bearing & distance

never in a million years did i think i’d write one of these about you. i never thought you’d actually leave. i guess things change huh?
i was looking through old photos of you the other day and i came across my favourite one of you. it was your seventeenth birthday and you’re with your sister, smiling from ear to ear. and i began to wonder, what happened to him? to the boy who loved me with everything he had. to that happy happy boy. honestly what happened to us? to the couple who never ever fought. to the couple who couldn’t go a day without talking to each other. i’m sorry it’s gotten to this. i didn’t want it to. i was fighting i was trying so fucking hard to fix this, to fix us. but you never saw that. and if you did, i guess my best wasn’t good enough. the fact that you’ve walked away and chosen someone else over me, hurts. i can’t believe we are here again. you choosing to love another person instead of loving me. don’t say you’re not because baby you are. look at us. we are even fucking speaking and that’s on you. you’ve taken my best friend away from me. for that i can never forgive you.
all of this aside, i hope you know on the night before my wedding if i run into you in a bar ill still walk out that door.
always and forever
—  letters to the ones who left #9// 4am
Some Mob headcanons

I wrote these a while ago and forgot about them, might as well post them now I guess

  • Poor sense of direction
    • he has no idea where things are in relation to each other
    • always sticks to the streets he knows, which makes him take enormous detours to get to places sometimes 
      • ((It’s not so bad, he likes walking and looking at the sky for a few hours anyways))
    • when walking with others, he lets them lead the way and barely pays attention to where he’s going
      • this gets problematic when they go to a place together but then leave seperately. Reigen figured this out after he called Mob 3 hours after a job, all “sorry for calling you twice in a row but can you come over again?” and Mob says sure he can, but it might still take him a while to find his way out of these woods
        • there weren’t any woods near that job. How the hell did that happen. Also he isn’t sure, but that might be a bear in the distance
          • ((Reigen has never tracked down Mob’s phone signal this quickly. They always go back to the office together after that))
  • Very, very bad with numbers
    • not only when it comes to math, but with numbers in general
    • sometimes reads the time wrong or just immediately forgets it again after looking at the clock, is frequently surprised by how late/early it is
    • actually doesn’t know people’s birthdays. You’re insanely lucky if he remembers the month
      • he is painfully aware of this though. He forgot Ritsu’s birthday once when they were very little. Since then he makes sure to mark everyone’s birthday in every calendar and to set a few thousand alarms on his phone to remind him in time
    • can’t estimate numbers for the life of him
      • Reigen wants to call in for one of these TV games, like Guess how many paper cranes are in this jar, you can win 100k Yen! and Mob just looks at this jar for a while and goes “5 billion.” Because there’s gotta be a lot in there right, and that’s a big number, and no he isn’t joking, not on purpose anyway, why would you think that Master?
        • ((Reigen grumbles unhappily and finally strikes clairvoyance from his secret list of possible Mob powers that he keeps in his desk))
  • Eats spicy food like a badass
    • as in, really spicy
    • as in, Ritsu’s eyes are already watering just from looking at that habanero sauce and Teru is desperately pretending to be okay after trying just one tiny bite, but he’s glowing red and tears are streaming down his face and he actually cannot breathe, somebody help him
    • Mob doesn’t really get it, tries another spoon full just to be sure and admits that “it does tingle a bit”
    • Shou tries to turn it into a youtube challenge, the Eat what Mob eats without dying challenge, but it doesn’t really gain traction
      • ((mostly because nobody can see what’s going on in the videos, he’s way too excited and they turn out all shaky. Also Ritsu keeps pushing the camera away))
I’m sorry.

I was supposed to post this after the Clark drabble but I got side-tracked with a lot of other things (mainly playing The Sims 4!) which is why this is only going up now! I have toying with this idea for a while so I decided to write it down and see how it turned out. It’s probably short but I hope you would still enjoy this nevertheless! A little over 1000 words for this.

A little background info: Y/N and Bruce have been dating for over a year and a year ago, Batman came to Gotham. Y/N does not know that Bruce and Batman are one and the same.

The moment Bruce walks through the door he knows he is in deep trouble. Whether it is the silent threat looming in the air, the stiffness of your body and straight posture or that angry look you have on your face. It normally takes him a lot to get him to feel scared in his own home but right at this moment, he isn’t quite sure.

You simply watch Bruce quickly shrug his jacket and kicking his shoes off, carefully approaching you. “Y/N,” Bruce starts but you hold up your hand, narrowing your eyes at him.

You shake your head. “Don’t even start with me, Bruce!” You tried to keep your voice leveled and not let your anger get the best of you but honestly, it is starting to be such a hard thing to do and you aren’t even sure if you can keep your emotions at bay anymore. “This isn’t the first time you have done this and God forbids this to be the last too!” You exclaim. “I have been waiting for you for over four hours – I’m not asking for a lot, just that you give me a few hours of your time once a week: you told me you would be home by five the latest and this is almost eleven!”

Bruce winces with guilt, slightly taken back by your stern tone. He is rarely ever at the receiving end of this – the bubbling angry side of you – and if he is being quite honest, he rather not be at the receiving end ever again. He plans on keeping it that way too. He would have gone back earlier – he should have – but he had been too engrossed in all of his work and chasing bad guys to even remember the promise he had made you.

“I am really sorry, Y/N but you know how – “

You fall on to the sofa and cross your arms over your chest. “Do I not mean anything to you anymore, Bruce? Because… because if so, please just let me go.” You hated how weak you sounded. Truth be told, if Bruce actually lets you go, you don’t really think you would be able to survive – he is your light and the love of your life. You are so overwhelmed with the feeling of defeat and resignation that you did not even notice Bruce sitting beside you on the sofa, tentatively reaching out to hold your hands.

You did not even bother to look at him – you don’t want him to see you crying. “Y/N, you’re wrong: you mean the world to me.” You shake your head and Bruce swears he feels his heart breaking slowly. Something stabs him in the chest and his mouth suddenly feels dry.

“You always say you’re sorry, Bruce but nothing ever changes – they are just empty words.” You try to pull your hands away from his hold but Bruce tightens the hold he has on your hands, afraid that if he actually lets you go, he will lose you forever.

At this point, Bruce decides he really does not think he can bear the distance between the two of you any longer and pulls you closer to him.

You tried your hardest to not move from your spot on the sofa but alas, Bruce is bigger and stronger than you. Soft fingers trace gently circles over your cheeks, causing you to almost let out a sob. You have missed this – you have missed him.

“Look at me, Y/N,” His words are shaky. “Please.”

You raise your head to look at Bruce and is surprised to see the misty redness covering his eyes. For as long as you have seen Bruce, you have never seen him cry for he has a habit of suppressing all of emotions and seeing this rare display, you aren’t quite sure you know how to deal with this.

“You’re right, absolutely right. I have been too focused on work and it’s really not fair for you. No amount of sorry can express just how regretful I am right now and you’re always so patient with me and I don’t want to lose you.” Bruce breaks off before taking a deep breath. “There’s something I want to show you, Y/N but before that,” Bruce clears his throat. “I love you, Y/N.”

You bite your bottom lip. “I don’t know if you’re serious about us or if you’re just saying this to appease me, Bruce.” You tell him weakly. Bruce continues to talk but you have started to tune him out in favour of just watching him: the panic in his eyes is enough to convince you of how sincere he is.

“I was going to wait until the end of the week but now is as good as any day… The reason why I have been so busy at work is not because of work. Not in the sense you think. I am Batman.”

You place your hand on Bruce’s mouth to stop him from talking anymore. You have had your doubts about his night activities – there were a lot of signs that pointed to Bruce being The Batman but to actually hear the confirmation from your lover, it makes it all the more real. “Bruce, I believe you.”

Bruce wraps his arms around you, holding you so close to him that you can practically feel your heart beating. As much as he has hurt you, you definitely cannot stand seeing the man you are in love with in pain.

“I want in on it, Bruce. I have had my suspicions about you being Batman but thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, Bruce.” You tell him as you wrap your arms around his body.

Bruce nods his head. Whatever it takes for you to forgive him. He doesn’t think he will ever take you for granted again. You are his rock – have been his rock ever since that fateful day a year ago – the person who has stuck with him through a whole lot of ups and downs and a whole lot of scrutiny from the society and he definitely cannot imagine a life without you in it.

anonymous asked:

Gajevy + "Twins", Gruvia + "Confession", Jerza + "First Kiss", Laxana + "Home"

Gajevy + Twins

    Gajeel couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to his mate’s swollen belly, it was something had been obsessed with for weeks now much to Levy’s amusement and more recently irritation. However, the latter had faded a little in the last few days when he had quietly told her that it was because it was their future…their future. That was something that neither of them could take for granted anymore, not after coming so close to losing it during the war, and so she had welcomed him, watching with soft eyes as he rested his head against the bump and listened for their child, their future. And what a future. It had been that night as he lay there listening, that he had finally heard the heartbeat, or rather the heartbeats that ran in counterpart to Levy’s…twins.

Gruvia + Confession

   Gray couldn’t breathe, eyes wide as he stared at Juvia, unable to stop his gaze drifting to her still healing wounds, ice creeping into the air around him as he recalled how she had looked lying there in her own blood.

“Juvia…” It didn’t sound like his voice, but he knew it had come from him because now she was staring at him, tears forming in her eyes. Suddenly unable to bear the distance between them he darted forward, unsurprised when she met him midway, both of them wrapping their arms around one another, tears damp on their cheeks. With her pressed against him, alive…wonderfully alive, he knew that he couldn’t wait until the war was over to give her the answer he had promised and slowly he pulled back, tilting her face up with a trembling finger before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “I love you.”

Jerza + First Kiss

   Jellal let out a startled noise when Erza suddenly yanked him closer, although his surprise quickly gave way to anger because this close it was impossible to miss the extent of the cuts and bruises covering her skin, evidence of the battles she had endured without him. His eyes softened as she stared up at him, reaching out and ghosting a hand over the worst of them, only to blink, caught by surprise again when she leant briefly into the touch before moving closer and kissing him softly. It wasn’t chaste or hesitant like he had imagined their first kiss would be, instead it was heated, underlined with a desperation that he understood all too well and after a brief moment he let himself get swept up in it. It only lasted a moment, but it was a confirmation of everything they were and weren’t, everything they had the potential to be and everything they were fighting for and he could only nod numbly when she pulled back with a soft murmur.

“Don’t make it our last…”

Laxana + Home

   It was stupid. Makarov had already revoked his exile and welcomed him back, his guild mark once more back where it belonged, his fingers drifting to it now as though to reassure himself of that fact. Yet despite that acceptance here he was, hovering in the doorway and staring into the guild, finding himself completely unable to take another step. It wasn’t the new guildhall, or even all the changes that had occurred in the seven years that had been lost on Tenroujima, he couldn’t put a finger on it, growling under his breath as his feet refused to obey his commands.

   He was caught by surprise a moment later when someone grabbed his arm and yanked him along with them as he stepped inside, blinking when Cana released him a moment later and smirked up at him, although her expression softened after a moment of studying him and it felt like all the tension just drained out of him with her next words.

“Welcome home.”

Yes…he was home.

Jonsa Author of the Week - Buttercup_Bee


If you haven’t stumbled upon Buttercup_Bee yet during your Jonsa travels then boy are you in for a treat! Her descriptive prose are GORGEOUS, her time travel mutli-chapter WIP (Amidst the Fall; We Bleed The Same) is such a joy to read (as are her one shots)!

Do yourself a favour and devour her stuff here and make sure you leave loads of lovely comments and kudos!

Excerpts from Buttercup_Bee’s work below the cut…

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Inspired by the look John gives Harold at the end of this scene.

There is a moment, seven seconds frozen in time before a two out of five chance of them dying together in a brilliant light of explosives and charred flesh, when Harold knows.

It’s the way John looks at him then.  There is relief there, yes, but there is also… unabashed wonder.  And that is when Harold knows… he has to be careful.

Because the way John is looking at him then is… nothing short of breathtaking.  He’s looking at Harold as if he’s a miracle.  A knight straight out of fairy tales, if knights have a permanent limp dogging their footsteps instead of a white horse.

It’s the moment Harold knows that… he has John.  That he owns John.  Completely, in a way that he never has, before.  It’s not the first time that Harold has protected him.  But it’s the first time he has outright decided to risk dying with him, just to save him.

He knows, without a doubt, that it is this moment that has earned him John’s unquestionable loyalty.

And perhaps… something much more than that, as John looks at him with something much, much more profound than mere friendship or brotherhood.  Something very close to worship, and utter, complete devotion.

And Harold shudders at the thought of it, because there’s a reason he’s a very private person.  He’s afraid that John will discover that he is not a good man, that he is as flawed and as sinful as any other human being, and Harold isn’t sure he deserves that kind of devotion from someone in need of redemption as John.

And he has to be careful, so very, very careful, that he doesn’t take advantage of this unwanted power he now has over John.  A power that he knows John has only willingly given him as a gift.

Because he now knows, without a doubt, that whatever he says, John will follow him.  He can order John to shoot a man straight between his eyes, and John will do so without an ounce of hesitation.  He can order John to jump off this building with him, and John will find a way to twist his body around him and wrap his arms around him to break the worst of the fall.

He can ask John to kiss him, and he knows, without a doubt, that John will drop to his knees the way he has always fantasised, like a sinner before an altar, praying to be saved.

And Harold is seized with a terrible amount of fear, because he knows himself; he knows all his weaknesses and his darkness and all the ways the people he loves end up being in danger or getting killed, and he is afraid, so afraid, that he will end up ruining John.  And he knows his selfishness, knows that he can’t want John without wanting everything from him, and he is terribly, terribly afraid that he will only end up taking and taking until he doesn’t even realise that he has stolen every chance at happiness John deserves to have.

There is a moment, at this rooftop, when John looks at him, that Harold sees the complete and utter devotion in John’s eyes, and knows without a doubt that John is ready to give up anything and everything just to follow Harold.

Even his own happiness.

And Harold can’t—won’t—take advantage of that.

He takes a moment to step back, and sees the split second look of confusion in John’s face, the minuscule movement of his body as he strains toward Harold like a magnet, as if John can’t bear any more distance between them, as if every step back Harold is taking is ripping through his body more painfully than any blade or bullet, and oh — Harold has to be careful about that too.

Because he has to be there for John.  Not just in moments like this when John is ready to sacrifice himself—when John mistakenly thinks he’s expendable—but in the small moments of doubt John still has, moments when John fails to take his overall well-being into account, because John fails to see his own importance, his own worth.  And that’s why Harold has to be there to do these things for him, to make sure that John is always taken care of, even in the smallest of ways—food, clothing, shelter, and the occasional arsenal and protective gear he needs—because maybe, just maybe, someday, Harold will have finally destroyed all those lingering doubts in John’s mind about his right to be cared for, and most of all, his right to live.

And maybe someday, it will have been enough for Harold to have earned the privilege of being the one to make John finally happy.

And the blessing… of loving him.

Harold, John thinks in complete breathless wonder, doesn’t know how to do things in small doses.

He doesn’t just save John from jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge and killing himself in one lethal wave, the way slowly killing himself with hunger and alcohol over the course of several months has failed to achieve.  He gives John a job.  And not just a job.  A purpose.

He doesn’t just pay John. He keeps John well-fed, encouraging John to eat under the guise of meeting at restaurants or having take-out together at the library; why else would Harold tell John to enjoy the humble diner’s eggs benedict, under the guise of working to save another Number, or tell John to keep bringing breakfast danishes for Bear when he knows that John’s favourite pastry shop is on the way?

He doesn’t just provide John shelter that’s leagues better than the dingy motels John had to make do throughout his previous missions with the CIA, sacrificing creature comforts for efficiency.  No, Harold doesn’t just provide him comfort, Harold provides him with luxury, with his own honest-to-god loft where he can keep all the arsenal he wants without fear of being questioned by authorities.  

He doesn’t just give John clothes.  He has designer items tailor-made for him, sometimes even taking John’s measurements himself, sinking down on his knees despite the discomfort it brings to his injured leg, filling John with inappropriate images of how he can make it up to Harold, make it worth his while.

He doesn’t just save anyone.  He builds a Machine that can save everyone.

And he doesn’t just save John from dying.  He’s there, ready to die with him.

He thinks of Jessica, about the way he once told her that in the end, everyone dies alone and that no one comes to save you, and thinks about how Harold has just disproven that by bravely taking on a two out of a five chance of them dying, because Harold stubbornly refuses to let John die alone.

They’re both breathing heavily now, staring at each other in a limbo of disbelief at what they have just survived — together.

There had been a moment, once, when John first learned about Grace, when he wondered how a stiff and immensely private person like Harold is when he’s in love.

He thinks of all of Harold’s grand gestures and unthinkable capabilities, and realises — this isn’t even all of it.  This is just the tip of the iceberg, and underneath all the layers of bespoke clothing and cool politeness and numerous aliases and impenetrable firewalls surrounding Harold… is a man capable of so much love.

And it hits him, with a surge of possessiveness so intense it momentarily whites out his consciousness as if the bomb exploded in his chest anyway, that he wants to discover all of it.  He wants to break down all the barriers Harold has put between himself and this merciless, bloodthirsty world, and fold himself over this man who is love and benevolence personified and tell him that no one will ever hurt him anymore, not without going through John first.   He wants to find out all the ways Harold can smile, and all the reasons for those smiles, and more than that — he wants all of that for himself.

He steps forward just as Harold takes a step back with a look of complete terror in his face, and that — that punctures John more deeply than any knife, because he can take any kind of torture in the world—he already has, in fact—but he can’t ever endure the pain of seeing Harold afraid of him.

He steels his gaze, his features hardening into determination.  He will stay by Harold’s side, no matter what.  He will tear down every organisation that will try to keep him from being there for Harold, with Harold, if it comes to that.  

And maybe someday, he will have been able to prove himself worthy of that love.  

Because nothing else will make him happier.

You may never know how important you are to me or how much I care for you, but you are and you will always be. Bear in mind that I couldn’t afford to lose someone I’ve learned to care about so much.
Rewritten, Chapter 5: Saved

Read it on  ➜

(tbh one of my all-time favourite memories, the little piano riff that plays when she looks at him with newfound respect (and love let’s be real here) honestly made me tear up in-game and it was great to see Link saving her life for the first time. He killed a man. Maybe three. What a badass.)

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cute story time

okay when i was 12 i had this online relationship with a guy living in a different country, i went to build-a-bear and named a bear after him then when they asked me to make a wish on the bear i wished that things would work out with us and that’d we’ve be together forever ‘cause yahknow i was 12 i was in love?? and then 5 years later we finally met in person and now we’re moving in together next year

This giant spiral disk of stars, dust, and gas is 170,000 light-years across or nearly twice the diameter of our galaxy, the Milky Way. M101 is estimated to contain at least one trillion stars. Approximately 100 billion of these stars could be like our Sun in terms of temperature and lifetime.

The galaxy’s spiral arms are sprinkled with large regions of star-forming nebulae. These nebulae are areas of intense star formation within giant molecular hydrogen clouds. Brilliant young clusters of hot, blue, newborn stars trace out the spiral arms. The disk of M101 is so thin that Hubble easily sees many more distant galaxies lying behind the galaxy.

M101 (also nicknamed the Pinwheel Galaxy) lies in the northern circumpolar constellation, Ursa Major (The Great Bear), at a distance of 25 million light-years from Earth. Therefore, we are seeing the galaxy as it looked 25 million years ago — when the light we’re receiving from it now was emitted by its stars — at the beginning of Earth’s Miocene Period, when mammals flourished and the Mastodon first appeared on Earth. The galaxy fills a region in the sky equal to one-fifth the area of the full moon.

Object Names: M101, NGC 5457, The Pinwheel Galaxy

Image Type: Astronomical

Credit: NASA, ESA, K. Kuntz (JHU), F. Bresolin (University of Hawaii), J. Trauger (Jet Propulsion Lab), J. Mould (NOAO), Y.-H. Chu (University of Illinois, Urbana), and STScI, Canada-France-Hawaii Telescope/ J.-C. Cuillandre/Coelum, G. Jacoby, B. Bohannan, M. Hanna/ NOAO/AURA/NSF

Time And Space

Waking Up with You

          Marty inhales deeply, stretches his waking limbs, and then looks over at the clock.
          7:23 A.M.
          He sighs and settles down again.
          “You awake?” he asks Rust.
          “Mmhmm,” Rust hums a low note.
          “I thought so,” Marty says.
          “Haven’t been awake long,” the other man drawls.  
          Rust’s voice in the early morning is a distant roll of thunder. A swelling echo in a deep cavern. A shot of whiskey – the spreading warmth and the burning. It’s slow and languid. Thick as tree sap and deep as a well.
          “You thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’?” Marty asks.
          Rust cracks open one water-blue eye and then the other.
          “Nothin’ in particular,” he replies. “Why?”
          “Talk to me anyhow – about anything, I don’t care. I want your thoughts this morning,” he says gently. “I want your voice.”
          “All right,” Rust says easily.
          Christ, somehow it’s become Marty’s favorite sound – Rust saying all right. Rust agreeingBending. Giving. Obliging. Surrendering. Rust saying yes.
           He takes his time, stays quiet and thoughtful awhile, and then licks his lips. Takes a breath. Clears the gravel from his throat and begins.
           “Since I was young – real young – I’ve always been slow to wake. I’ve always been one to linger at the edge… To wander through the fog. I’ve always had to…search for waking.”
           Marty watches Rust closely as he gathers words together like wildflowers into the finest bouquets. Sometimes, he lifts his hand up off his chest to gesture – all slender fingers and thick knuckles and a warm gold band. 
           “A lot of times, in my search for waking…I’d find something else instead,” he says. “I’d find…a memory.” Rust swallows then, and takes a breath. “I’d think I could hear the gulls crying. Smell the heat. Taste the ocean. I’d think I could see, just under my eyelids, the sun and the breeze caught in the sea glass-colored curtains.”
           Rust’s eyes finds Marty’s in the half-light.
           “Galveston,” he says. “I lived there with my mother – not for long – at this little motel by the beach. Sometimes, at that edge…in that fog…I’d think I was in Galveston. Until I felt myself shivering. Until I realized I was cold. And then, I’d wake up,” he snaps his fingers, “realize I was in Alaska with my pop and scramble out of bed to make sure I hadn’t let the fire die.”
           Marty needs to touch Rust now, can’t bear the smallest distance between them. He reaches out and Rust comes willingly to be held. He rests, falls silent awhile to drink in the calm of Marty’s heartbeat, of his fingers ghosting down the length of Rust’s backbone then climbing up again.
          “Then, there were times…” Rust says, softer now, “I’d think I could hear the wolves howling into the neon ribbons of the aurora. I’d feel the icy stillness aching in my bones. I’d snap awake to tend the fire…and Claire would ask me if I was okay.”
           He exhales a painful sort of laugh.
           “And then…” he says, “sometimes I’d…I’d be so sure…” His voice begins to quake and so, he stops.
          Marty holds him tighter now. “Don’t,” he whispers gently. “Don’t.”
           It’s all the permission, all the encouragement Rust needs not to say that sometimes he’d feel the petal softness of Sophia’s breath and the clammy stickiness of her fingers on his chest and the weight of her head rested on his arm. That sometimes he’d be so sure she was asleep between him and Claire, only to wake in the emptiness, in the loneliness of the apartment in Baton Rouge.
           Rust nuzzles Marty gently, allows their lips to brush, but doesn’t kiss him yet.
          “The point is…” he rasps, soft and low, “I’ve never been too sure exactly where I’m at when I wake up… Until I started waking up with you.”
          “Rust…” Marty says – because it’s the only word with any meaning. Now, more than Marty wants for Rust to speak, he hungers for the mouth from which all his words spill forth into their world.
          They kiss each other hungrily and bleed the hours from the morning.


Make Another Signal, by Captain Jack Broome, RN (Ret.)

(The lighthouses on the northern shores of the Skaggerak often have twin towers, which look like superstructures or turrets.)

Deranged Secrets - A BTS Jungkook X Jimin X Reader Fanfic Part 1

I’m sorry i haven’t been active lately due to stressful weeks so i hope this fan fiction makes up for it so please enjoy x

Let the journey begin….Enjoy ;)

Deranged Secrets Part 1
Dedicated to my best friend @bts-sugatrash for being so amazing in supporting me all the way with writing this story as I was very hesitant to publish it so plz tell me what you think of it, I love reading your comments :)

Genre: Rough(ish) smut, Angst.

Rated: M - Read at your own risk

Word Count: 14,500 (sorry) XD

Summary ~ Two boys, both the worst of enemies. One boy gave you everything he had and took nothing from you. The other boy took everything from you and gave you nothing in return. It started from a broken heart, which grew into a sick game of lust and desire and ended with one single, deranged secret that could shatter and destroy you both.

The night you kissed Jeon Jungkook was a blessing and a curse. It was the worst mistake you had made for all the right reasons but in all the wrong ways.


An anonymous pair of cool, black eyes stood, hidden within the shadows against the corner of a room in an abandoned warehouse, watching you.

It was late.

In the centre of the cold, dim room, you were perched on the edge of a piano stool, slender fingers gracefully gliding along the rusty piano keys as your eye lids fluttered closed: praying, yearning for an escape.

“Take me away from here,” You whispered into the silent darkness, craning your neck back as a sweet melody sang through your ears, “even if it lasts for a second, a minute even, please please just get him out of my fucking head―”

A twisted yet sickeningly perfect image of him flashed into your vision; he was standing there in the pouring rain, his signature leather jacket slung over his shoulders, clad in his ripped skinny jeans and fresh t-shirt, the lazy grin that you had fell in love with resting on his lips had disappeared and his deep brown orbs were no longer twinkling and smiling in adoration like they used to:

“ Fuck, I can’t do this, Y/N.” He muttered quietly, staring down at the hard concrete floor in shame as the heavy rain showered both of your bodies, the harsh wind whipping your bare skin dry to the bone.

Inside your mind, all of your thoughts were racing like crazy in confusion and anxiety as you watched your boyfriend who could barely even look at you without flinching.

“ Jimin, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” You whispered softly and Jimin sighed, shaking his head before sadly looking back into your innocent eyes.

“ You don’t get it, do you?”

“ Get what?” You pushed on, exasperated. Why was he being like this?

No longer bearing the distance between you both, you reached your hand out to touch him but he quickly stepped away as if he had been burnt, rejecting any form of physical contact from you. And at that exact moment, you felt tears sting at the back of your eyes and a small piece of you cracked and died.


I don’t love you anymore, Y/N,” Jimin said, loud and clear enough for you to hear through the rain splattering on the ground. “ I don’t love you, not in the same way I used to. Everything has changed now.”

Thunder suddenly clapped, the rain heavily pouring down and drenching you both in cold water, the sky grey and lifeless, wind too strong and monstrous for you to think properly.

You blinked and a single tear drop trickled down your cheek, his words slicing straight through your heart inch by inch like a dagger made of fire. You desperately tried to move towards him again but he stepped further away from you, like he hated you.

“ No you’re wrong.. nothing has changed, I—you’re lying to me.. you’re lying-”

But he wasn’t. Jimin wasn’t lying.

Your bottom lip quivered uncontrollably  and it took every ounce of the strength you had left not to completely break down in front of him.

“ What did I do wrong, Jimin? Tell me, and..and I can fix it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, his jaw clenching in frustration at the sound of your broken tone and your big teary eyes that stared up at him, pleading, begging for him to tell you that none of this was really happening.

But as he stared in silence at the one beautiful face of the girl who was crying in front of his own eyes, Jimin knew what he was doing; he knew that this was the right thing to do. There was no other way, no turning back now. This was it.

“ You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N,” Jimin answered, his tone plain and monotonous yet still he was crumbling into dust at the same time with every word that left his lips, “ And there is nothing you can fix.”

“ I don’t love you,  I haven’t loved you for a long time,” He repeated again, the words stinging his heart as he gazed long and hard into your eyes, “ Because…” He gulped slightly and his voice cracked into a whisper:

“ Because I’m in love with another girl.”

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