tommy’s drama right now

TOMMY CALLING HER MOM!!!

idk if this is obvious yet but tommy is in fact my favorite 9-1-1 character

anyway that’s a wrap i loved this episode

[rewordthis]

Dropping this here before taking vacations from tumblr for a bit (like a week? lol):

Just watched the recent episode, shit situation btw. I had not the quiet I had hopped while watching. Bad energy frustrates me… anw.

I now have conclusive evidence that Gojo is the epitome of chicken-thighs and I have way too much to say about that as a head canon. 😩

Just LOOK! ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ And the skin-tight pants, bruh… Thank you MAPPA! _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):

That said, he sure is unhinged if let loose, huh?

Rabid dogs get put down but I think I’d adopt this one. Probably. Don’t… Don’t hold me on my word on this… 😗

Choso gave me the most, ‘I’m here for a different reason, stop bothering me’ attitude with that bored “yes, yes”; I enjoyed it more than necessary to be perfectly honest. 🤭

Also the whole plot against Gojo using non-scorcerers…

The scales determining what degree is acceptable can no longer function.

Bold of you to assume there even are scales.😂

Or,

Because the sacrifices you’re willing to accept are “people killed by cursed spirits,” not “people killed by Gojo Satoru.”

Funny you thought he’s inflexible like that.🙃

Still my man went for an instant of a Domain Expansion and overexerted himself by killing the transfigured humans. After!

Man, I’m no Gojo. I have no kids to teach them how to be proper saviours and if I had, I still don’t give a damn about showing off or appearing good to anyone. I’d flat out use that domain to even exorcise any rats or cockroaches that would happen to be there. But that’s just me. Like I said, I’m no Gojo so I don’t need anyone’s admiration to thrive. 🤷‍♀️

He actually was in the zone, too!

Like, Gojo, seriously? Was this some kind of bet with yourself or something??? This was just so… so unnecessary! Why? If they’re affected by the domain, forget about them! Exorcise the cursed spirits, dammit! Choso would be so easy to exorcise btw in that state. Or Mahito, even better. Deal with the hardest task first. That’s what you do when you’ve got time on your ass, right? Ha~ *huge le sigh*

On the other hand, when he got caught off guard by Geto’s corpse I was fucking screaming at the screen: “No! Idiot! Stupid, run! You killed him yourself, BAKA!” and he just went in to be having these check marks in his head until he figured ‘no, he is the real deal..’ and I was just fuming… Why did you open your mouth, Gojo? Did you said something again we didn’t hear? But no. You were just too stunned to speak. You just stood there like a freaking siting duck to get shot caught. His expression was what really pained me, okay?

Looking at all this expectancy and hope in his eyes for that fleeting moment when he was reminded of the past, that did put a squeeze in my heart for a millisecond. Because, I honestly can’t remember too much about my past but when I willingly look back and as I say that, though this is just ten months after killing his best friend. His one and only. Plus, he never stopped looking back. And I also would be clingy af to a best friend (someone that hadn’t actively betrayed me at least) have I happened see them again, though not a dead one. No. I’d just run like hell on the opposite direction of them, before staying to inquire about why they don’t rot some 3 meters under. Did he believed even for a second — forget the whole minute thing — that this was actually Geto that had come back because he cursed him??? No, because if he did… if he did! …Well, he’s a baby and I’m correct calling him a man-child. What was that almost-smile for? I felt so sorry for him at that moment. That really was what hurt me deeply. I know I could have cried in that moment if everything else just wasn’t so wrong…

Fair point, though, when he was finally captured and he had a break from his own mind and memories, he did asked who he was because despite everything that confused him about that man, his soul didn’t recognised him. His soul. Not heart btw. He didn’t say こころ but たましい and sure, there is a way that someone’s soul may be enchanted as in a romantic way, but I think when Gojo and Geto are referred to, it is in the sense of soulmates. It’s deep. Eternal. But not sexual. lmao

You want to give them these roles? Well, the closest I guess that would fit them, would be being in love with the idea of the other. Is that confusing, maybe? Because you can totally be in love with someone’s ideal form in your mind, being physically attracted to them even and at the same time not being sexually attracted to them. I don’t know… I am far too logical to explain feelings… Uuugh, but maybe that’s how Gojo and Geto also perceive things? They do represent the most cerebral signs, to be sure, on their respective element. Hm… 🤔😶

Also, important info: Gojo didn’t let Shoko handle (dispose of) Geto’s body. What significance is there other than the obvious? I mean, he did decapitated him, and that was probably also done with cursed energy. So, what else would Shoko do? Put a seal maybe??? 🧐

And I’m going to complain now and wine because MAPPA, DO NOT dare to take away from me what you’ve given me in the first season and movie or I’ll find a way in your offices and steal your fucking scripts! Grr! 👿

I’m sure those with pale, smooth skin like Gojo-sensei would say, “I don’t really do anything.”

The one who can be considered pale-skinned is first and foremost, Nanami! (If not pretty much and everybody else, as I have already mentioned in another post. A close second to Nanami is Megumi, too.) I mean, just LOOK at where Gojo’s hand rests over Nanami’s! LOOK that there is at least a two tone difference! 😫😤 (They’re so cute btw 💕🥰🫠)

You want him to have smooth skin? A-okay! No problemo! I’ll take that any day. You want to say he’s got flawless skin? Sure, go ahead! But pale? Pale?! This dude has rosy lips and rosy cheeks! There is nothing freaking pale about him other than his hair!

Do NOT even think of taking back what we all have witnessed!!! And ok, maybe Yuuta, too, though to be fair he’s on the more unhealthy pale-yellow side…

ALSO, by comparison, Inumaki must be the palest-white, fairest-skinned one of them all. Not to mention, Geto as well has been looking fairly pale in most of his scenes… though they do seem to have him a little more on the Yuuta-kind of pale when he’s shown with Gojo. Hm. 😗

Are you really trying to tell me you didn’t do this intentionally??? I’ll bite you! Watch out, MAPPA! One wrong answer and you’ll have to do with me!

Ouf! That was a long post, I didn’t planned on making. Ahaha Yeah. I got really upset at Gojo being so dumb so easily. I don’t know. I was expecting more from the strongest considering how strongly logical and calculating he is. I’m mad, ok?! I’ll kill him myself, that idiot, if he doesn’t snap out of this! 😤

…At least when he’s back out of the box. 😬

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Jenůfa (Berlin, 2021): Reactions, Part II

✨emotional damage emotional damage✨ @beckmessering​

this music is SO foreboding. once again: janacek you GENIUS

(mostly) same furniture, new place

something something the theatre of life something something

what the fuck do you think

✨emotional manipulation emotional manipulation✨

awwwwwwwwwwwwwww

conductor (simon rattle) is wringing some MAGIC from this

this is a PSA to not drug people

careful…

on second thought you are not the title character of a verdi opera, so you shouldn’t need to worry about poisoned water i guess

you can READ the conflict on her face *chef’s kiss*

deadbeat dad alert

self-flagellation

her FACIAL EXPRESSIONS

oh look deadbeat dad actually showed up

seriously she is slaying

“i mean i can pay child support but i am NOT gonna have anyone know that’s my kid”

…given that the kid looks exactly like you and is named števa, i feel like people will figure that one out

she may be short but she is DOMINATING the scene

YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF

uh, RUDE

STOP THREATENING TO HIT WOMEN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck yoooooooooooooou

uh oh

“well, guess you’re here and guess you’ll do”

“she WHAT NOW??????????? with WHOM????????”

you little BITCH

WELL THAT’S A LIE

“oops now i have to figure out how to make sure no one will discover that lie”

ONE OF THE GREATEST FUCKING SOPRANO SCENES IN THE HISTORY OF OPERA LADS

seriously i will never be over these opening tremolos in my life

*dramatic cut over to baby and crib*

DON’T EVEN FUCKING THINK ABOUT IT

orchestra RAMPING up the intensity in the BEST way

religious guilt time!

and now Exceptionally Dubious Religious Justification time!

um…that’s not gonna work like you think it will…

she is giving it her ALL and it is MARVELOUS

NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

DRAMATIC CHORD AND WRENCHING VIOLIN SOLO

you missed her by like TEN SECONDS

uh, i’ve got some bad news about where she is…

aggggggggggggh she deserves SO MUCH BETTER

so gorg

UH OH

THE WAY SHE BLAMES IT ALL ON HERSELF (and števa) OH NO OH HONEY

it hurts how accurate that is

i legit had to go back and watch this little snippet like five times because of the way she just SCREAMS this line *agony*

also: ice

these moments of total commitment, where even the singers’ heavy breathing in the silence hits like a ton of bricks…these are the moments i LIVE for

this is BEAUTIFUL

THE RED STRING FROM THE BABY CLOTHES *cries*

SHE’S PRAYING FOR HER BABY TO BE PROTECTED AND HER BABY JUST GOT MURDERED I CANNOT

well that’s one way to have frozen hands

“WHY IS MY BABY NOT ON THE OTHER END OF THE STRING”

NO

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

the way she just lets the string drop to the floor… *sobs*

also: GOD TIER music right here

she’s trying to look on the bright side of a situation that has NO bright side at ALL, just to not fall into despair…

she just sounds totally emotionally drained in the best way possible

ma’am you are not in a good emotional state to handle pointy objects

agggggggggggggggggggh

LACA THIS IS NOT THE FUCKING TIME

she’s just totally broken 😭😭😭

also: camilla nylund here is killing it

SHE’S DESTROYING THE PLANT THAT WAS THE SYMBOL OF HER HOPES AND DREAMS

“hey uh i tried to put it back together”

“I DID NOT FUCKING ASK LACA”

someone is (understandably) not doing well

it may be heavy-handed but by golly it works

GOD FUCKING TIER TAKE ON ONE OF THE SINGLE GREATEST ACTS OF OPERA EVER WRITTEN

[etherbonded]

arccrum​:

  “  shut  the  fuck  up!  ”

masayoshi  yelled  as  he  took  off  his  mask,  he  is  beyond  pissed  off  and  he  almost  feels  like  punching  his  own  little  brother’s  face  for  once,  but  he  knew  it  wouldn’t  do  any  good…  especially  because  it’s  just  a  kid  in  the  end.  “  you  and  your  mother  with  this  whole  revenge  shit  going  on!  seriously,  i  am  fed  up  and  this  fucking  close  of  teaching  both  of  you  a  lesson.  ”  masayoshi’s  fingers  were  touching,  however…

“  you  let  in  some  guy  you  met  recently  in  your  plans  but  not  your  own  brother  who  has  been  doing  nothing  but  taking  care  of  you  since  you  were  ten.  when  the  fuck  did  i  ever  give  you  a  reason  to  feel  guilty  for  depending  on  me?  i  never  complained  during  all  those  seven  years  we  know  each  other!  ”  masayoshi  then  walked  closer,  his  steps  were  so  strong  and  filled  with  wrath  that  there  were  cracks  on  the  floor  from  were  he  walked…

“  i  only  need  one  bullet  to  end  this  whole  mess  you  and  your  little  boyfriend  got  yourselves  in.  a  bullet  that  i  should’ve  spent  seven  years  ago,  but  didn’t  because  himari-san  asked  me  not  to.  but  here  i  am  today!  upon  her  request  to  kill  him.  ”  the  devil  was  being  harsh  due  to  the  fact  that  he  saw  how  himari  was  when  the  annoucement  was  made,  playing  with  death  is  a  consequence  you  must  be  ready  for…  otherwise,  pack  it  and  go  home.

“ ..... “ ...Of course his brother doesn’t understand the guilt, of course he doesn’t. Because at the end of the day, Goro knows that it’s something he’s let build up in himself at the end of the day, it’s not Masa’s fault. But god, his words weren’t helping at all. And as for why he let Ren in... that in itself is complicated, because Goro has never felt so raw for someone. Not like this, so he took a leap of faith. He’s trusted Ren with his heart, though as stupid as it may be.

Goro can’t look at his brother right now, for it’s the only thing hiding the fact he wants to bawl like a child. A child he hasn’t been since his father first took him on as his ‘heir’. What a load of bullshit.

...His mom told Masa not to kill Shido back then? Why... why couldn’t she of just let his brother kill the man, why couldn’t he of just died. Actually, on that note, why couldn’t Goro have just not existed? That would’ve made his mother’s life so much better. God, he’s pathetic compared to his brother isn’t he?

“ ...Shut up. “ The words curtly leave his mouth without a second thought. “ This, this is exactly fucking WHY I didn’t want you to be in on my plan, because you always feel the need to take care of me like it’s always your responsibility! I can take care of myself, I don’t always need you to take care of everything! I love you but god it hurts when it feels like your own brother doesn’t even have faith in you to take care of yourself! “ It’s almost like a waterfall is falling out of his mouth, like he’s finally screaming out all his angst. Unfortunately towards his pissed brother. Fuck his eyes are water, he’s staggering back to try and keep the distance even though it’s futile. ...He wants Ren right now.

“ I know I did this stupidly and yeah, maybe I should’ve told you, but why would I tell you about the danger I put myself in and this plan when I know this is how you’re going to react?! “

[sie-rui]

❀ 20 TIMES IN 10 YEARS | TOKYO REVENGERS 🤍 sano shinichiro 💿 female reader, second pov (you/your), angst and fluff, pining, hurt no comfort, tw: canonical character death, au - canon divergence, imagine 📅 july 29, 2021 🔗 masterlist ,, inspired

sano shinichiro’s love for you doesn’t change, even throughout the years. ten years has passed but the way he looks at you is the same as when he first fell in love with you.

The first time he confessed to you, he was barely fourteen years old and running a rising gang named Black Dragons. Everyone who had heard of his name had all thought that he was some tall, broad, male with a lean body who can defeat anyone that dares to defy him.

Your first thought of Sano Shinichiro was that he’s a dork.

He tried a pickup line on you. A cheesy pickup line, shameless, but even you could see how he looked like he was about to die inside from embarrassment. He was shorter than you expected, thinner as well, quite lanky and his hair was almost ridiculous and he had a cute smile that if he hadn’t said it himself, you wouldn’t have believed that he was the Black Dragon’s president.

He was cute but not your type.

You rejected him mercilessly, turning around and walking away, planning to erase him from your mind. You weren’t looking forward to getting into a relationship, it has never been a top priority, and it never will be.

The second thought of Sano Shinichiro that you realized was that he was persistent.

After you rejected him, Shinichiro just doesn’t want to leave you alone. He made it his absolute goal to find you after class to ask you out on a date or a study group (he says it’s with Black Dragons that had Takeomi Akashi from the class next door along with Imaushi and Arashi a few classes down) but you know well that he’s going to find a way to shoo them away so it’ll only be the two of you.

“Why do you like to annoy me so much?” You groan, ready to throw him out the window, knowing that he’ll survive since it’s only the third floor. He’d break a lot of bones though but you sure do hope it’ll give him a concussion, might actually get him to be smarter.

“Because I like you.”

“Don’t.”

“Y/n-san,” he sighs, a little blissfully. “Liking you isn’t something that’s going to change now or ever. It’s not just some kind of joke I’m doing for fun, it’s basically my life now.”

“Go kill yourself and get a different life then.”

“Then, I’ll still like- no, love you in my next life!”

The fifteenth time he confessed, it wasn’t some poorly planned event that ended with him saying some pickup line or giving you a bouquet of flowers. No. The fifteenth time he confessed after being quiet for almost a year was in your third year of highschool, two years after he left Black Dragons to the next generation since he decided to take classes seriously.

(You wanted to believe that it wasn’t because of you. That it wasn’t because you told him to think of his future more. But everyone knew why he started attending classes more regularly, why the Black Dragons had a different leader now after it’s sudden takeover of Tokyo.

You knew as well and you hated how it made your cheeks flush at the thought of him giving it all up just because you said so.)

The fifteenth time he confessed, you opened your window to hear him singing for you with Imaushi playing the guitar, Akashi awkwardly smiling and clapping his hands along. You knew that Imaushi wasn’t exactly playing the guitar though (that guy can’t play shit) since you spied Arashi trying to hide a speaker behind his back as Shinichiro sings his heart out.

“Sano, it’s literally ten in the evening, my neighbors are trying to have a peaceful, silent night and they’re going to kill me!” You call out but Akashi only snorts as Shinichiro continues on. There were three kids on the other side of the street, just sitting on the curb and you almost scream knowing that they were probably way past their curfew and Shinichiro’s probably responsible for them because of fucking course.

(Shinichiro was, indeed, responsible for them and he couldn’t leave them alone in the house since their grandpa was out in the countryside. He had no choice but to bring them along!)

You slam your windows shut and for a short second, you thought that Shinichiro actually shut up and decided to go home as you make your way downstairs, but no. He’s still going strong.

When you open the door, dressed in your pajamas and a hastily put on coat, Shinichiro’s expression brightens up immediately, stopping in his goddamn awful singing. Imaushi stopped “playing” as well but the speaker was turned off exactly five seconds late so it was obvious what was actually happening here.

“Y/n-”

You walk past him, crossing the empty street, knowing that your neighbors were probably looking at you now. You stop in front of the three kids, one of them looking eerily similar to Shinichiro but with blond hair while the girl had some resemblance. “It’s cold and I’m sure that bastard just dragged you out here without feeding you, am I right?”

“I fed them!” Shinichiro whines but the blond kid nods and the other two soon follow. “Oh come on! Mikey, I gave you a whole box of dorayaki earlier!”

You roll your eyes, smugly patting the blond- Mikey’s head. “Come inside. I’m sure I still have some snacks left from yesterday. You can warm up there as well,” you smile at them which elicited a gasp from Shinichiro and a snort from Arashi. The only expression you ever gave Shinichiro is an annoyed frown, and here you were smiling at kids, at Mikey, the brat.

“What’s your name?” You ask the only girl in the group, taking her hand to help her up. She gives you a hesitant wary look, scanning you up and down for two whole seconds as she pats her skirt down.

“Emma.”

“I’m Mikey!”

“I’m Edward!”

“It’s still a stupid name,” Emma comments, rolling her eyes but the two of you seemed to have come to an agreement as she wasn’t acting hostile. “That’s Baji. They’re both idiots.”

You held in a sigh. Kids. They’re kids. They’re adorable kids. You’re taking them in.

Emma doesn’t let go of your hand as you start walking past Shinichiro (who was currently gaping at you) and the rest, Mikey and Baji trailing behind you while bickering over something. “L/n Y/n, nice to meet you. I’m glad that you aren’t like Sano-san over there, Emma-chan.”

“I’m glad as well, Y/n-nee.”

“Wait, Y/n-”

The door shuts behind you, Emma staring at the closed door while Baji struggles at the genkan with his new shoes, Mikey only toeing off his slippers with a curious hum as he looks around. “Does anyone want ramen?”

(Shinichiro stands outside, silent. He blinks at the closed door before turning to Akashi who was nearest to him. “Did… Did she just kidnap my siblings and Keisuke?”

Arashi shrugs dismissively. “Doesn’t that mean the two of you are married now?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Imaushi only comments, ready to chuck the guitar into the trashcan.)

The twentieth time he confessed, you were both 23. It was his birthday.

Celebrating at some cheap rentable room, you can’t help but wonder how you ended up so deeply integrated into this group when just ten years prior, you were about to have an aneurysm every time they were mentioned. Troublemakers.

Perhaps this all started after you decided to take Emma, Mikey, and Keisuke in on that one night five years ago. Emma started wanting to hangout with you and Mikey was quite curious though he denies it. Somehow, it ended with you hanging around Sano household as well, learning some tricks from their grandfather and ending up meeting some of Black Dragon’s members.

“Y/n, have some more!” Akashi beckons, pouring even more into your glass, laughing joyously and probably won’t be remembering anything tomorrow. Arashi looked as if he was about to cry at some unsaid story and Wakasa was silent, staring blankly at the ceiling and probably as drunk as Akashi.

You couldn’t even remember how you ended up here. Was it when you stopped by Shinichiro’s shop earlier to pick up a handkerchief you forgot the last time you came to visit and they noticed you so they dragged you along as well? In the first place, why did you visit last time again…? Mikey and Emma don’t hang out around Shinichiro’s bike shop so why were you there?

Didn’t you want to tell Shinichiro something?

You sip on the liquor on your cup, leaning back on the worn-out couch as Akashi punches in a song, pushing the second mic to Arashi. Closing your eyes, you prepared yourself for another ear-damaging round of singing.

Shinichiro chuckles, deep, intoxicated, beside you, resting his cheek on your shoulder and snapping you back to consciousness when his breath fans your neck. You glance at him as he stares at you; eyes revealing more than his lips could.

You didn’t move away or push him to fall off the couch, something you would have done if you were fourteen or even seventeen. You just sit there, frozen as ice and hard as stone and Shinichiro starts to smile.

“I really do love you, Y/n.”

A hitch of your breath and your eyes regretfully becoming teary as you look away. This is why it’s always so hard to completely push Shinichiro away. He looks at you like this, he says words like this. He’s just so stupidly loyal that ten years later, it’s still you he’s saying those words to when there were better girls out there—girls that would treat him better than you do to him.

Stupid. Stupid Shinichiro. Stupid Sano Shinichiro.

I hate you so much.

“I know,” you murmur. Stupid Shinichiro. It was getting harder and harder to reject him.

“I think it’s supposed to be about time you actually answer me,” he grins, boyish as if he was back to being a middle schooler, his eyes twinkling and the different party lights illuminating his face as Akashi continues on screaming incoherently in the background.

“I did.”

“Properly,” he chuckles, burying his face on your shoulder playfully.

He knew it. He already did. From the way you faltered, from how you started to treat him differently, from how you started to compliment him (though backhanded) and even how you started to finally look him in the eye—like he’s actually there, a person and not just some dust you could wave off.

He knew it, noticed it earlier than you did two years ago. That was why he stopped confessing momentarily. Paused on his nineteenth confession because he knew that you needed time and space before you could completely accept your own feelings.

You already lost that day, five years ago, with Mikey, Keisuke, and Emma. You lost the day you started humoring him with responses and conversations, albeit dry and sarcastic. You lost the day you passed him a copy of your homework back in the first year of highschool and told him to think more about his studies and his future.

“Tomorrow,” you start and he looks up seeing you staring in front of you as if you weren’t speaking to him. “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

Shinichiro smiles.

You gave him an answer the next day. You surrendered to your heart, surrendered to the dizzying emotion that always wraps around your head whenever Shinichiro looks at you like how he looked at you ten years ago. In love.

“I really do love you, Y/n.”

“I know… And I do as well, Shinichiro.”

This time, there was no grand confession, no grand courting. Shinichiro only told you that he loved you, always had, in that karaoke room on his 23rd birthday. Something so simple and yet it was the one who took your heart the most.

It was the one that officially binds you together.

It was the one that locked your fate, secured it tightly and made sure that you won’t be able to escape.

Escape the funeral that came barely two weeks later.

Stupid. Stupid Shinichiro. Stupid Sano Shinichiro.

I hate you so much.

You sit there, not knowing what else to do. His voice still in your ears, ringing; and his smile will haunt you forever, until the end of your days and beyond.

“Then, I’ll still like- no, love you in my next life!”

Your eyes water as you sniffle, hands clenched on your fist, shoulders shaking. A laugh leaves your lips garnering looks from everyone else in the room including the Sano siblings.

You better find me first then.

Maybe you’ll fall for him faster, maybe it won’t take him ten years and twenty confessions. Maybe, next time, you’ll be a little more honest, to Sano Shinichiro and to yourself.

[magicshopaholic]

About You (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: There's something Namjoon isn't telling you. After finally getting out of him, though, you find yourself wishing you'd never asked.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC, minor Taehyung x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 10.1 K

Warnings: language; arguments; implied mentions of past trauma, particularly SA; mentions of campus assaults

Additional warning: This fic contains discussions of triggering topics centering around SA and r*pe, so please do NOT read this if you are not comfortable. While there is no description of any kind and no member of BTS is involved in it, the fic is meant to depict realistic conversations and implications of past trauma which may be difficult for some to read. This fic is extremely personal, not to mention important for characterization within the series, but please do exercise appropriate discretion before reading.

A/N: This fic is set around six months after Suburbia, on the same day as You Make Me Live. It also consists of important plot points for Taehyung and Dilara, a couple of months before the events of Los Angeles.

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @bbl32 @dreaming-with-happiness, @sweetieguk, @ggukkieland (if you want to be added to the taglist, drop me a message)

Listen to: "nothing's gonna hurt you baby" by cigarettes after sex

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

“Milk?”

“None.”

“Okay. Sugar?”

“Only if you’re giving it to me.”

Namjoon snorts, spilling a few drops of the Americano he’s stirring. “You mean right now?”

“Depends on how interesting the movie they’re all watching out there is.” Kaya leans against the kitchen counter of the dorm and folds her arms across her chest, watching him sheepishly wipe the spilt coffee. “Any chance we’ll be interrupted?”

“I would rather get caught by paparazzi than by any of the guys,” he says seriously, shuddering. “They’ll make it a whole thing and ten years down the line, they’ll still act like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.”

Kaya frowns. “So none of you have ever walked in on each other, in all these years?” she asks sceptically. “I find that a little hard to believe. Seokjin told me you all lived together in one room or something. You had to have, you know… interrupted each other, some time.”

“Sure we have. It’s why Jimin, to this day, calls Hoseok The Closet Hyung. Or that’s the closest translation, anyway,” he amends.

“Was he… in the closet?” Kaya asks, with a bit of trepidation, biting her lip as Namjoon shakes a small sachet of sugar into his glass.

“No, he was in a closet, with another trainee, and his pants were, well -” He breaks off and winces, shaking his head. “Not something I want to relive.”

She laughs. “How dramatic.” She watches him for a moment, his tall frame next to her, as he takes a sip of the second glass he’s stirring, this one most likely his. “Are you going to put yours in there, too?”

Namjoon chokes. “Put my - what?”

Kaya grins, nudging him as he coughs. “Sugar,” she says, enunciating every syllable.

“You called?” Yoongi’s dry voice enters the kitchen before he does, strolling in and stopping on her other side to look inside a couple of cabinets.

“Here,” says Namjoon, sliding the first glass of coffee carefully across the counter to him. “One sugar.”

“Thanks.”  

“Yoongi, you tell me.” Kaya turns to him, resting her palm on the counter. “Have you guys ever walked in on each other in the dorm?”

It takes Yoongi seemingly a second to process this, before he chuckles dryly and glances over at Namjoon. “I don’t know, have we?”

Behind her, Namjoon sighs. “Oh, come on, that doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Kaya turns back to her boyfriend, thoroughly amused. “When was this?”

“Never. We didn’t get caught.”

“It’s true. We just found him sneaking her out of the dorm when he accidentally closed the door on his own hand.”

Namjoon winces, sipping his coffee. “Still hurts.”

“Oh, is this the girl you were telling me about? The hashtag-dangerous one, with the whole bad girl thing going on?” Kaya asks curiously.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You two really talk about your exes, huh?”

“Well, it’s not dinner table conversation,” she says reasonably. “But we know about our exes. It’s healthy.”

“I happen to agree.” He looks up at Namjoon, raising his eyebrows. “She’s a wise one.”

“It’s the Ph.D. On the downside, I have no bad girl thing to speak of.”

“You really don’t,” agrees Namjoon, grinning when she mock-glares at him. “And in any case, if serious exes are what we’re counting, then I only really have Yu-jin.”

“And I only have Nick. College boyfriend,” she adds for Yoongi’s benefit as they start walking outside to the living room, Namjoon slightly behind them. His free hand brushes her waist as they take a seat on the couch, him on the edge and Kaya next to him, with Jimin on her other side. The rest of the group is spread out around the room while a political drama plays on the television. The early evening sun is warm and dim, the last rays skimming the back of the sofa before it disappears over the horizon.

“Nick was much more recent, though,” points out Namjoon, continuing their earlier conversation. “You have to count him.”

“Five years is a lifetime ago. And duration doesn’t matter,” she adds, holding up a finger. “It’s the nature of the relationship that determines its seriousness. So Yu-jin was just as serious,” she concludes.

“Wait, we’re talking about Yu-jin?” Jungkook pipes up in English, and both of them turn to see him grinning from his place on the floor, a can of beer precariously balanced between his knees. “Your Yu-jin?”

“I wouldn’t say my -”

But Namjoon is cut off by a smattering of Korean, Seokjin snorting into his cup of ramen and Jimin laughing out loud at something. Hoseok simply goes “no, no, no” in Korean while Namjoon sighs, and the former notices Kaya and shakes his head.

“He’s saying she was -” His eyes flit to Namjoon for confirmation “- badass.”

“That’s… that’s stretching it a bit,” says Namjoon weakly, but Seokjin waves him off.

“No, no, he’s right,” he says quickly. “Not badass, but like…” He struggles for a bit and finally says a Korean word, and Kaya dubs it in her head as ballsy. “Didn’t she also have a motorcycle?”

“That was her brother’s. Can we -”

“Oh, yeah,” interrupts Taehyung, ignoring Namjoon entirely. Kaya’s once again taken aback by his casual elegance from his spot next to Jungkook, unashamedly sprawled on the ground with his hands behind his head. “She drove us home in her car once, remember?” he asks, looking at Jimin who nods. “She drove so fast, I almost threw up.”

“Doesn’t Dilara drive faster?” Jimin asks innocently, grinning when Taehyung bites his lip.

“Much faster,” answers Jungkook, taking the ramen Seokjin offers him and scooping a mouthful into his mouth. “Explains why she has all those guy fans,” he adds, slurping the noodles.

There are snickers around the room and even Namjoon chuckles, but the name finally clicks in Kaya’s mind. “Wait, Dilara? Dilara Komyshan? You - you guys know who she is?” she asks, not suspecting Formula One was popular in this country at all.

Jungkook’s eyes go wide and Jimin turns to her, comically shocked. From her other side, Namjoon nudges her. “How do you know her?” he asks, a bit incredulous.

“I mean, I know of her. I live in Amsterdam. The whole country is a shrine to Max Verstappen, especially now that he’s started being in the running for world champion… anyway, she’s his teammate.” Kaya waits for him to nod slowly in confirmation. “They’re a legendary pairing. I saw them race in Zandvoort last year. I told you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“When did you guys meet her?”

There’s silence until Namjoon speaks up again. “We met her in - in Japan last year. We were there for Honda.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me. Did you get to meet Alex Turner, too? Actually, no, they probably weren’t dating back then, but -”

“What?”

Kaya breaks off, realising Taehyung’s spoken in Korean. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think they started dating till earlier this year, actually - or, at least that’s when they became public -”

“Um… Alex Turner?” Namjoon’s spoken this time, and there’s something too deliberate in his tone.

She hesitates. “Yeah… from the Arctic Monkeys,” she says slowly. “They were performing at this club in London and my friend Marianne had an extra ticket because her girlfriend couldn’t make it…” She realises she’s rambling and pulls herself together. “Anyway, Dilara Komyshan was there and… well, it certainly looked like they were a couple.”

There’s not too much ambiguity in the way she says it, despite her refraining from detail as much as possible. The silence is clear now and it’s starting to make her uneasy, as though there’s something everyone but her is in on. She almost jumps when Jimin speaks from next to her.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Yeah, pretty sure… wait, I have a selfie with her,” she mutters, reaching for her phone and swiping through her gallery, relieved for something to do. She finds the picture and both Namjoon and Jimin lean in from the other side to look at it. It’s in a dimly lit area, with all the members of Arctic Monkeys, her friend Marianne, Kaya herself, and Dilara Komyshan, with three people separating Kaya and Dilara.

Jimin moves away, sighing, while Namjoon leans closer and zooms in. She catches a whiff of his woody cologne and her toes curl automatically on the bare floor. 

“Oh. Crap.” 

Kaya looks up at him curiously to see him looking in the opposite direction before he closes his eyes, as though just spotting a problem. She turns to see Taehyung stalk out of the room, too conspicuously for it to be a coincidence, and something suddenly falls into place, something so obvious that she can’t believe she didn’t catch it the moment he interrupted her the first time.

“Oh, God,” she whispers, cringing and turning back to her boyfriend, “are they -”

“Something like that,” he mutters, sighing.

“Shit. I had no idea. I -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Even we don’t, really. We just know they met in Japan and… got close.”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment, the movie playing uselessly in the background, before Jimin gets to his feet. “I should…”

“Oh, of course,” she says immediately, shuffling her legs so he can step out from behind the coffee table. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she adds uneasily, sighing when Jimin nods reassuringly before disappearing into the hallway.

The embarrassment doesn’t disappear, though. It takes a backseat for a while, once the movie is over and there’s some general chatter about dinner and what to watch next. Seokjin leaves midway once he gets a phone call, already pulling on his shoes before the call even ends.

“It’s Nari,” is all he says, in Korean, before ducking out. They carry on from where they left off, Jimin eventually rejoining everyone but making some thin excuse for Taehyung that absolutely nobody believes. Namjoon, preempting her reaction, hugs her to him a bit more before telling her to let it go.

Even two hours later, once they reach Namjoon’s apartment, Kaya isn’t able to. 

“You think he’ll be okay?” she asks, stepping out of the car.

“Yes, Kaya, he will,” says Namjoon, sighing and closing his door shut. “I told you. Let it go.”

Kaya frowns. “I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” she mutters after a moment. “I’m usually a lot better at reading people,” she adds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

If he catches on, he doesn’t respond. Kaya bites her lip, deciding that she isn’t imagining his aloofness after all. It had started a little while before they’d left the dorm, but in the midst of five other men talking and laughing in Korean, she couldn’t be certain and it hadn’t been that obvious either. 

The walk to the car had been quiet, something she’d chalked down to tiredness, but the actual car ride had been strange, too. They had a running joke ever since he’d gotten his licence last year where she’d give him a dramatic pep talk as he started the car, keeping it up until he hit the road, and making a big show of it once they reached their destination. She’d been about to start tonight as well but before she could even get a word out, he’d reversed out of the parking lot, his jaw harder than usual.

Now, she follows him silently into his apartment, frowning and trying to recreate the night in her mind to guess what might be bothering him. They enter and take off their shoes by the door, Namjoon turning on the light behind her. 

“Do you want a drink?” she asks, taking off her jacket and walking inside, stopping near the kitchen island. 

“Didn’t we just have a lot to drink?”

“Not really. You drove home.”

Namjoon seems to consider this. “I don’t want a drink,” he says finally, opening the fridge behind her and retrieving a bottle of water.

Kaya is dumbfounded for a moment, noting belatedly that this is the first time he’s ever iced her out like this - if that is indeed what he’s doing. She watches him walk over to the bookshelf and scan the spines, quietly drinking the water. Her guess is he’s already finished the book he started yesterday, but the way his back looks stiff and his jaw is still hard, she doubts he’s actually looking for a second book right now.

Normally, her instinct would be to let him be, knowing he’ll talk to her when he wants to. It was one of the most important aspects of their relationship she’d seen change over time: his reluctance to confide in her, as though afraid he would demotivate her by venting to her. She’d had to remind him more than once that he wasn’t her leader, that he absolutely could vent to her if he needed to. It had been hard for him, but once he’d consciously started opening up to her, their relationship only felt stronger.

But this feels different. She can’t fathom what, but something about this feels directed at her. She’s not one for mind games, though, so she simply sighs. “Okay, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks softly.

Namjoon’s hand holding the bottle momentarily pauses halfway up to his mouth, before he continues. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Really?”

The pause is longer this time, as he continues drinking. He’s definitely not focusing on the books anymore. Finally, he swallows a mouthful of water and exhales. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

There we go. “I don’t even know what it is,” she says, somewhat relieved he’s at least responding. “Why can’t you just tell me? If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she states. “Did you want to stay back and watch the movie? Did I make you leave too early?”

“I wanted to leave before you did,” he points out, turning around to face her and leaning against the bookshelf. His eyes flicker towards hers before looking away, and he crosses his arms loosely against his torso. “And Pulp Fiction is not very high on my list of movies to watch.”

Me, neither. But he already knows that, and he knows why. Kaya moves on without dwelling on it. “Then what? Is it the joke I made about Nick?” she guesses, referring to a throwaway line about her ex-boyfriend she’d made when the boys had been arguing over which movie to watch. It had seemed harmless, but she also knew that Namjoon, for better or for worse, had a jealous streak he wasn’t proud of. 

“No,” he mutters.

He’s also proud. Kaya shakes her head. “If it is, I apologise. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I can understand if you didn’t like it. If that’s what it is, then I’m sorry.” When Namjoon doesn’t respond and simply looks in the other direction, she sighs in frustration. “What is it?”

His tongue is poking into his lower lip, and his jaw looks as hard as rock. She’s never seen anything bother him so much and the fact that she doesn’t know what it is doesn’t sit well with her at all. 

Finally, he speaks. “I don’t want to start a fight,” he says quietly.

“Well, I don’t want to spend the rest of the night wondering what’s bothering you so much that you can’t even look at me.” Her eyes bore into him but he still doesn’t turn. “If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it.”

“I don’t…” Namjoon trails off, clicking his tongue in what she takes to be annoyance. His eyes flicker to her again before averting. “Can we drop this?”

“Not now that you’re making such a big deal about it.”

“I’m not making a big deal about anything. You’re the one who won’t stop talking about it.”

Kaya scoffs incredulously, her heart already starting to race painfully. “You’re the one being evasive,” she says tightly, trying not to raise her voice as he runs a hand over his face. “Namjoon, you’ve never been like this,” she adds in a smaller voice. “Can you just tell me?”

It seems to give him pause, too, for he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “I don’t want to upset you,” he says quietly.

There’s a strange and uncomfortable sensation in her stomach at his change in tone. This is bad. “I appreciate that,” she murmurs steadily. “But I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Namjoon simply looks at her, observing, before pursing his lips and turning away. The dimple appears faintly in his cheek, the one that had popped as he’d grinned down at her in bed this morning, and in the kitchen at the dorm, and on the sofa when they’d been watching their debut music videos. 

She shakes her head in disappointment. “I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything that would piss you off this much except for that joke about Nick, which was about something that happened five years ago but if that’s the case, then I -”

“Why didn’t you ever report him?”

Namjoon’s words cut through her sentence, voice deep and steady, yet seeming louder than anything she’s heard him say all night.

“What?” she asks in a low voice, wondering if she could’ve possibly misheard his words.

He’s looking right at her now, finally, and she suddenly wishes he wouldn’t. “Five years,” he says slowly, his voice trembling with barely concealed emotion. “It’s been five years, and he still has a hold over your life. Why didn’t you report him?”

Her breathing feels loud to her own ears. “Please tell me we’re still talking about Nick,” she says quietly. Namjoon doesn’t answer, and Kaya takes that as a confirmation.

“I guess,” he begins after a moment, as though choosing his words carefully, “I can’t understand that after everything that happened, after everything he did to you -” His voice breaks and he bites his lip. “How could you not report him?” he asks softly, shaking his head.

“For starters,” she answers, voice oddly toneless, “I couldn’t see his face.”

“I - I know. But… there are ways for the police to do this stuff, to find people based on evidence…” It’s clear from his words that he’s thought about this before. “You didn’t tell anyone, though. Except -”

“Marianne and Nick,” she finishes. “Yeah, I told my closest friend and my boyfriend. That was enough for me.”

“And they didn’t tell you to go to the police?” Namjoon scoffs softly, but it doesn’t sound directed at her. “Not even your boyfriend?”

“He - he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore at the time,” she stutters, feeling rather like they’re about to digress. “And you know that. Why would you bring up -”

“Because it’s been five years, Kaya!” he exclaims, looking truly hassled now. “It’s been five years, and you still can’t watch a movie without being affected by it! And he’s just - he’s just free! How is that fair?”

She bites her lip, her heart racing. Iconic dialogues of an iconic movie, floating out through a loudspeaker in the common room hours before dawn, all the way into the empty streets of a university campus… her stomach churns.

“I thought you didn’t care about watching Pulp Fiction.”

“I don’t care about - come on, you know that’s not my point.”

“I can watch it whenever I want,” she states, hearing the tremor in her voice. “I have watched it, since then. I can - don’t you dare walk away, Kim Namjoon!” she says loudly, as he begins making his way into the living room.

He halts immediately, however, turning around. “I’m not walking away,” he promises, taking a seat on the cream-coloured couch. She takes a step back and feels the back of a chair dig into her spine. She’d told him about the worst night of her life at this kitchen island nearly a year ago, coming up behind him as he worked on his laptop and wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, whispering calmly to him that if he had a minute, there was something important she needed to talk to him about.

They’d been together officially for six months by then, even though they’d been hovering back and forth for a few months prior to that. A level of trust had been established by then, though, not to mention a profound sense of safety she felt with him, even when he was halfway across the world from her. Later that night, after she’d told him and he’d expressed both anger and support but mostly shock, they’d cuddled on that very couch as they watched Cloud Atlas.

Sharing her secret hadn’t been easy, but no part of her regretted it. As she watches him rest his elbows on his thighs and run his fingers through his hair, she wonders if she’s finally about to. 

Namjoon sighs like he’s bracing himself. “I’m not saying you can’t watch the movie, Kaya. I’m saying you don’t, for a reason. And that’s his fault.”

“A lot of things are his fault. Reporting him wouldn’t have changed that. Even if I knew whom to actually report in the first place.”

“You weren’t even drinking,” he reminds her. “Even if all you remembered was the colour of his jacket, they could’ve at least narrowed it down to -”

“No, they couldn’t! It was dark, it was - I could’ve been mistaken,” she stammers, starting to feel anxious now as the edges of her mind start letting in scraps of memories from that night.

“You were not mistaken. You’re the most detail-oriented person I know.”

“Well, unless you were there that night, I don’t see how you could possibly have an opinion on that.”

Namjoon sighs. "This is why I didn't want to bring this up, Kaya.”

“No, please, I’m glad you did,” she says immediately, scoffing. “I’m glad I know what you think now. Have you been judging me for this ever since I told you last year?”

“I am not judging you - how can you say that?" he demands, looking stung. "I care about you. I love you, and I hate that you still have to make sacrifices and compromises, even if it is just over a movie. You’re still haunted by it, and he’s roaming around free!”

“And you think reporting him would’ve helped that?” Kaya exclaims. “Do you think we’d be back at the dorm watching Pulp Fiction right now if I’d gone to the cops? If I’d been neck-deep in paperwork, being asked to recount the incident a hundred times to a hundred different people about a guy whose face I couldn’t see and voice I could barely make out, only to be asked why I was walking alone around campus while wearing shorts?”

“I - I don’t know. I’m not -” He drops his head in his hands, breathing slowly and deeply. “I just… I fucking hate him, Kaya,” he confesses quietly, as though letting her in on a secret. “I hate him so, so much. I want to hurt him - I want to kill him with my bare hands.”

Kaya exhales shakily, never having heard him speak this disdainfully before, with this much hatred, about anyone or anything. “I hate him, too,” she murmurs after a moment. “Of course, I do. But I also had finals in two weeks and believe it or not, I knew my priorities.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, I’m saying -” He sighs in frustration, his tongue poking into his lower lip again. “I just wish he would have suffered the consequences. Or just suffered.”

The fury in his voice is evident now, and is now starting to show on his face, but Kaya tries to hold her ground. She has to. “I told you: I had finals. I had a masters’ seat in the balance waiting for me in London, I had graduation - I had a million other things that I thought were more important for me. I couldn’t report him,” she adds after a moment, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “I couldn’t afford to get caught up in it.”

“You… you could report it,” he corrects her in a low voice. “You chose not to.”

“Yes, and that was my choice to make.” She grits her teeth, feeling her eyes start to sting. “I didn’t think this far ahead and anticipate that five years down the line, my boyfriend would be making me defend that decision to him.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! I care about -”

“Then listen to me! Listen to what I’m saying! It didn’t matter to me that -”

“How could it not matter? Kaya, he got away with it!” Namjoon stands up now, and his height is suddenly looming, even from across the room. “He’s out there, still, and he’s living his life while you’re -” He breaks off.

Kaya forces herself to breathe. “While I’m what?” 

“While you’re still hurting.” 

There’s no stopping it now; she feels her vision blur. “I’m perfectly happy with my life,” she says, her voice trembling.

“I’m not saying you aren’t. I just wish you’d -” He breaks off again and sighs, while Kaya turns around and lowers her head, unable to look at him any longer. Her chest feels constricted now, and she realises after a moment that it’s because she’s holding her breath. Letting it out seems dangerous, though, like she’s setting herself up to break down.

It’s a tall order for her to cry in front of anyone; it makes her feel uncomfortable and she avoids it at all costs. She wonders for the first time if it’s got anything to do with this incident, and acknowledges with a heaviness that any comfort she might have had in succumbing to tears in front of Namjoon has disappeared, at least for tonight.

“I just wish you’d see how much more you could’ve done,” he says, his tone taking on a different quality, something that reminds her inexplicably of Nick for a moment. It makes her feel inadequate and her heart hurts, even as Namjoon continues. “Even if he didn’t end up behind bars, you could’ve called him out publicly. You saw his varsity jacket - that college could’ve been made aware that one of their students is a -”

“Stop,” murmurs Kaya weakly, but he doesn’t hear her.

“It’s a world of things, and it only takes one to create change. I mean… how do you know he hasn’t done this again, to someone else?”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and Kaya feels her chest finally unclench as she swallows a sob. Her face and throat burn in discomfort as she tries not to make a sound, her hair falling down the sides of her face and shielding it from his view. Namjoon has fallen silent; whether it’s due to her reaction or because he realises the implication of what he’s said, she doesn’t know. At the moment, she can’t bear to be around him for another moment to find out.

She opens her eyes to see a tear fall onto the white kitchen island and hastily wipes it, taking a shaky breath as quietly as she can. “I’m, uh -” She breaks off, cringing when she hears the tremble in her voice. She turns slightly in his direction, not looking at him. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Namjoon watches her turn and leave with a sinking heart, her smaller figure padding quietly down the corridor and passing his bedroom before she disappears from his view. There’s no point in going after her right now; it won’t be a fruitful argument, if that’s what they’re indeed in the middle of. 

There’s a twinge of regret taking form in his chest that stings when he hears the door to the guest room open and close. He sighs; he knew he shouldn’t have initiated this topic.

He’d had no intention of doing so. After she’d confided in him about it, it had probably come up once, and only when she’d brought it up. The night she’d told him, he hadn’t dreamed in a million years that this was the important thing she wanted to discuss. He hadn’t been able to process it past a certain point initially; he’d listened in stunned silence as she recounted that night, skipping the most horrific details (for whose benefit, he wasn’t sure, but he was thankful) and ending it with a short yet heartfelt declaration of how much she trusted him.

Kaya had seemed relieved after that, almost like telling him had been a catharsis of sorts. She’d been just as affectionate as normal after that, and Namjoon had silently gone along with it in a daze, his mind replaying her words and expressions the entire time, including when they were watching a movie on the couch later. It wasn’t until they’d gone to bed that the shock had finally worn off and he’d been able to register everything she’d told him, and the white hot anger at a faceless stranger had coursed through his body in a way he’d never felt before.

Namjoon drops his head in his hands, the living room suddenly feeling far too big and empty. He closes his eyes, trying half-heartedly to search for an apology or words of comfort but nothing comes to mind, not now that his mind is occupied with this.

Earlier this evening, when Yoongi had suggested Pulp Fiction, Namjoon had immediately expected Kaya to say no. But she hadn’t, and one by one the members had voted and before they knew it, the opening credits were playing. He’d nudged her gently, asking her silently if she was really okay with this, and she’d shrugged and given him a small smile before settling into his side.

Even after the movie began, Namjoon’s attention remained on Kaya, observing her for any movements that might signal her discomfort. It was an odd detail that had made it through the incident, the loud volume at which the movie was playing inside the campus common room, the dramatic and aggressive dialogues that floated out being the only thing her mind had been able to process.

She’d given nothing away today, though, not until halfway through when John Travolta, Samuel L Jackson and Quentin Tarantino’s voices had blared through the television amidst gunshots and male voices yelling, and Kaya’s face had suddenly crumpled.

It had been brief, a moment of heartbreaking agony that Namjoon had been powerless to stop, before she’d immediately straightened her expression. But he wasn’t fooled, and he’d taken it as a cue to casually say to everyone else that they were going to be heading out. Kaya hadn’t protested, for which he was glad, because the fury at her assailant was returning swiftly and Namjoon’s only focus from here on out was to ensure he drove them back safely to his apartment.

There’s a soft rattle, like an ominous rumble. Namjoon peeks out from behind his hands, wondering briefly if it’s an earthquake before he realises it’s him. His leg is jerking up and down, as though of its own accord, and the movement is making the wooden coffee table shake.

Just… just a jacket. Looked like a varsity football one. Yellow, I think… there were too many people from too many colleges on campus that week. So I don’t know.

It feels like his limbs are moving with a mind of their own, making him stand up and walk over to the kitchen island where Kaya had been standing a little while ago, his hands reaching for the sleek, silver laptop he’d left there this morning. He’s opened the screen and switched it on before even returning to the sofa, and the moment he’s logged in, he goes straight to the browser.

Here, Namjoon’s stuck. Watching the cursor blink, as though waiting for him to show what he knows, he chews on his lower lip. Finally, he types Colleges in New York, only to get almost a hundred results. He combines it with football team, before realising he doesn’t know if she meant American football or soccer, so he replaces it with sports team.

The results go into the hundreds now, with the swim teams and water polo and chess players popping up on his screen. He sighs, suddenly feeling ridiculous, when he spots a picture. Frowning, he clicks on it until it fits his screen: it’s of a Caucasian male, early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s smiling straight into the camera, tall and confident - and wearing a yellow jersey.

It’s like a dull punch to his stomach, for even though Namjoon knows neither head nor tail about this individual - his eyes flicker to the name in the caption to see Mark Rivers - it occurs to him that the person who attacked Kaya, who hurt her all those years ago like a coward in the dark - that person could be Mark Rivers.

Namjoon forces himself to take a deep breath before slowly scrolling down, begrudgingly noting that nearly every male he comes across could have been him. He’s in no mood to back down, though. The image of Kaya all those months ago, her face carefully calm as he told him about that night, her face earlier this evening when Pulp Fiction had been playing, every single scene in Namjoon’s imagination that reveals itself in the darkest of times when he thinks about how it might have played out five years ago… He shakes his head, resolutely opening multiple tabs on his browser, each with a different college and its sports teams on the screen.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, scrolling from picture to picture, eyes skimming over the names and the sports. At some point, in order to narrow it down, he makes an executive decision to filter out sports that aren’t high intensity, for while she hadn’t ever said it explicitly, she’d implied a level of strength that she hadn’t been able to fight back against.

Swallowing the bile in his throat, he moves on quickly. It also occurs to him soon enough that just because NYU was in New York, it didn’t mean that every college team that had landed up there was also from New York, and Namjoon is thus forced to expand his search to outside the city as well. He restricts it to the tristate area, however, and continues looking for links in the college websites about alumni and galleries with pictures of their sports teams. 

He combs through the links, looking for teams or graduating classes that would have overlapped with Kaya’s senior year. Some of the links have members listed by name and Namjoon pounces on them with a vengeance, flipping through picture after picture of former students who eventually start to blur into each other. 

There are some faces who, for some reason, just strike Namjoon as suspicious. He starts bookmarking the names, copy-pasting them onto an Excel sheet to maintain some kind of list, some kind of indication that this unorganized exercise he’s conducting in this frame of mind isn’t a waste, that there’s actually something fruitful coming out of it. 

Namjoon pauses, his mind still working amidst the tiredness and a dull pain between his eyes that he knows is the onset of a headache. He needs to narrow the search down further - it’s the only way. His fingers fly across the keyboard, the typos increasing both in number and his irritation, and he starts searching for known college campus assaults in Kaya’s senior year, along with two years before and after. He’s mostly met with newspaper and magazine articles about campus safety and the like, but names elude him.

Somehow, he starts getting directed to chat rooms and message boards that have been inactive for years, and while he wishes to interact with none of them, he scrolls through the hundreds of messages, pausing every time he sees a name mentioned. Finally, in what seems to be the fifth or sixth message board started by a former sorority girl half a decade ago, he sees a name that makes his heart leap weakly. 

He can’t understand why at first; it doesn’t sound too common but something about it stands out to him. The message doesn’t even mention a school associated but after a moment, he thinks he knows what it could be. Vaguely seeing the pieces in his mind, about to fall into place, he goes back to the Excel sheet, and searches for the name, gasping softly when the name matches. 

It’s at that moment that he spots two numbers: the time, showing him that it’s nearly three am, and the row number of the name he’s just searched, showing him row two hundred and thirty-six. He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to acknowledge how far gone he is. 

It was… it probably didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. It just felt like a lifetime. But turns out it was just one long scene of Pulp Fiction.

Clenching his fist on the keyboard so he isn’t tempted to throw the laptop against the wall, Namjoon tries to gather himself. In a desperate move, he enters the first name into Naver to find a LinkedIn profile. It’s him; it’s the same person, but his profile picture is no longer of a college student with a cocky grin and bangs, but an older version in a suit and tie, gazing calmly at Namjoon through the screen. A half-hearted scroll shows him that this person - Geoffrey Dominic - is currently residing in Dubai and working for an airline company.

Something about it makes Namjoon’s throat close up in frustration, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s the fact that any of these men, or all of them, could be anywhere in the world now. The way Kaya was in London less than three months after the incident, any of these men could be anywhere else, across the world from her or even in the same building as her in Amsterdam, and they would have no way of knowing.

Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, his fingers trembling, and feels a sense of such helplessness that it makes him want to scream. It occurs to him with some regret that Kaya might have been feeling the same, only magnified to proportions he would never understand. He suspects now - or, rather, he’d suspected all the way back then but didn’t want to admit it - that she was probably driven to tears before she’d quietly declared her intention to go to bed, effectively ending their argument.

Keeping the laptop aside, he stands for the first time in hours and winces when his knees cramp. Stretching his legs and making his way inside the apartment towards the bedrooms, he passes by his room; not only is his mind too cluttered to sleep right now, he also can’t imagine doing so in his bedroom, without Kaya. He stops in front of the guest room, his heart hammering when he imagines her in there, at her choice to actively be apart from him for the night.

They need to talk about this. He’s willing to concede that he might have been too harsh, that he may have brought up the topic too suddenly - but he cannot let this argument fizzle out and have them pretend to have moved on from it in the morning. Not this particular discussion, not after the way they left it tonight, and not with how Kaya left.

Namjoon stares at the door, hoping something will knock on it for him. His hand won’t move and with each passing second, his tiredness and frustration with his unsuccessful investigation turns into regret and something that resembles guilt. 

He wonders if she’s crying in there; the thought makes his heart twist. If it’s true, if that’s what she’s doing inside, he has to go in there. Maybe he’ll apologise, maybe they’ll agree to pick it up some other time under calmer circumstances.

The moment his hand goes up to the door, however, he realises it’s been hours since their argument; she’s most likely asleep. It occurs to him, out of nowhere, that all her things are in his room. He pictures her, alone in bed amidst the covers, still in the jeans and top she’d worn today. It’s one night out of the ten they have during her stay in Seoul this time, and they’re sleeping apart - and it’s seeming more and more clear by now that it’s his fault.

The fist that’s resting against the door, about to knock, becomes flat. Namjoon leans against it, suddenly exhausted, feeling like it’s the closest he’s going to get to her tonight, wanting to let her know he’s still here. He can’t go inside now, though, even if she is asleep. As much as it may kill him to be out here, on the other side of the door that she closed on him, he can’t not respect her wishes, especially tonight. He doesn’t want to leave either, though, so after a moment, he turns around and slides down against the door until he’s sitting on the floor, knees bent and feet flat on the ground. 

Namjoon hasn’t a clue what to expect in the morning, how they’re ever going to move past this. If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it. He closes his eyes as he replays her words in his mind. They were rational and pragmatic, just like everything about her he’d known he needed in his life from the day he’d met her. This probably wasn’t what she had in mind, though, a small part of his mind chimes in. It’s true, and he simply hopes she’ll remember her own words tomorrow.

He sits there for a while, contemplating more than once if he should quietly step inside. He could slip into bed with her, maybe gently hold her to him, possibly kiss her shoulder in the dark and ensure she doesn’t wake up alone. The thought makes his chest hurt but he knows he can’t, so in a pathetic attempt to distract himself from it, he picks up his phone and scrolls through it for a while, remembering with a dull sort of victory that he’s a day away from his credit card bill being due for payment. 

His wallet isn’t in his pocket, though, and when he trudges into the living room, he finds it’s not in his jacket pocket or anywhere else on the coffee table or the kitchen island. Mildly panicking, Namjoon shuffles between both rooms, the only places he’s set foot in all night, and searches behind jars and under the sofa, until he’s forced to conclude - and hope to high heavens - that it’s probably in the car.

It feels like the longest distance, from his penthouse to the building basement, but he takes his keys and heads out anyway. He locates the wallet in between the driver’s seat and the gear shift, lodged in the gap and peeking out apologetically when he reaches over to tug it out. Shutting the door and turning the car off, he rubs his eyes, wondering briefly that if he isn’t able to sleep, if he should head to the studio for some late night editing.

Only somewhat intrigued by the idea, he exits the building on foot, deciding that the solution to being stuck in his living room with the results of his deep-dive into the worst night of his girlfriend’s life probably isn’t another tiny room with a laptop. He walks along the pavement outside, shivering slightly in the chilly air in the absence of a jacket, in nothing but the white t-shirt he’s been wearing all day. 

It was late… really late. I went back to my room. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I just wanted to sleep, possibly forever, but by the time I got into bed, it was already dawn outside.

Around this time of the night, then. Out of nowhere, Namjoon feels his face twist, the memory of her words and her voice feeling like a punch to his stomach. He stops in his tracks, dropping his face into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut, as though hoping it will get rid of everything, every memory of that night she’s recounted to him in the tamest fashion, every horrifying image that his imagination has ever created in his mind, bringing back the particular kind of rage that’s only ever shown its face when he’s thought about how a tall, faceless man had hurt Kaya.

Another cool breeze forces him to snap out of it, and he immediately crosses the street, hearing vague honking and blurred yelling but able to focus on none of it. He enters a coffee shop, a dimly lit one with fluorescent lighting that makes his sleep-deprived brain shirk away uncomfortably, but he rallies, going over to the counter and ordering a plain Americano to go. The moment he picks it up and turns towards the door, he realises he has no desire to go back into the cold.

Taking a seat at a single table in the corner and reasonably sure no one here will recognise him, he takes a sip of his coffee and turns on his phone, his fingers automatically going onto Naver and waiting, once again, for the fury in his mind to tell him what to do. It does no such thing, though, and eventually Namjoon half-heartedly enters in the same search he’d last put in at the apartment, regarding known culprits in New York campus assault cases.

He finds he has no energy to scroll anymore, though, none of that adrenaline that pushed him to search college websites, sports teams, cross-reference them with age and whatnot. His mind is awake, but his anger isn’t as easily in his grasp anymore, not when he’s aware of Kaya back in the apartment, alone. She’s safe, of course; his building has some of the highest security in Seoul’s residential areas, and his floor is only accessible by a select few who possess key cards. Additionally, the only person in the world who has a key card to his own apartment, apart from him, is Kaya.

Namjoon hopes she’s sleeping. She’d been working unbelievably hard in the weeks leading up to her visit here so she wouldn’t have to work as much on the trip; coupled with the lingering jet lag, he’s reasonably hopeful that sleep would have caught up to her by now. His chest aches when he thinks, once again, of how she left the room in tears at the end of their argument. At the moment, he’d let her go because not only had it been evident that he’d possibly pushed her too far, but because a part of him was also frustrated that he would never be able to express to her just how much it hurt to see her hurting, and how much he wished he’d be able to give her the justice she deserved.

His stomach churns uncomfortably when he pictures her again, alone in the penthouse. Despite the security, the fear of her being hurt again, in absolutely anyway, nauseates him. It was the hardest part when she’d told him about that night, the part where she’d made him promise that he wouldn’t look at her differently and wouldn’t treat her like a victim. 

Namjoon hadn’t done either, to the best of his abilities; his worry for her safety and security while she lived alone in Amsterdam pre-dated his knowledge about her past. He’d tried never to impose on how she lived, however, apart from reminding her every night to check if she’d locked the door or to let him know when she made it home after a late night in the library. It’s the one thing, even now, that gives him some comfort all the way in a different timezone, but he doubts she’ll ever know the intensity of his desire to keep her safe.

He scrolls down the screen once, the words now truly blurring into each other, until something catches his eye. You’re Not Alone: Supporting a Survivor, with further text undereath. Namjoon hesitates before opening it, spending the next ten minutes on each and every word of the article until he reaches the end and lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

He clicks on the next suggested link, and the next, and the next, until they’re all basically saying the same thing. A soft ding catches his attention and he looks up to see the last customer besides him leaving the restaurant. The waitress smiles politely at the older man before surreptitiously glancing at Namjoon, and he takes the hint, realising also that it’s half past four now and Kaya’s still alone in his apartment.

After leaving a generous tip, he heads out, the tiredness of the last twenty or so hours finally sinking in. The walk back is cold but the coffee helps and by the time he reaches his building, all he can think about is his comfortable sofa and the stacks of ramen cups in his pantry.

Over an hour later, after two cups of ramen and a small cup of chocolate ice cream he’d had no intention of eating, he finds himself watching a mediocre episode of the latest k-drama. It’s on mute, for any sound right now might make his head explode, but the subtitles work well enough. He wills sleep to find him; he can’t bring himself to get into his own bed right now, but a few minutes of sleep on this couch would suffice for a bit…

His eyelids start getting heavy just as the first rays of light start peeking in through the curtains, but he’s jolted awake by a sound that he realises a second later is a door opening and closing. His heart racing, he straightens up to see Kaya step gingerly out of the hallway, her long hair slightly dishevelled from her sleep. She’s in nothing but one of his white t-shirts, hanging loose on her smaller frame and reaching the middle of her thighs.

She stops at the edge of the kitchen island, close to where she’d been standing last night, and clears her throat. “Did you sleep at all?” she asks, frowning.

“Not really,” he answers softly, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice. “How - how did you sleep?”

“Late,” she says, and offers no further explanation. After a moment, she bites her lip. “I thought you…” She licks her lips and looks at the ground, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I heard the door close.”

“Yeah… I dropped my wallet in the car.” He watches as she nods, and it takes him a second to realise she was probably thinking something else when she said it. “And went to get a coffee, down the block.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You went to get coffee at four am?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Namjoon sees her eyes dart to the plastic coffee cup on the table, and a pang goes through his heart. “Did you - did you think I left?”

Kaya doesn’t answer, and it suddenly makes him want to cry. Need to start somewhere. He clears his throat. “Kaya, I want to just -”

“No, wait.” She holds up a hand, her gaze still on the ground. He sees her swallow and take a deep breath before looking up, this time straight at him. “I think there are some things I need to say. I don’t think I was really very clear the last time we spoke about this, but… I don’t regret anything.” She pauses, as though waiting for him to contradict her. When he says nothing, she continues.

“I’ve thought about this more than you know. I’ve thought about every single moment,” she says. “I’ve wondered why I had to have been walking alone on that street on that night, or why I went to NYU or why I didn’t scream louder so that someone would hear me. But it’s pointless. I was walking back from a committee meeting where we were making posters for an adoption drive at a dog shelter, which I don’t regret. I lived in one of the most amazing cities in the world and made friends for life because I went to NYU, and I can’t regret that.”

She pauses again, and this time Namjoon nods, if only to let her know he’s listening to every word.

“I chose not to report him because I was scared, and because I had next to no description of him. I know women have pressed charges with less, and I respect the hell out of that kind of courage. But I had finals, which my masters’ admission in London was contingent on. I had graduation, where I had to make a speech to my entire class. I had an internship to finish up which would round up my entire resumé - I had a world of things waiting for me.” 

Her voice is trembling now, and Namjoon has to make a conscious effort to not walk over to her right now and pull her into his arms. The words are tumbling out of her mouth as though she’s been thinking about them all night, with a fear and defiance he’s both sad and proud of.

“I didn’t want to get caught up in - in spending hours at the police station, in having my classmates talk about me behind my back…” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not saying it was easy to choose not to do it. It haunted me every day for years, but I - I had to choose me. Who else would? I had to choose my future - and I was not going to let him or what he did define me or make my decisions for me.” 

“Every single day I’m glad I chose me because five years in, I’m living in a beautiful city, I’m the youngest doctoral candidate in the university, I’m working on a world famous research grant under Professor Woodstock who is a scholar -” She scoffs in mild disbelief, just as she had the day she’d secured the research project, and Namjoon can’t help but smile a bit “- I have good friends, I have a boyfriend who loves me, I have… I have a life. I have a good life, and I have it because I made a decision. You can - you can judge me for it… but I don’t regret it for a second. I just hope you understand that.”

Kaya bites her lip, feeling her vision blur again just like last night, as she watches him nod slowly, as though processing everything she’s just said. She makes no further motion, leaving the ball in his court. It feels like the most vulnerable she’s ever been before him, for she knows it’s a sliding scale. Either he does what the man she fell in love with would do, which would be to instantly understand her… or she finds out something new about him today, and they acknowledge the fundamental differences in their outlooks.

Namjoon rests his elbows on his thighs, running his fingers through his hair. The platinum blond looks slightly darker - or maybe it’s the light - as though making it clear that he hasn’t slept all night. He looks straight at her, though, and for a moment she’s comforted with the expression in his eyes. 

“I, uh -” He sighs, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I tried to look him up last night.”

Her heart stops. “You did what?”

He immediately holds up both hands. “I know, it was a - a violation of your privacy, and I’m sorry. It’s not like I found anything,” he adds after a moment, and she doesn’t know if she’s imagining a note of defeat in his voice. “I don’t know if I actually thought I would, but it felt like I wanted to. Looking back, though, I don’t even know if that would help.”

“Kaya, I -” He exhales, and the look in his eyes becomes even more pronounced. “I worry about you,” he says after a moment. “I worry whenever you’re alone in your apartment, when you tell me you’re staying late in the library, when you’re drinking with friends… even last night, when I was twenty minutes away from you, I - I worried.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to -”

“No, I - I know. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, his gaze not moving away from her, like he’s seeing her in the flesh after a long time. “I still worry, though. And it’s okay - I like worrying about you,” he adds, a playful smile flashing in his eyes momentarily, almost as though he can hear her heart flutter.

“It’s got nothing to do with your capabilities. I just worry because - well, partly because it’s the only thing I can do from here - but also because…” He sighs. “God, Kaya, it would kill me if something ever happened to you. If you ever got hurt.” He finally lowers his head, and she feels her heart ache. “To know that you did get hurt and that I can’t do anything about -” He breaks off, sniffing and looking up at her.

“But that’s my problem. Worrying about you, dealing with that anger… I guess somewhere in that manic searching I did all night, something pointed me to the fact that it doesn’t matter how I feel about it. It’s not about me. Or him.”

Kaya nods, not knowing what to say. She doesn’t know what he spent all night searching for and it’s too overwhelming to try to understand, even as her brain automatically begins dissecting the various demographics and data he could’ve started slicing and dicing. “Thank you,” she whispers finally.

“Did you ever consider it?” Namjoon asks after a few seconds. “Therapy? Or counselling?”

She bites her lip and nods. “I tried it for a bit, in London. I stopped because I moved to Amsterdam,” she says, anticipating his silent question. “Finding a new person, telling them everything… It seemed like a lot. We can talk about it,” she offers softly after a moment.

Namjoon stands up then and walks over to her slowly, as though giving her enough time to back away. She doesn’t, though, for his height feels comforting again unlike during their argument last night. He stops in front of her, almost a foot’s distance between them.

“I hope you know,” he begins, his voice low, “that I would never judge you. Definitely not for anything to do with this.” He purses his lips before sighing, his dimple appearing briefly. “I’m sorry.”

Kaya nods. “You should get some sleep,” she murmurs, reaching up to touch the bags under his eyes, his fingers ghosting over his skin. 

“I will.”

A few moments pass, and Kaya feels like she needs to say it again, just in case. “You can’t treat me differently, okay?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away. He brushes her cheekbone with his knuckle and she feels her toes curl on the bare floor. “Kaya, I’ll always be protective of you.”

It’s not an answer, but it feels like the thing she needs to hear right now. “I’ll allow it,” she murmurs, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. It’s almost identical to the one she’s wearing; she’d found it in the closet of the guest room and didn’t imagine he’d have a problem with her borrowing it. Sleeping in his oversized t-shirt, smelling of his detergent… it was the closest thing to comfort she’d gotten last night.

Kaya feels her throat start to hurt uncomfortably. “I need you to understand my decision, okay?” she whispers in a small voice, looking up at him, more vulnerable than she can remember. “I need you to be in my corner.”

As though he’s been waiting forever to do it, Namjoon immediately pulls her into him, kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her. “Of course, I am. I love you,” he whispers into her hair, and she feels him inhaling. Coconut and vanilla. Kaya buries her face into his shoulder, having missed his broad chest and strong arms so unbearably last night. “I’m always in your corner. No matter what.”

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[rons-wheezely]

224 || G.W.

George Weasley x Reader, Soulmate AU

Genre: Fluff, humor

Summary: Each soulmate pair receives a special number to them, and them only, on the day they’re born into this world. The placement on the body can vary, so people usually keep to themselves unless they fancy someone or it’s displayed somewhere public. How do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

A/N: i have been so inactive, I’m so sorry rip I am going to try to post a fic here and there, but I’m still a student doing student things... This blog recently turned 2 years old, and has reached about 300 followers, so thank you so much for those of you who have found me in the piles of other wonderful works :) I love you all from the bottom of my heart.

--x--

“Oh, do forgive me, Georgie,” you playfully shove him out of the way. He stumbles away from the shelf containing the last package of Fizzing Whizbees in time for you to snatch it into your hands. You hear him chuckle as he regains his balance behind you. It’s suffocatingly crowded with fellow students in Honeydukes, so he leans in close so you can hear him. 

His warm breath comes close to your ear, saying with a soft laugh,” At least share, alright?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully as the smile plastered on your face turned into a smirk. You make your way to the cashier with George close behind. The candy in the box shake in your hands, and the decorative ring you’re wearing on your middle finger glimmers in the shop’s light. You call over your shoulder,” If you win the next match against Slytherin, I might.” 

This statement alone had George fist pump the air in satisfaction. Even if he lost, you would most likely share it anyways –– to cheer him up, of course. You two have been best friends since your first year when you cleverly evaded one of the twins’ pranks. It was a lucky guess, but the outcome left Fred and George tangled in a mess of burping up slugs for three hours. It was an easy friendship after that, other than the secret feelings you harbored for George, that is. 

Soon enough, the match came and the sight was an absolutely thrilling one. You watch as each player flies by, and each time the wind sweeps your hair in every direction. Fred and George are on a spectacular streak, and they never once miss the bludger. Thankfully you had a pair of binoculars and Lee Jordan’s commentary; the team was so small in the air that it was hard to tell what was happening.

Harry Potter was no doubt going to catch the snitch, and here he comes now swooping in underneath his teammates. He’s almost flat against his broomstick, urging it to go faster before Malfoy could get to the fluttering golden speck. All eyes are on Potter, and the boy is mere inches away. Just as his nimble fingers wrap around the snitch, another Gryffindor teammate drops from the air.

You can hear the subtle gasps from a few in the crowd who noticed. The Gryffindor team were too enraptured with Harry’s catch to notice that one of them was dropping ten, twenty, thirty meters to the ground. “George!” You cried.

As if sending a telepathic message to the other twin, though it is most likely he heard you yell as clear as day, Fred swoops down to save his brother from impact. You notice now that you're standing on your feet and leaning on the railing that separates you from your best friends on the field. You watch on in horror as Fred barely makes it in time. The breath you didn’t know you were holding finally escapes you, and your surroundings come back all at once. 

You hear the deafening silence and the sound of the wind blowing by. No one moves as they watch Fred land on the ground with George. It was Lee who ended the tension,” And with that, Gryffindor earns 130 points and has won the match…” 

All at once, everyone in the stands scrambles to get out. Elated with Harry’s catch and the twins’ safety, the student body goes their separate ways. You follow them as well and weave your way through the crowd to get to Fred and George. Panic fills your lungs, and every fiber in your body screams to make sure they’re okay.

“Fred!” You call out,” Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, no harm done to me,” he sighs,” –– Other than this git. A bludger whacked him straight on the side and he passed out on his ride down.” 

“It looks like it hurts… but it’s nothing Madame Pomfrey can’t handle, right?” You wince. You try to convince yourself that George is just sleeping a very deep, restful sleep.

“I reckon he’ll be fine, y/n.” Fred winks your way with a sly grin. “Visit him lots, yeah?”

Madame Pomfrey refused to let anyone in until she was done running some tests. When she finally let you visit, you rushed to sit next to George’s bedside. He stirred at your frantic movements and opened an eye to see you. “It’s not that bad is it?” He chuckles.

“She said that you’ve broken a few ribs, but you’ll be alright.” You smile. 

George sits up slowly, pretending to be in agonizing pain. You worry for a bit and reach out to him on instinct, but he laughs and tells you he’s okay. His torso is wrapped entirely with gauze over his clothes, and there are a few bandages wrapped around his forearms as well. Pomfrey had drawn a blanket over George earlier, so the white sheet still covered the lower half of his body. A moment goes by, and you hear a soft wheeze leaving George’s lips. “You don’t suppose my soulmate is into beaten up ginger-heads, do you?”

“Well,” you mull over your words. Pretending to take his question seriously, you answer,” they would have if you were Fred..” You laugh a little as you catch the glint in his eyes –– the mischievous one you had grown to love. 

“Oh, if only I looked exactly like that bloke.” He jokes. His head falls a little forward as he laughs. His gaze is drawn to his lap, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he looked like those shy love interests in romantic muggle films. 

You notice that his fiery hair is covering his eyes, and your body compels you to get another glimpse of that wonderful boy’s face. Ever so gently, you reach your hand out and tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. When your fingers curve around the back of his ear, you notice a few dark marks of what looks like a tattoo. Your eyebrows furrow together in confusion. You go to move more of his hair out of the way, but he turns his eyes to you. 

“Are you getting handsy with me y/n? Tryin’ to make a move, are you?” He smiles, but there is a small panic in his eyes as they frantically search yours. “You could’ve just asked me out, you know.”

“Is that your soulmate mark?” You ask.

“Maybe.”

“Well,” you huff playfully,” I might be able to tell you who your soulmate is. I might cry if your soulmate is Madame Pomfrey, though.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

"Georgie, please don’t tell me you have a thing for milfs.”

It takes everything in him to hold back his laughter. George pulls his hair back to reveal the numbers 224 etched behind his left ear. Your breath catches in your throat, but you try to hide your very obvious shock. 224 was a number you knew too well, and seeing that number reflected on your best friend’s skin meant that your deepest feelings were true. It’s okay to be in love with George because now... now there is chance he feels the same way.

Your mark is tattooed on the band of your middle finger, which is usually covered up by jewelry. You fidget with your rings nervously, trying to ground yourself all the while. George doesn’t pay too much attention to it when he says,“Fred has his numbers on his right ear. I might be the right-hand man, but he’s lucky enough to be the right-ear man.”

You laugh at his really bad pun,” Really? Out of all of the ear jokes, you chose that one?” 

“It made you laugh, didn’t it?” He nudges you with his shoulder, and you can’t help but giggle some more.

“Would you like to hear a fun fact?” You ask. You gulp down all of the fear that has started to swallow you whole. You are George’s soulmate. The idea buzzes in your head along with a million other thoughts. George nods for you to continue, and you fight the panicked urge to scream. “...In the muggle world, they have such advanced technology.”

“Yeah, dad would know––” George interjects for a second.

“The numbers 224 actually hold a meaning to them. It’s something like a code–– it’s related to their fancy devices I think? Anyways,” you take a deep breath. You remember vividly the details your friend went to great lengths explaining to you. 

“Your number is all kinds of special, y/n!” Mae beams at you. Her eyes twinkle in an amusing manner as she tries to prove herself. A soft thud could be heard when her hands meet with the common room table, and she quickly jumps to her feet. “Imagine, having such a fantastic number as that!” She exclaims with awe.

“I don’t understand?” You bemusedly remark. Why would numbers hold more meanings beyond your standard soulmate reason?

“My brother loves binary code, a certain muggle science,” she explains,” and he told me a few meanings. One of them being yours! Now, if only fate would tell us who your soulmate was...”

If Mae were in this room, she would be bursting at the seams from pure glee. You look into George’s eyes and say,” ...the numbers actually mean something along the lines of ‘Today, Tomorrow, Forever.’ It has to do with the bond you and your soulmate have together.“

He blinks once or twice before breaking out into a grin,” Okay, can you say it again but,” he emphasizes,” simpler, maybe?

“––it means that your soulmate will love an accident-prone idiot like you forever and always,” You joke halfheartedly.

The familiar gleaming smile he wore after a successful prank creeps up onto his face: one of self satisfaction and deserving of many awards based on looks alone. His smile is much gentler and you almost miss it, but a blush tints the very tips of his cheeks. “Oh? wait ‘till dad finds out that numbers have meanings to muggles. How’d you know all of this anyway?”

“Oh, it’s just something my friend talked to me about.” You dismiss his questioning gaze and clear your throat. Every second that passes makes you more and more anxious being around George, simply just by knowing you two are soulmates. It’s a dream come true, sure. But how do you go around explaining to your best friend that he’s the one?

“Are you alright, y/n?” George asks. “You seem real fidgety. Do you need to go somewhere?”

“Oh–– no, it just that,” you gulp. “Well.. I think left the Fizzing Whizbees back in my dorm room.” You lie. You know it’s in your bag with your other belongings, safely tucked away for later consumption. “Post-game snacks are essential, and I did make a promise.”

“Are you sure you left it there? I thought I saw it in your bag...” He leans over to find your bag, and sure enough, he pulls out the box of candy.

“Oh.” You look at him. There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat.

“You’ve really got to get yourself together mate–– looks like Nearly Headless Nick showed you his neck hole again or something.” George jokes to lighten the mood, but he’s right. The longer you sit there and stare at him, the more you either want to slam your lips against his or vomit profusely. You feel pale and sickly; just enough to feel the twists and turns of your stomach. Is this what having butterflies feel like? He opens the bag of candy and offers you some.

You share the box of whizbees with him, taking one out and popping them into your mouth. It fizzes and jolts a little as the sweet taste melts on your tongue. “I think maybe Fred slipped something to me earlier,” you avert your gaze,” I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, sounds like Fred.” George grabs your hand and looks you in the eyes. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your hands, and it does seem to relax some of your nerves. He looks at you softly and gently, and all at once, your anxiety starts to melt away in his presence. You almost forget why you’re so worried in the first place. “You know I’m not going anywhere. If you have to take a massive shit, I’ll wait for you.” He says as he pats your hand reassuringly.

You erupt into laughter and shove him away. “And here I thought we were having a moment.”

“Nothing says true love like bowl movements, darling.”

As the laughter dies down, the somber feeling in your gut returns. It’s now or never, right? “George, I think I need to tell you something. I—“

Fred bursts into the door with Lee following shortly behind. “There’s my favorite twin!” He beams. He gets a disapproving look from Madame Pomfrey peering around the corner from her office. Fred doesn’t pay much attention, choosing to walk past her with barely a glance over his shoulder. George rolls his eyes as Fred happily trots over, spilling some liquid from two mugs in his hands. “—had to have Lee help sneak these in for the party, which you lot are missing out on.” He hands you a mug of butter beer and George, the other.

You decide to drop the subject even after George was free from the hospital bed. It’s a few weeks since then, and school has made you push those thoughts of pesky soulmates and true love aside. Of course, George kept looking at you funny, waiting for you to bring it up again. To his dismay, you didn’t.

“Alright everyone, class is dismissed.” Professor Sprout announces as she busies herself in setting up plants for the next day. It’s the last class of the day, and you couldn’t be happier. Repotting plants was hard work, and you were sweaty enough as it is. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of your face, and as much as you hated it, it did make for good eye candy across the room — namely George, although there’s a lot of dirt smudged onto his face too.

He’s cleaning up rather quickly so you call out to him,” Can you grab my rings, Georgie? They’re over there by my bag.” You had to remove jewelry in order to “safely handle” the creatures and wear proper gloves. Those of which you hastily pull off to wash your hands. The suds come and go as you lather and rinse away in the sink.

“Today, tomorrow, forever eh?” George’s deep voice rumbles in your ear. You jump a little at the sudden scare. “I think I like the sound of that, don’t you?”

You turn your head a little to the side and come very close to George’s face. You can feel his breath fanning on your skin, and his nose is just barely touching yours. You fear that if you blink, the sight in front of you will vanish. Every freckle that glitters his skin is so close you could count them like the stars and draw constellations between them if you wanted to. It’s absolutely breathtaking. Your body feels like it’s on a cloud— so feather light and airy— as he smiles at you. Your throat is dry; your tongue struggles to keep up with your thoughts. “...what?” You choke out. You cover your hands on impulse, but you know it’s too late.

“It means you’re stuck with me forever, y/n.” He grins. “Soulmate magic is no joke, you know.” He hands you your rings and walks beside you out of the greenhouse. You slip the rings on to your middle finger where it’s always resided, deciding to fidget with it a little.

Nothing should be different. You’re walking with George in the hallways like you always do, your hair is no different than yesterday, and class was the same as an other day. And yet your heart is beating faster and the sun seems to shine brighter. The grass is greener and the lake bluer than it was this morning. Words remain unspoken, but the truth is there. His fingers are interlocked with yours. 224.