heart rupture

You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt: Part 2

Part 1

Masterlist linked in bio

Growing up, people told Y/n that you could die from a broken heart—that the stress on your heart strings could weaken, and all that’s left is the pain in your chest.

Y/n thought her heart would fail her, rupture all that’s left of her and leave her body to decompose. She believed that, if her broken heart wasn’t going to kill her, loneliness and lack of sleep would push her towards her end.

Moving on—something that seemed so simple yet so impossible for Y/n to do.

When the hurt in her chest and the hallucinations from exhaustion started to become too much for her to handle, she was willing to do anything to help herself. She started taking up yoga sessions, started writing music, even started cooking in an attempt to bring herself back from whatever hell she was in.

She even considered moving on; meeting a man at a bar and getting to know more about him rather than his drink order. But something seemed so wrong about that—something was unsettled inside of her at the thought of being with someone who wasn’t Harry.

The image of Jessica in Harry and Y/n’s t-shirt was enough to haunt her nearly every hour of the day. She started going mental, constantly wondering what they were doing together in the moments she was most vulnerable. She wondered about their love life, their future, their interests. She thought about everything.

It wasn’t until Gabby was determined to mend the broken girl raiding her house, finding any possible excuse to give her a sense of life again, that Y/n found the slightest bit of hope.

Y/n was losing it, entirely, and Gabby refused to continue being a bystander.

Gabby had set Y/n up on a blind date only a couple weeks back, practically begging her to seize every opportunity she possibly can to get over Harry. It was all Gabby could do to help her, considering nothing quite helped Y/n’s well-being since the breakup.

“Oh, he’s just so perfect!” Gabby squealed, clapping her hands before gripping tightly around Y/n’s wrists in excitement. “He’s gorgeous! Amazing blue eyes—breathtaking, really! And he’s so sweet, Y/n! I haven’t met a single person who’s disliked him and he’s such an amazing photographer! And his teeth! His teeth are marvelous! Do you know how hard it is nowadays to find a man with nice teeth? I mean—“

By then, Y/n had dozed off, and it wasn’t for any personal reason against Gabby; she’s appreciated every bit of hard work to help her through the heartbreak Y/n’s been dealing with nearly half of a year now. It’s just that she wasn’t ready to move on, not that she didn’t want to.

It had been nearly five months, which may seem like such an abundance of time to rid feelings for somebody, but did time really help moving on from someone she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with? It seemed nearly impossible. She could barely see herself looking at other men in a romantic sense, how could she see herself going on a date with somebody? Especially when she was still in love with somebody else?

She was biting the bullet with letting time heal her, but she felt that was the only way. Nothing more could help her. If anything, she believed dating would make it worse, if she were being honest.

But the look of excitement Gabby had at the mere thought of Y/n being happy again was something Y/n found nearly impossible to resist. Besides, she had definitely been overstaying her welcome at Gabby’s house no matter how much Gabby’s tried to deny it and has put so much stress onto her that maybe, just maybe, doing this one favor for all that she’s done for her.

“So, what do you say?”

Y/n blinked harshly when Gabby’s voice drowned out all the scrambled thoughts in her head, shaking her head slightly to regain her understanding of reality.


“Monmouth Coffee Shop at noon tomorrow. Dan really wants to meet you, Y/n! Please!”

Y/n’s eyes widened, snapping her head up to meet Gabby’s hopeful eyes.

“The Monmouth?! Are you crazy?! That’s Harry’s favorite coffee shop, you know that! Dan and Harry probably know each other, that’s how much he goes there!”

Gabby’s eyes narrowed as her lips pursed, gaze directing toward the ceiling in thought.

“Harry? Harry who? I don’t remember who that is, never heard that name in my life.”

Her tone reeked with sarcasm, which made Y/n’s eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. As much as she wished Gabby’s negative remarks about Harry were comedic, there was always something about them that infuriated her. She always supposed it was the instinctual aspect of loving someone so much.

Gabby sighed as she reached her hand up to rub Y/n’s shoulder gently.

“Look,” she began, “you’re my best friend and I hate seeing you like this. You’re not the same Y/n I always knew, and I think you see yourself that way, too. And in all honesty, I don’t give a fuck about Harry anymore. As sadistic and twisted as it sounds, I don’t care about his emotions, or how he feels. He did this to you. He killed a part of you and I feel it’s my obligation to help you through this. So, please, go out with Dan tomorrow. He works at Monmouth, he’ll meet you before his shift starts at 1:30.”

Gabby’s arm slid off of Y/n’s shoulder at the shadow of uncertainty behind her eyes. Even though Gabby understood all the pain and hesitation, she didn’t want to see Y/n suffer another day. She just couldn’t.

“Please,” she whimpered, “Dan has been the only sense of hope I’ve gotten to make you happy again. Just do this one thing, please? And if it doesn’t work, then you can blame me. I’m just trying here.”

Y/n coughed slightly, her inability to say no wearing off of her at Gabby’s desperate pleads. It was an opportunity to turn things back around in her life, and if it didn’t go as planned, she really didn’t have anything more to lose.

She nods her head softly.

“Yeah—yeah, okay. I’ll meet him.”

Maybe this would be good for her.

Dan is lovely, always caring for Y/n and making sure she feels like loyalty whenever she’s around. He puts her first, in everything, and made a rule that the date can’t end until I hear you laugh at least six times.

It’s cute, really, how effortless he is at giving someone so much attention. Y/n likes it—loves it, even, but it still never feels right to her. She sees something with him, but nothing long term, not in the way she sees Harry.

But he’s good for her now, when she’s at her worst and needs someone to be there for her. He’s able to provide her with the company she desperately needs in order to cure the possible fatalities that came with her broken heart.

“Thank you for the coffee, it was great.” Y/n smiles softly, her cheeks blushing slightly as she traces the rim of her coffee cup.

It’s nearly their tenth date, and they still meet at the Monmouth at noon before his shift. It’s become a routine for them, meeting together at noon before Dan drops her off at the parking station. It became something they both looked forward to throughout their week, and soon became more of a tradition between them.

Dan grins, almost instinctively wrapping his arms around Y/n’s shoulders so that her head makes rest on his chest. He sighs, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head before resting his chin where his lips once were.

“Of course. I’ll be getting out at around 6 o‘clock so maybe I can stop by for a few? Maybe watch a movie?”

He knows the answer before she says it—his constant attempts to get closer to her always seeming to fail. There’s always a hesitation, or always an excuse to prevent them from being alone together.

He’s well aware that there are parts of her that need to be fixed, still being completely destructed by her ex-lover. He’s tried tirelessly to get her to open up and to trust him, but there’s a thick barrier still in their way of each other. It disheartens him, to know she refuses to let him in.

She sighs, guilt evident in her breath as she softly pushes away from him.

She does that often, he’s noticed it.

She feels horrible for doing so every time. Everything between them has remained stagnant, nothing being built so that nothing could be knocked down. It’s not that Y/n doesn’t trust him, it’s that Y/n doesn’t trust herself. She’s still in love with someone else, and she can’t hurt Dan—not in that way.

“I think I’m just going to—“

“Yeah, I know.” Dan nods, arms moving to cross at his chest, “I get it. Just like every other time.”

Y/n reaches her shaking fingers to brush her hair behind her ear, guilt flashing in her eyes as she refuses to meet his gaze. She’s familiar with the look he has on his face well enough to know he’s upset again, being constantly shut down by her.

“I’m so sorry, Dan.” She whispers, “But I’m trying. I want to keep trying with you. If you let me.”

He looks unconvinced, as he’s been hearing this for a while now. But something inside of him can’t quit her, no matter how much his intuition tells him she’s a dead end. Maybe he feels sorry for her on a level he’s never felt sorrow for somebody else. No matter how much she hides it, she really does need him. Not in a romantic level, but she does need him to show her that he cares for her and that he’ll always be there. She needs that sense of security, and he’s the only one that can provide it for her.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we can keep trying. It’s okay, I’m here for you.“

Harry had been living in his studio for the past couple of weeks. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but it was much better than sleeping on his and Y/n’s bed—alone.

That’s all he’s felt since their break up—lonely. It’s quite strange, considering Harry had millions of supporters, an entire band throughout his solo career, and producers around him nearly every hour of the day. He used to complain that he never had alone time anymore, that between all the constant traveling and being at the peak of his career, it was hard to find time for himself.

But now, in the midst of everything happening in his life, he wishes to feel that sort of hustle again.

Y/n was the person that kept him grounded through everything. She was the one consistency in his life, which gave him all the more reasons to love her. Whenever he was overwhelmed with the pressure put on him, or feeling homesick during his travels, she was always the one to keep him at bay and give him a sense of clarity.

Home hadn’t become a house, instead, Y/n’s heart. Wherever she was, he felt at home. Even when she was half way across the world, it was her voice that brought him back and reminded him that, no matter how much he missed the walls of familiarity, home was always a phone call away. She gave him that sense of comfort everywhere she went, it was truly amazing.

And when he broke up with Y/n, he didn’t think of how much everything around him would be affected. He thought time would do them best—would help mend the relationship that seemed to be collapsing beneath their feet. Their connections were lost, replaces by uncomfortable silences and unbarring arguments.

He didn’t think of the consequences when he did it. He didn’t think about how lost he’d become, or how he had no place to call home, or how there was no consistency in his life anymore. There were so many aspects of his life that Y/n had given him—so much of them that he didn’t realize until she moved out.

It was the exact reason he started dating Jessica. She was a great distraction, a beautiful woman to take his mind off of everything.

They weren’t much of anything. Nothing about them was exclusive besides what the media saw of them: boyfriend and girlfriend moving in together in London. It was far from the truth, really. He was with her to terminate his dry spell and rid his loneliness, and she was with him because he infatuated her.

He ended it all, though, that same morning Y/n found Jessica wearing their shirt. The entire incident gave him a realization; that nobody could fill his void like Y/n did.

The fear of losing her forever and making her believe he was in love with somebody else was enough to break him out of his selfish ways. She had been waiting for him for months, and when he returned, he wasn’t the same man he was.

Not only did Harry know that Y/n lost all her faith in him—he lost all faith in himself, as well.

“I’m so screwed, Nick. I fucked up everything. Everything.”

Harry was laying with his back flat against the studio couch, hands rubbing down his face as he tried to steady his harsh breathing.

It was just after he had run into Y/n at the grocery store, where she had seen Jessica wearing Harry and Y/n’s t-shirt. Although he was practically mute during the encounter, everything hit him at once after Y/n and Gabby walked out.

He called Nick in a hurry, incoherent and completely disoriented from the tears he’d broken down into. Everything he thought would be mended completely fell down on them—all because of him.

“Jessica was wearing the shirt with the—fuck, you know the shirt, and Y/n saw and she was such a mess, Nick. I didn’t even say anything to her, she was practically begging me to say something and I didn’t say a word.”

Nick sat cross-armed on one of the chairs, directly across from Harry. He wished he could have felt remorse seeing Harry in such distress, however, he never agreed with Harry’s actions and made it clear numerous times. In his eyes, this was karma’s ticking time bomb.

“You tend to be a real jackass sometimes, you know that?”

Harry lifted himself up so that he could sit properly. His body slumped against the back of the couch, head rested in his palm as he coughed uncomfortably at Nick’s choice of words.

“You let go of the best thing that’s ever happened to you and then you just move on, as if she meant nothing, and you think you just fucked it all up now? Over the goddamn t-shirt?”

Harry scowled at him.

“I haven’t moved on, and it’s more than just a t-shirt, you know that. That was ours.” Harry defended, glaring over at his direction.

“So why was Jessica wearing it after you fucked her on the bed you and Y/n shared every night for the past three years?”

Something about Nick’s words gave Harry a foul taste in his mouth. As much as he wished Nick didn’t say it in that way, that’s exactly what Harry did, and knowing he had to live with that for the rest of his life made his stomach flip inside of him.

He really did fuck it up. Nothing he did was excusable, nothing he did was forgivable. He betrayed the one woman he loved so dearly—the one woman he’d always consider his soulmate. He really, really fucked it up.

He gulped as he tried to find words to justify himself. There was really nothing he could say.

“She—she had just put it on while I was sleeping and when—when I noticed she just wouldn’t shut up about breakfast and I couldn’t just be like ‘Hey, Jess, could you take off that shirt? That belonged to me and my ex-girlfriend and I don’t appreciate it?’ How could I do that?”

He sighed, leaning his face into the palm of his hands as he looked back onto his experiences with Jessica. Was it all worth it? Was she really worth all of this?

“She means nothing to me, Nick. I lost the girl I love for somebody who doesn’t mean anything to me.” He whispered, “How do I live knowing that?”

It’s nearly two in the afternoon when Harry finally decides to leave his studio. He’s been working on some songs he found himself writing during his free time, something he found therapeutic throughout the past couple of months.

Recording and writing have become the only distractions that seem to work for Harry. Everything else became temporary. Writing out his emotions and singing the words he wishes he could say has been the only sense of closure he’s had in a while.

“Dan! Long time no see!” Harry smiles when he enters Monmouth, a familiar face being something he finds so relieving.

Dan looks up from his register, reaching over the counter to give Harry a hug as he greets him enthusiastically.

“Haven’t seen you in quite a while. On your lunch break?”

Harry nods as his eyes squint, reaching for the back of his neck as he reads over the menu.

“Yeah, kind of in a hurry today if you don’t mind. Can I just get a medium coffee with almond milk, please? And a slice of apple pie, feeling kind of brisk today.”

Dan works his fingers across the cash register, yelling out his order to the barista before making small talk about the weather. Considering Harry hasn’t been seen in Monmouth nearly as much as he used to, they both found it nice to catch up with each other for the short while they’ve been distanced.

When Dan reaches over to give Harry his spare change, an all too familiar silver ring catches his attention immediately. At first glance, he swears his heart stopped beating.

There’s no way, there’s just no way that could be the ring Harry gave to Y/n. Dan and Y/n have never met before, considering she had only visited here a handful of times during Harry’s lunch break. And even then, she would just stand patiently by the door while Harry waited to retrieve his order.

There’s just no way, but the top of the rose has a particular rust on it that resembles Harry’s perfectly—and no matter how long it’s been since he’s seen it, he’ll never forget what it looks like.

Harry’s hand grips onto Dan’s wrist instead of reaching out to grab the spare change laying upon his palm, flipping over his hand to inspect the silver ring snug almost too perfectly around his finger. He’s aggressive, movements harsh and face tight with anger, but at this point in time, the last thing Harry’s worried about is Dan’s slightly intimidated composure.

“Where did you get this?”

Unlike his demeanor, his voice is soft and breaking between each word. There’s an unrecognizable shift in his eyes when he sees the wear and tear Harry knows he caused before gifting it to Y/n. This is most definitely his, and knowing Y/n was the one who gave it to him makes him nearly throw up all the contents in his stomach.

“Girlfriend gave it to me,” Dan smiles “well, not really my girlfriend yet. But you know how they are. I told her I liked it and she insisted I have it.”

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, making him nearly whimper when he opens his mouth to speak.

He’s never felt so much pain before. The breaking that was once only in his heart spread like wildfire across every bone and ligament in his body. It burns, the sudden realization that Y/n has a boyfriend, that Y/n is no longer going to be there—waiting for him—the way he always expected her to be, that Y/n has taken it upon herself to seek revenge on him so that he can feel everything she felt that one Sunday morning at the grocery store.

And it’s then he realizes that this is nothing compared to everything he’s put her through. In his favor, this is just a stupid ring her gave her for her birthday because he loved the way she twisted it around his finger. It didn’t have much value between them, just something small they shared. He couldn’t imagine the hurt he would have now, standing her, if Dan were wearing their Lover t-shirt.

“Wh—What’s her name?”

His voice is in a whisper now, only the slightest bit of hope draining from his body when he hears Dan speak again.

“Y/n. She’s a good girl, you’d like her.”

Harry almost laughs. You’d like her. He has no idea, he’s in love with her.

It’s as if every part of Harry’s body begins to shut down. Maybe it’s from the shock, or the overbearing pain he feels in his chest, but he suddenly begins to feel lightheaded. His muscles turn numb and all his orientation seems to scramble as if he’s intoxicated.

Dan’s eyes narrow when he sees all the color drain from his face, his eyes widened and soaked with tears. He watches as he nearly falls backward, only to balance himself with his foot when he takes a proper step away from the counter.

“Harry? Harry, you alright?”

Never fucking say my name again is the first proper thought that his brain can register. But his throat is tight and his tongue is numb. He attempts to take a breath of air, but he feels like his lungs are collapsing in his chest, preventing him from doing anything besides stumble uncoordinatedly out of the Monmouth doors.

He’s falling apart—that’s exactly what it feels like. He feels like every limb is falling from his body as he walks towards his car. He doesn’t know exactly how he’s moving, even if he’s stumbling on his own two feet and colliding into stranger’s bodies as he does so, he doesn’t understand how his body finds the strength to keep moving.

Y/n moved on. Y/n’s dating Dan. Y/n gave his ring to him. It’s all over, everything is over.

“No” he mumbles frantically, jealously flowing in his veins, chest heaving from the sobs that are threatening to spill out of him, “no, no no no.”

He starts to wonder where he’s missed it, and exactly how long it’s been since Y/n moved on. She was so broken at the grocery store the other week; what could have possibly altered her feelings that quickly? Did Dan really impact her that much?

But that’s his girl. Y/n is his girl, she’s the one he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with. Even with Jessica, even with everything that’s happened, Y/n is his soulmate, and there isn’t anything in the world that can convince him otherwise.

Nobody is going to take her from him. He refuses to believe she belongs to somebody that isn’t him; there isn’t an atom in his body that doubts their companionship.

Before he thinks twice—before he really gives himself a chance to stop himself—Harry slides his cell phone out of his back pocket once he reaches his car. He slumps against the hood as his fingers work furiously across his screen.

There has to be something, at least some sort of proof that this is really happening to him, that this isn’t in a nightmare he can easily wake himself out of. There had to have been a hint, a warning for him to have. She would have never moved on without saying something to him. They were so strong together, she would have never left without closure.

Nothing about it makes sense.

And then, he sees it.

He falls to his knees, hitting the concrete harshly below him. His body gave out from beneath him, his muscles and bones failing him.

It’s there, right in front of him, mocking him and all the shitty decisions he’s made. It’s there—on Y/n’s private Instagram page—a picture of Dan holding Y/n’s hand on top of a table in Monmouth, Harry’s ring wrapped perfectly around his pointer finger.

Steele rose has never looked so good xx.


Originally posted by meredithmo

I know I promised more theories but I couldn’t help myself! Please remember it is fanfic-so try not to murder my heart and soul. :)

Nessian Part One by L.J. Lafleur 

It’s been sixty-one days, exactly sixty-one days since the war. Since the violent beginning met a grizzly end. Sixty-one days since I saw my sisters conjure more courage, more fight than I could, than I did. It would be daft to say the war didn’t change me. I just didn’t realize how much it would.

Staring out the window in my room, I could see the garden Elain had been working so diligently on. I would watch her as she spent hours perfecting the courtyard-creating a garden that would put the Spring Court to shame. I couldn’t speak to her. After I abandoned them when we arrived back, retreating to my room in their time of need, I couldn’t face her. Even now, through the distance and window pane, I could barely look at her. Feyre reminded me of mother and Elain, she reminded me of father. Both of our parent’s dead. Both death’s I’ve witnessed, I watched utterly helpless as they died right before me. Both reminding me of the horrid memories that I can never erase.

My feet moved me away from the window, sweeping me towards the small shelf with my favorite novels. Someone had built a shelf when I was bathing, just above the cozy filigree green and cream fabric chair, and stacked all the novels I treasured. How anyone knew of them, I’ll never know. I guess we all have our secrets.

Keep reading

& if we could dream,
the nights would pull
belief into the motion
that love can be measured
by the single distance it
would take to travel as
far away from your smile
as the trees,
the oasis of desire outlining
the novelty of your hand
reaching into my day,
& the wail of despair
I’ve grown to speak from
& still return with enough
change to be missed,

one day loneliness will fuck you

but the lover you desire
will be sweeping the
windows clean & the
sound of your heart
rupturing in choleric
meters rushing waves
to blackened Sunday’s

maybe these words
were meant to leave
my eyes & fill up
someone else’s
heart, & though every
voiced breath carries
you one step farther
from home -

the doors open, but
the feeling is long


anonymous asked:

A continuation of No Answers, perhaps? *gleeful*

“What are they going to do to you?” Obi-Wan frowned, staring at the gathered mob with the queen behind him, the young lady hands clasped together as her slippers slowly sunk into the wet mud and chilled her feet.

“Pain.” She offered simply, smiling ever so slightly.

“Pain, that’s vague. You understand I can’t allow that.” Obi-Wan’s frown deepened. “I’m not going to hand you over to them so they can torture you.” He shifted, lifting his saber a bit higher as he cursed himself for failing to negotiate.

“This is the way to appease them, pain.” She shrugged, purple eyes flickering over the Jedi’s form.

“It has to be your pain?” He grunted.

“Royal pain at the least. I am willing.” She shrugged.

“…Does the royal have to be from this planet?” Obi-Wan questioned quietly. “Or would an abandoned prince turned warrior and spiritualist be enough for them?” He turned to her, settling his lightsaber on his belt.

She stared at him, her purple eyes wide before softening into a sad expression.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Obi-Wan had a terrible weight in his chest as the woman smiled gently at him, reaching out with a delicate hand that she placed on his cheek.

“I’m just wondering how someone can love so much and yet lose everything they have ever fought for. I’m wondering how a soul remains so bright and so pure, when everything it has is torn from its grasp in the moment it seems so secure… I’m wondering how you remain the Jedi knight you are… when you’re enclosed in darkness trying to swallow all your light whole.” She offered, eyes moist. “Breaking apart at the seams you hide, stitching yourself in the dark when no one else is looking… oh you poor, brave little boy.”

Obi-Wan struggled against the thickness that was his tongue, wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her he was just fine. That she calling him a boy when she was so much younger then him was laughable.

But her cold fingertips on his skin seemed to silence him along with the glistening tears in her eyes.

“The day your soul breaks open, the day your heart ruptures, I do not wish to be there, for it will be a terrible moment.”

“Are you reading my aura my ladyship?” He tried to laugh, the sound came out hollow.

“Yes.” She smiled sadly, her eyes full of infinite wisdom.

“…What do you read in it?”

Her purple eyes flickered over his face slowly. “…Infinite sadness, inexhaustible loneliness and the verging of darkness.”

The first did not bother him, Obi-Wan had not expected a happy life as a Jedi but loneliness…

“An old man all alone in a sandy hut, far from what is familiar to him, gray and aged before his time as he watches the burning suns as the protector of one. The last self given task.” She whispered, these words meant only for Obi-Wan.

“Your highness…”

“Yes, they will accept your pain.” She sighed quietly and let her remove her purple cloak, a sign of her royal status.

Carefully Obi-Wan slid out of his own and took hers, smiling gently. “A Jedi’s life was never meant to be happy.” He whispered and then threw her cloak around his shoulders.


“…You let them torture you?” Mace sat back in his chair, staring at the young knight standing in front of them.

Unperturbed, Obi-Wan nodded. “It was the best solution to a none violent end to the entire civil war. Royal pain.” His lips twitched, a hollow smile. “I was impressed by the level of creativity they used though.”

The council exchanged looks.

“Knight Kenobi… you came back covered in wounds, both internal and external. You spent close to sixteen days in a bacta tank with healers fixing the worst of your internal bleeding.” Plo murmured, his voice terribly kind as he leaned forward, claws tapping together slowly. “We are Jedi, we sacrifice, but this is…”

“We give our lives for peace, justice and the Republic. What is a few days of torture?” Obi-Wan tried to quip.

His response was glowering from various member and pity from others.

No, no Obi-Wan did not want pity, he did not NEED pity.

“I am not broken.” He whispered.

“That… is up to a mind healer to decide.” Shaak offered quietly, leaning forward too. “Because effective from this moment, you are suspended from active roster until a mind healer clears you fit for duty again.”

Obi-Wan felt himself lose words, like evaporated water as he stared at the council members in his immediate line of sight.

And then his shoulders slumped as he bowed, silently agreeing to the council’s decree.

“Start tomorrow you will, alternative work in the temple you will be assigned.” Yoda added, his voice gentle. “The Creche always in need of able bodies are.”

Ghost - Final Part - Jungkook angst

Originally posted by jjks

This is it, lovelies! I’m so sad to end this, I kinda really loved Jungkook’s character in this series ): Either way, here you go, and I’m sorry for everything <3

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Final Part


It had been several months since you woke up, and Jungkook found that these months were possibly the best in his life. BTS were only gaining more and more popularity, winning countless awards teenage-Jungkook would have salivated over the mere sight of. The bonds between all the members were stronger than ever, and Jungkook’s friendship with you was only flourishing.

Since he had spent such a long time without you, he wasn’t going to waste any other time he could spend with you. He was not going to take you for granted anymore, and he’d be damned if he let anything get in the way of you two.

A loud burst of laughter woke Jungkook up, uncomfortably early on a Wednesday morning. His eyes peeled apart and he lolled his head over to one side to see Namjoon’s bed vacated; it was generally unusual for the leader to be up before Jungkook, so Jungkook wasted no time before clambering out of bed and pulling on whatever T-shirt he could find that didn’t stink of sweat. Unsure of whether or not the T-shirt even belonged to him, Jungkook padded out of the bedroom-

Only to be met with a spray of water to the face.

Coughing and spluttering, Jungkook wiped his eyes quickly and blinked around to see you, Hoseok and even Yoongi hunched over, cackling at the maknae’s befuddled expression. Jungkook couldn’t even move, too overwhelmed with shock from the sight of the two elder hyungs condoning your childish behaviour, and his jaw could have dislocated from the rest of his skull at the sight of the water gun held loosely in Yoongi’s hand.

He wasn’t able to gather his thoughts before he received another blast of water, courtesy of your water gun that was held in your dominant hand, and you burst into laughter again, turning and sprinting away down the hall from Jungkook’s grabby hands.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, half in annoyance and half in amusement at the volume of the borderline ugly laughter you were releasing. Hoseok was hot on your heels, the two of you thundering down the hall and out the front door that Jungkook saw was already propped open with one of the dining chairs. Cocking his head, Jungkook wasn’t far behind the two of you, aiming to disarm you of your plastic weapon and exact his revenge on you.

Yoongi wasn’t long behind Jungkook, and the youngests confusion only heightened as all four of your ran out into the lobby of the building and out the front door. You yelled, screaming at the temperature of the water that hit your back as Hoseok shot at you, and your legs sped up as you sprinted down the four steps, turning the corner and aiming down the street.

Jungkook was reluctant to follow, concerned with anybody seeing, but Hoseok and Yoongi were uncaring and merely followed you, shooting at each other. Jungkook shrugged and sprinted after the three of you, following the sounds of your laughter and screams. Eventually, you all rounded the corner and Jungkook could have dropped dead at the sight of Namjoon pinning Jimin down to the floor whilst Jin sprayed a never ending flow of water into his face.

Tae was gigging at the trio, half-heartedly trying to rescue his best friend from his hyungs grip.

“Hyung!” his voice was high pitched and whiny, and he yelled in fright when you launched yourself at his back, causing him to lose his balance and sent the two of you sailing to the ground. Tae received a face full of water from your gun and he spluttered before bringing up his own and shooting your straight into your open mouth as you peeled your lips apart to yell a war cry.

As you coughed the water back up, Jimin was able to free himself from his hostage situation and scampered over to Jungkook’s side, hiding himself behind Jungkook and using the younger as a human shield. Immediately, Jungkook was drenched in the water from three different water guns and he froze as the cool temperature soaked through his clothes and settled into his bones.

Without missing a beat, he yanked the gun from Jimin’s hands and aimed it at Namjoon and Jin who were close enough together that he was able to shoot them both at the same time. They yelled, and Jungkook switched his target to Yoongi who was trying his best to remain inconspicuous towards the back of the car park. Enraged at his sudden wet-cat state, Yoongi released a cry and started sprinting towards Jungkook, who yelled in return and took off in the other direction. Hoseok sprinted after you, and Seokjin and Namjoon were both trying to hold off Taehyung and Jimin.

The entire car park, despite it being a relatively frigid day in the middle of October, was drenched in water and filled with the childish screams of the adults who were scarcely dressed and running around after each other.

Even though it was a rather disruptive way to start the day, Jungkook couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle into his heart as they all traipsed back into the dorm, shivering and moving quickly to find dry clothes and defrost their chilly toes. Your hand was wrapped firmly in his, and he had a huge goofy grin on his face.

His stress levels were alleviated, and he knew that his hyungs stress was pushed back down too.

“Was this your idea?” he murmured to you, chucking one of his clean T-shirts at your face and a pair of shorts.

“Might have been. What of it?”

Jungkook merely hummed in response, not sure how he should word his gratitude. It was clear that all of them needed some time to relax and act like children, to put a break in their working, and he knew that you knew that. His heart was swelling in further adoration for you and all you did for their happiness.

You were too good for him.


It was later that evening and all members including you, were gathered in the living room around the TV, bickering about what film to watch.

Jungkook watched as Hoseok and Jimin were squatted on the floor, shoving each other playfully as they called for a vote on what film they should watch, having narrowed it down to their two options. Hoseok crowed in victory as his film was selected and he childishly stuck his tongue out at Jimin who was pouting on the floor.

Namjoon chuckled, ruffling Jimin’s hair as he moved past him, placing the huge bowl of popcorn on the table in the centre of the room.

“Oh God, not this one again.” you moaned, flopping backwards onto Yoongi’s shoulder dramatically.

“No complaining, majority rules!” Hobi yelled, leaping and cramming himself on the sofa between you and Jungkook. He wiggled in further to make himself comfortable and whilst Jungkook laughed at the elders excitement, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the twinge of annoyance in his chest.

He was quick to quash it down, however, at the sound of your laughter as you watched Jimin shove Jin, who was crouched down to place the DVD in the DVD player. The younger was quick to scuttle away as Jin was sprawled on the floor in a heap, placing his butt on the floor at Yoongi’s feet so he could lean against the elders legs. Jin could only mutter incomprehensible gibberish in anger, before he laughed at the innocent look on Jimin’s face and shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face in exasperation.

Namjoon laughed, coming to cram himself on the sofa too, on the other side of Jungkook. It was a tight fit, almost uncomfortably so, and Jungkook couldn’t help but stick his tongue inside his cheek and bite his lip lightly as he watched Yoongi reach up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.

Almost immediately, you pulled the hair back into your face and laughed at the pouty expression on Yoongi’s face, but Jungkook felt both pleased and concerned. He knew that the scar that stretched part-way down your forehead was still a source of self consciousness, but he loved it. He loved that it told a story of how much both you and he had been through. It was something special to him, even with the sadness and grief that was behind it.

“Hurry up, hyung!” Taehyung moaned, head lolling backwards as Jin took his sweet time to start the film. The elder straightened out and turned to see no seats available, cursing loudly again as he was resigned to sit on the floor.

“You kids are going to be the death of me!”

“Good-” Yoongi started to joke before he was cut off by you.

“You know we love you, Seokjin! Do you want to sit in my seat?”

Immediately, Jin protested but he ultimately lost when you stood up and shoved him down into your previously owned seat. Jungkook watched your form snake down to the floor and curl up slightly, and his heart swelled at the sight of your endless kindness.

He didn’t even have to think about it before he too slid off the sofa and onto the floor next to you, and he couldn’t bare to think about it as you smiled widely at him, tugging his arm so it was wrapped over your shoulders and you were cuddled into his side.

He could barely breathe through the beginning of the film in the fear of disrupting your enraptured state, but eventually his muscles relaxed and he even pulled you further into him. You snuggled your face into his chest slightly, resting your arm across his stomach, and Jungkook swore that his heart exploded, shattered, ruptured all at once.

Perhaps his infatuation with your was beginning to become unhealthy. Maybe he had a heart condition? That would be the only logical explanation as to why he felt like he was about to die.

You stayed right there, glued to his side, for the entirety of the rest of the film, even all the way past when your legs went numb from the hard floor. You didn’t really feel like moving, enjoying the warmth that he gave out. You weren’t entirely hating the way that his heartbeat would thrum erratically whenever you shifted even a few centimetres.

Yet another month passed in a similar fashion. Often, you would spring random surprises on all of the boys which would force them to let loose and relax slightly. He admired it, really, the way you exploited their competitive nature in order to have fun, but it wasn’t fun for him when he lost and had to do the dishes every day for the next week. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay mad at you for long when you insisted on helping him do the dishes, and apologised in the form of lamb skewers and as many spicy noodles as your arms could carry to the dorm every single time.

Or he was in love with you and couldn’t stay angry because he found you utterly precious. It’s all relative.

However, Jungkook’s bliss was frustratingly short-lived, again. It was a Thursday evening and you came bounding into the dorm, eyes bright and hair wild around your face. Your cheeks were flushed from the warmth outside, showing that you had been running to the dorm, and Jungkook could have sang in joy at the sight of you.

He was quick to sober up at the news that poured from your lips.

“I have a date tonight!”

He couldn’t believe it. Well, he could - you were absolutely flawless in his eyes - but there was a small, selfish part of him that was hoping you would wait for him. There was an even bigger part of him that wanted you to return his feelings, and confess to him first because he sure as hell did not have to balls to confess to you.

“I met him at work, and he’s so nice, really, he is! He made dinner reservations at eight and I have no idea what to wear, oh my God-”

Jungkook wanted you to stop talking. He wanted to shut you up somehow, preferably with his mouth, but he didn’t want to hear you gush about a guy that wasn’t him anymore. He wanted to turn his ears off completely, he wanted to be temporarily deaf, he wanted to kiss you, he wanted-

“That sounds great, Y/N, it really does,” Yoongi said, a mysterious tilt in his voice that Jungkook couldn’t even identify.. “And I don’t wanna ruin your moment, but I have to call Jungkook into the studio now and we’re gonna be a while, so…”

The request for you to leave was so subtle that there was no way you could have been able to tell that it was slightly acidic, slightly malicious. Thus, you left the dorms in the excited whirlwind of energy that you were when you had bounded through the door.

Jungkook was already drained of all the energy he may have had, and he turned in the direction of his room to sleep the rest of the day away, completely forgetting what Yoongi had said about the studio.

“Kid,” Yoongi called, and Jungkook froze where he was, expecting a scolding. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook shrugged, not trusting his voice at that moment.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

It was those words that sent tears cascading down Jungkook’s face, shoulders already trembling. A hand lay on his back, and Jungkook was brought into a hug so firm and warm that his sobs erupted from his mouth before he could even try to quash them down.

Sometimes, being an idol sucked.


Exactly four days later, at around midday, Jungkook was headed down to his favourite café to pick up orders for himself, Namjoon and Yoongi. The three of them had spent hours in the studio, not necessarily working but being together. Of course lyrics had been scribbled down and Yoongi had even had to rush to draw some notes that he thought would make a nice melody when pulled together, the job of an idol never really stopping, but it was nice and relaxing.

Now, Jungkook was on his way to the café a little further away from the BigHit building than others he could have gone to, but this other café was one he had been visiting with you for as long as the two of you had been living in Seoul. It was lovely and cosy, and the mismatched mugs really added a lot of character to the place.

He pushed the door open, heart warming already at the familiar tinkling noise of the old fashioned bell and the smell of coffee beans that hit his nose. The café itself never seemed to have a busy patronage, and even whilst he deemed the place worthy of more success than the Starbucks chain, the very quiet chatting only interrupted by the coffee machine soothed his heart and his soul. He made his way over to the counter in an unhurried fashion, wanting to prolong his time there. Even if he wasn’t with you in your special café, he still enjoyed himself.

Until, of course, he saw you. He saw you sitting there, cosied up with that fucking coworker. He saw you in the café that he thought was special to the two of you, and you had brought him there. He saw you sitting in the chairs that you and Jungkook shared for years, dubbing it ‘Our Table.’ He saw you there, and the very sight of you was enough for Jungkook’s heart to break all over again.

Of course this happened. How natural. As if the hands of Fate herself had twisted his reality into her playtime, to do with him whatever She wanted. Jungkook gritted his teeth and almost couldn’t choke out the three orders to the patiently waiting barista, and his fingers shook as he handed over his card. Even though he knew you hadn’t noticed his presence, the back of his neck burnt as if you were staring at him.

He was itching to turn, desperate for you to make eye contact with him so you could see how bothered he was. How betrayed he felt. He didn’t though, and he collected his coffees swiftly, turning and beginning to make his way to the exit.

He couldn’t, of course. Fate tugged at another of his puppet strings and ensured his day was even worse.

“Jungkook!” you called out to him from across the room, and his hackles raised slightly at the increased risk of being recognised out in the open. His head snapped to yours, a fire burning in his eyes at the compilation of anger, betrayal and fear, and he glared at you so fiercely from where he was that he was even angrier at himself for making you shrink back, dropping your hand from where you had raised it to wave at him. He didn’t hang around to chat, turning away and leaving behind only his coat tails, whipped behind the shutting door.

The frigid Seoul air was a little colder on his walk home.


Jungkook was exhausted. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you had smiled at the man that wasn’t him, laughing at something that Jungkook hadn’t said. His hands were gripping his pen far too tightly, but he didn’t loosen his grip at the way that you had even looked like you were wearing more makeup and that certainly wasn’t a dress he had ever seen.

Did you think you had to put more effort in for him? Did he not accept you for the perfect way you already were? Why did you feel the need to change?

Jungkook’s head was swimming with questions that he would never get the answer to, and eventually Seokjin had to pry the pen out of the sleeping boy’s hand and slide a pillow under his head.

Sighing from his position on the sofa, Yoongi wondered what the kid could have possibly done in a past life to deserve this emotional turmoil.

The next morning, Jungkook awoke with a stiff neck, no texts or calls from you, but with a fresh sense of objective; he would force himself to get over you, no matter how he did it, and that involved distancing himself.

You’d be fine with it, you had your new beau to keep you occupied in his absence (Jungkook wanted to choke at the thought.)

He changed your contact name to simply ‘Y/N’ and he deleted the messages from the previous day. He changed his lock screen from a picture of the two of you on one of your many fake Valentine’s Day dates to a particularly unflattering shot of Jimin, and he even clomped around his room, picking up any of the crap you had left there and putting it away.

He was serious about his new mission, and whilst he knew that it would take time and a lot of hurt, it was probably for the best. For the both of you.

For both of your benefits, he would become a ghost in your life just like you had in his.

It was on the fifth day that Jimin asked when you were coming round again, and the sixth day was when you called him for the first time. He didn’t answer, fearing that hearing your voice would make him long to see you even more, but you were relentless and called another few times after that. The sixteenth and seventeenth days were defined, just like all of the days before, by your endless amount of phone calls and pleading texts, voicemails that he never opened and promptly deleted.

Was he being too harsh…?

He shrugged, turning over in his bed to turn his phone off and place it back on his bedside table.

You would get the message, despite whether or not he sent you one.


Tears were streaming down your face and your knees were tucked up tightly to your chin. You could barely read the words on your phone screen, the pain in your chest almost becoming too much to bear with.

Not only had you just broken up with your colleague, but the other half of your soul wasn’t reaching out to help you.

Crying out again, you threw your phone onto your bed and screamed into your knees. Why was Jungkook being so stubborn?! What had you even done wrong? Why did you miss him like you’d miss oxygen after not breathing for three minutes? Why did everything feel so… Shit?

You sighed, hiccuping slightly, and pushed your hair out of your slightly sweaty face. The stupid boy; how were you supposed to tell him how you felt if he was ignoring you so absolutely?

Even the rest of Bangtan had opted to ignore your calls and texts, and you had never felt so isolated from your best friends. Had Jungkook told them to ignore you, to cut you out of their lives, or had they done this of their own volition?

Either way, you desperately needed to see your best friend, the man you finally realised you were so deep in love with that you felt like you were drowning. You needed to see him.

You had to see him.

Scrambling up, you grabbed your phone and house keys, forcing your feet into some shoes that you hadn’t bothered to undo the laces of earlier, and sprinted out of the door into the night like your very life depended on it. Perhaps it did.

One foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right… The sound of shoes slapping against the concrete of the pavement echoed around you and you were almost winded, still sprinting as fast as you could towards the BigHit building. It felt like deja vu, but this time the need was tinted with more of a desperate longing.

Hurtling through reception, you barely registered the sight of the bleary eyed receptionist on a late shift, slamming your thumb onto the button to call an elevator. Tapping your foot impatiently, running from elevator shaft to elevator shaft to check which one was getting to you the fastest, your eyes strayed to the nearby door that led to the stairs. Goosebumps erupted across your flesh and you decided that waiting for the elevator would be the best option. You didn’t want to revisit that stairwell any time soon.

Finally, after what felt like centuries, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. All but leaping inside, you slammed your thumb yet again against the correct floor button, hopping around like a madman, adrenaline surging through you.

This whole plan could go one of two ways, and you prayed to every single deity that smiled upon you to let it go right.  

You threw yourself down the hallway, nearly punching through the door in your eagerness to knock on it as loudly as you could. You hollered his name at the top of your lungs, trying your best to convey the urgency of the matter and begging him to come out. Aware that you were creating an incredible fuss, (having only a matter of time before an angry burly staff member physically removed you from the building) you could have cried in relief at the sight of your favourite boy, dressed in his usual crinkled pajama top and sweatpants, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and hair half standing vertical.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of you, tears streaming down your face and bringing your makeup with it. Your eyes were red and puffy, showing that you had been crying for some time, and Jungkook immediately ignored his promise to get over you and brought you into his arms and pressed your head into his chest, moving backwards into the dorm and gently shutting the door with his foot.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, kissing the top of your head and stroking your hair. Your sobs quietened slightly at his soothing actions, and tears fell silently down your cheeks, absorbed promptly by Jungkook’s shirt.

How could you have been so blind? Jungkook had been the only person by your side for years, all this time, even when you were in a coma. Why did it take you this long to realise that he was the only one you’d ever want by your side for the rest of your life? Why did it have to take a love confession from another and breaking their heart to realise that? Was this the kind of person you were?

“Jungkook,” you muttered, bringing your face away from his shirt and looking up at him. He smoothed your hair down, brushing some from your face, and smiled gently.


“Is it okay if I say something absolutely ridiculous?”

“You never asked permission to say something ridiculous before,” he mused. “How absurd are we talking?”

“Completely. Utterly.”

“Oh,” he blinked gently, then nodded, eyes softening as he stared at the way that your tears clung to each of your eyelashes. “Go ahead.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The effect was instantaneous.

Jungkook wasn’t that smart. He wasn’t clever in the way that some of his hyungs were, and he could own up to that. He was, for lack of a better word, shit at science in school and if he ever paid attention he’d be baffled the entire time. However, he knew what a supernova was. He was well rehearsed in what it was like to explode in a sudden mass of light and energy, but he did not, for one millisecond, think that his insides would explode much like one. Pure energy and light was radiating out of him, a smile lighting up his face like never before.

He didn’t think he could ever be as happy as he was the day you woke up, but not only had you proved him wrong, you had triumphed any kind of emotion that anybody in the world had ever experienced.

He was still staring straight into your eyes as this internal explosion was happening, but Jungkook didn’t care how weird that might be.

Did he even have a heart anymore? Had it fallen out of his ass or was it beating too fast to feel it properly?

“Jungkook?” you prodded, nudging him slightly. You were beginning to get concerned with the dazed look on his face and the twinkle in his eyes, a wide grin stretched across his face. It had been several minutes and he had yet to say a word in response to your impromptu confession. As embarrassed as you were at the lack of any reply, you were beginning to feel worried. “Are you… In there?”

“Hm?” He hummed, his eyes still completely glassy. “Did you say something?”

“I told you I’m in love with you and you said nothing.” A blush was creeping up the side of your face now, and his eyes cleared slightly as he continued to stare down at you, the grin still stretched across his face.

“You said that, yes,” he said, voice a little breathless.

“Okay so… What do you think?”

He didn’t reply again and you were growing restless. He was usually so talkative, what was wrong with him today? Had he hit his head or something?

Wincing slightly at the expression, you hit him gently on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, I asked you a ques-”

His head ducked down and he planted his lips so firmly onto yours that there was no way you were dreaming.

Immediately he pressed you against the front door, one hand bracing against the door by the side of your head and the other resting on the back of your neck, holding your head next to his. His lips were moving so gently against yours, coaxing your own into moving with his and eventually the two of you fell into a rhythm that made your heart beat twice as fast as usual. All you could feel was him, him, him, and it felt so right that your eyes filled with tears again. It felt like nothing you could even describe, all of your emotions hitting you at once.

All of the late night phone calls whilst he was on tour, all of the sleepovers, all of the fake dates on Valentine’s Day just so the two of you weren’t alone on the most romantic day of the year. All of the times he had called you in tears because things weren’t going right, all of the times he had comforted you when you had a bad day. All of the times you ditched everything and ran to him. All of the times he had cried for you when you couldn’t be there with him physically. All of the times that he had begged, prayed, called out for you to wake up. All of the happy moments, all of the sad moments, all of the tender moments; wrapped up into one kiss that neither of you ever wanted to end.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and letting your heavy breathing intermingle.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”


The end. Thank you.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Final Part

Summer House ~ Chapter 4: Confessions

Again I’m just floored by the positive response! All of you make this world a better place! 

Read it here or on AO3

Chapter Four: Confessions

 She stood there with her fingers slipping back and forth over the camera’s lens for what felt like hours. He remained posed like some Greek statue along the door frame of the bathroom door; while the leftover heat from the adjoining room gracefully highlighted the many rivets of his sculpted features. She gulped making his lips curve, her arms finally fell limply to her sides while he chuckled nervously, “That’s what you chose for self defense really?”

 Felicity babbled with a nervous sounding scowl over her full lips, “I, well…I…oh fuck it! What the hell? How? Why and, more importantly when did you come back from the fucking dead if that’s actually what this is!!!!”

 When his head shook droplets of water flew freely from the tips of his hair until they splattered down to the pale floors. Felicity’s ire waned when she heard him whisper, “I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you…” She kept quiet but something in her stomach jumped violently… whether it was positive or negative had yet to be determined.

 After she regained enough equilibrium to form a coherent sentence she suggested that he perhaps put on more than a fluffy white towel. She also remarked beneath her breath that for a dead man he looked incredibly hot for the second time in the span of five minutes. He of course appeared to have hearing like a bat and, rasped back almost inaudibly, “Well the years have been kind to you as well…”

Keep reading

The Past Repeats Itself

Captain America x reader. 

In which Cap manages to repeat past mistakes with new flames. Part 2 is expected soon. Feel free to give it a share if you like it - thank you!

There was a cold breeze ghosting across your bare arms, forcing fine hairs to stand upright to attention. The air weaved through your curled hair, lifting it up off of your shoulders which were covered with a fine fabric. Your long dress added protection around your legs, the green silk falling from your hips to the marble floor below you. Yes, it was cold, but after the day you’d had, you couldn’t feel it. Instead you felt numb.

An entire town in the south of France had been invaded by the Klene, an uprising terrorist group which preyed on the poor. Their aim was to wipe out the Earths impurities, and that meant every man, woman and child who could not afford a decent lifestyle. They were a large threat, larger than you all first anticipated. The Avengers had met their match, this mission was not one that could be beaten in a day. This mission would consume time that you could not spare.

You had managed to remove the Klene soldiers from the town, but left behind a large trail of destruction. Houses were ruined, people had still died, and the once beautiful scenery had been destroyed. Though some families had fallen to their knees, muttering words of gratitude, others had fallen to their knees, screaming in pain as they’d witnessed a loved one murdered before their eyes.

You took another sip of the champagne in your hand, followed by another, before swallowing the entire contents of the glass. The door behind you opened, the sound of the creaking hinges disrupting the pure silence surrounding you. A figure appeared at your side, and you didn’t have to turn your head to see who it was. The familiar scent of whiskey and cinnamon wafted towards you in soft amounts, creating a warm pool in your chest.

“I can’t believe you enjoy the taste of that.”

“I have a mature taste,” Steve said, his low voice still holding power and authority, yet his tone softer. You chuckled, looking across to him. His blue eyes were still bright even in the darkness. His small mouth curled upwards slightly, perfect white teeth peeking through. His smile was contagious, almost as if he exerted an aura of happiness. A stray piece of hair fell onto his forehead, the blonde strand reflecting the moonlight. You brought your hand up to the fine golden hair and moved it backwards, weaving your fingers through the quiff which sat (now) perfectly on his head. His mouth was pressed firmly in a straight line, his eyes showing an undetectable emotion. The khaki shirt he wore was buttoned down a little, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Your eyes found his chest, unwilling to stare back at the blue orbs.

Steve coughed. “Are you alright? After today?”

You smiled slightly, turning back towards the city. “As alright as I can be. How about you?”

He hesitated. “It’s not a great situation. But I know we can get past it. Right now we need to keep as many people safe, as possible. We cannot allow a repeat of today. Not again,” he sighed, swirling around the whiskey in the glass, the ice hitting the sides with quiet ‘clinks’. He then looked back at you, his glare causing your cheeks to warm up and turn a pale pink colour.

“I think you did amazingly you know? Without your orders… Natasha wouldn’t be with us right now,” you murmured. Your eyes found his again.

“Anyone would’ve done the same,” he mumbled.

“No,” you said, turning to face him. He brought his hands up to your shoulders, moving your hair off of your neck, and taking the ends of the shawl which was draped around you. He wrapped the fabric tighter around your body, in a small attempt to warm you up. “You’re the only Captain I know who would sacrifice his own safety”.

“You don’t know many Captains,” he smiled.

“I don’t need to, I know you,” you grinned back. His hands were still on your arms, his breath now visible in grey clouds. You felt those clouds hit your face, his nose etching closer and closer.

“Guys! The fire dancers are here!” Tony yelled, emerging from indoors. You both stepped back, looking out towards the neon lights once more. “Oh, did I interrupt?”

You turned towards the door, walking towards him. “Where are the fire dancers?” You said as you reached his side. Tony grinned, looking at your flushed cheeks and tangled hair, his squinted.

“Near the bar.” And with that information, you found your legs carrying you towards the bar and no further. You ordered another wine, touching your hot cheeks with your cool hands in a poor attempt to restore their natural colour. Doctor Banner appeared beside you.

“Ms Y/L/N,” he said, alerting you of his presence. His curly black hair showed signs of grey, yet it suited him. You saw the reflection of the bartender returning with your large glass of wine in the reflection of his thick glasses.

“Hello,” you smiled, “can I get you a drink?”

“I’m alright actually,” he paused momentarily, “I’ll need to check on Natasha shortly. Can’t risk the green,” he mumbled. Your smile grew wider.

“Oh really?” you teased, “how is she?”

“She’s fine, just recovering from the cell manipulation. She wants to come down later, but I’ve advised against it,” he told you, turning his body towards you. You took a sip of the yellow-ish sparkling wine in your hand.

“It’s nice to know you’re looking after her.”

“I didn’t lead the procedure-“

“I’m not talking about that,” you paused, “it’s refreshing to see her happy, and I mean genuinely happy.” I noticed the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and though he tried to supress it, he couldn’t. Bruce always had time for you, and was more open to discussing private matters with you, something that built up over years of friendship.

A loud applause was heard behind you; the fire dancers were beginning their routine. “And you?” He asked, clasping his large hands together in front of him, elbow acting as a support on the bar.


“Is someone looking after you? I don’t intend to pry, but I’ve noticed a few… interactions between you and the Captain,” he started. You caught sight of Steve over Bruce’s left shoulder, he was mid-conversation with some elderly gentlemen. They came to every one of Starks parties, and he was always in a deep conversation with one of them – whether it be about the war or the increase in reliability of modern day hero’s on technology which ‘was a real shame’. They spoke fondly of the old days.

Your heart beat quickened, and your palms began to sweat.

“I think I’ve got a guardian somewhere,” you chuckled, your mood being lifted at the sight of Steve. Funny that. Your mood always changed around him, a smile fixing itself on your face whenever he was near, your laugh getting a little louder, and your voice getting a little higher.

“He once told me that I shouldn’t wait for anything, and that he spent a long time waiting and it was a big regret of his.”

“Peggy,” you said, earning a small nod from Bruce.

“He’s still waiting, this time not for Peggy.” You looked back at Bruce, a little taken aback. It was as if your heart was caught in your throat.

“You mean…”

He nodded again, before quickly touching your arm and disappearing behind you, you assumed to find Natasha. You took another sip, finding that your mouth had become awfully dry. You waited a minute to compose yourself before starting towards the elderly gentlemen.

“Excuse me boys,” you announced, gaining their attention.

“Well hey there little lady,” one laughed, his voice familiar.

“Hey Stan, how’s the hip?”

“Ah. It’s not so bad, I’m still young at heart,” he winked, his glasses thick, making his eyes seem bug like. He wore an old baseball hat and bomber jacket, even indoors in the heat of the Stark tower.

“Of course you are, you don’t look a day over thirty.” The group erupted into fits of laughter. “I’m looking for Steve, have any of you seen him?”

“He went over to the bar to find someone, but perhaps you wanna stay in our company?” He smirked. You rolled your eyes and laughed, kissing his cheek before leaving them to their whiskey and scotch.

The crowd was dense, bodies everywhere. Several you recognised, many recognised you, but you tried not to get caught up in conversation with anyone. Right now your main mission was finding Steve, questions regarding your powers and personal life from strangers, could come later.

You then spotted blonde hair, the perfect blonde hair, and blue eyes, and pink lips. You swallowed. He was smiling that perfect smile, the one that made your heart skip, and palms sweat and… you know the rest. As your pace picked up a little, you saw he was with someone, a woman. She had long black hair, and was reasonably short. You didn’t recognise her, but you did recognise the look in Steve’s eyes. Your smile fell a little as Thor appeared by your side.

“Y/N! What a pleasure. I’ve been surrounded by earthlings for the last hour. Ha. As if they don’t know enough about me.”

“Hi, Thor, I was just going over to-“

When you looked back at Steve his pink lips were attached to someone else’s, and everything just stopped. Your eyes looked back at Thor who had noticed your change in demeanour, and they began to fill with hot, salty tears. Your hand clamped onto Thor’s forearm, as your knees weakened a little bit. He looked behind him, seeing the same image that had ruptured your heart. “Y/N…”

“I have to go.”

You pushed past him, trying to reach the stairs. For some unfair reason, your legs weren’t quick enough, and more bodies seemed to flood the floor just as more tears were begging to fall down your rosy cheeks.

You were so focused on staring at the floor for fear that someone may see you in this horrendous, vulnerable state, that you didn’t see the hard body step infront of you. “Hey Y/N,” Steve smiled. You were surprised he could seem so happy after what he had just done.

You stared up at him, and he immediately noticed your glossy eyes. “Oh, hi Steve, enjoying your evening?” you asked, tone laced with anger.

He reached his hand out. “Y/N what’s wrong-“

“Nothing. Don’t let me take you away from your female company.” He stepped back, jaw slack in surprise.

“What do you… Oh god. That was nothing Y/N, she jumped-“

“I don’t need to listen to you Steve. Not now. Just leave me alone.” You said, pushing past him. His hand caught yours, and you felt so enraged that your grip around the wine glass in your free hand began to tighten until a large crack stretched throughout the side of it. In seconds it was nothing but shards of glass on the pristine floor below you, surrounded with the little wine that was left. A few people turned to looks at you, cautious as to what the noise could be. Their stares lingered and you noticed Thor’s eyes watching you. Immediately droids appeared around you, collecting the shards of glass from the floor and hoovering up the wine. You shook out of his grip, sending him one last look, before turning on your heels and heading for the door.

Steve knew not to follow. And he didn’t.

Hey! Have something Moddy is working on outside her prompts lol!

“I’m just wondering how someone can love so much and yet lose everything they have ever fought for. I’m wondering how a soul remains so bright and so pure, when everything it has is torn from its grasp in the moment it seems so secure… I’m wondering how you remain the Jedi knight you are… when you’re enclosed in darkness trying to swallow all your light whole.” She offered, eyes moist. “Breaking apart at the seams you hide, stitching yourself in the dark when no one else is looking… oh you poor, brave little boy.”

Obi-Wan struggled against the thickness that was his tongue, wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her he was just fine. That she calling him a boy when she was so much younger then him was laughable.

But her cold fingertips on his skin seemed to silence him along with the glistening tears in her eyes.

“The day your soul breaks open, the day your heart ruptures, I do not wish to be there, for it will be a terrible moment.”

“Are you reading my aura my ladyship?” He tried to laugh, the sound came out hollow.

“Yes.” She smiled sadly, her eyes full of infinite wisdom.

“…What do you read in it?”

Her purple eyes flickered over his face slowly. “…Infinite sadness, inexhaustible loneliness and the verging of darkness.”

ariana-koala  asked:

78 slav&shiro pls

“You weren’t supposed to hear that!”

well i went a little overboard with this, holy shit. 1100+ words.

Shiro has his back pressed against a wall, breath still as he listens.  He can’t hold it for much longer, but he has to hear the conversation inside the room.

“—you sure?” Hunk’s faint voice drifts through the metal walls, and another bout of guilt wells in Shiro’s chest.  He knows he’s not supposed to be eavesdropping; that’s hardly a way to keep trust from his teammates.  But he’d heard his name, and…

“There’s only about a two percent chance that I’m wrong about this,” Slav announces, his voice. “And if I am wrong, it’d be wise to seek medical attention.”

Hunk laughs, not unkindly. “You’re not gonna die from this, man.”

“The squeezing of my heart is almost certainly a threat to my health,” Slav says, “and the frequency at which these palpitations occur is rapidly increasing.”

Almost as if in prediction, Shiro’s heart rate speeds up.  He can feel his chest getting tighter as he listens, trying to figure out what the conversation is about.  He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions—there’s no way he’d be right anyway—but the thoughts he’s having don’t seem to listen to reason.

“Well,” Hunk says, drawing Shiro away from the ideas dancing in his head, “I’m sure you’re not sick or anything.  You’re probably right about this.”

“There are still about thirty-three realities in which I am sick and just making all of this up,” Slav counters, and Hunk laughs again.

“That doesn’t mean this is one of those realities.  Go talk to him; tell him how you feel.”

There’s a shuffling behind the door, and Shiro reacts too late.  He pushes himself off the wall in an effort to get as far away as he can, but as the door opens, he trips over his feet and lands face-first onto the metal flooring.


Keep reading

Dianakko~ Sick Of Losing Soulmates

Part 8/???

Story so far: (1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(5.5)(6)(7)(8)

Summary: In a world where you can find out who your soul mate is with their final breath, it is reasonable why Diana grew up to be who she is now. (Soulmate Au- where they are words of soulmate’s is on your skin of when you first meet them or your last)

A/N I’M BACK~ Most exams went well and I’m now on my summer holiday so I’m going to try and write as much as I can cause I got so many stuff planned after this story :3

Chapter 8~ The Third day

Keep reading

Hemopericardium: Caused by bleeding into the pericardial sac. The cause of this may be penetration by a sharp object or projectile, blunt chest trauma, rupture of the heart wall as a result of mitral valve problems or damage to the myocardium following a heart attack and rupture of an aneurysm or dissection of the aorta.


It takes a few minutes of thrashing about, the fear cutting deep enough to choke him of coherency before Dazai makes him look, really makes him look him in the eye. 

That’s all it takes. 

Ivan Goncharov is good, but he’s not this good, couldn’t in a hundred thousand years replicate the light in Dazai’s eyes at seeing Chuuya again, even if he’s a mess, even if he looks like he’s been dragged to hell and back he still looks at him like he’s the world held in his arms. 

Keep reading

ABSTERGO* SasuSaku fic inspired by Chapter 693

It’s been a very long time since I wrote any SasuSaku based on the canon, manga universe. This one shot is inspired by the latest Naruto chapter, 693, in which Sasuke places Sakura under genjutsu to stop her from following him and Naruto and interfering with their battle. Warning – major angst.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.


 abs.tergo - Latin - (verb)

1. To banish, expel, dispel

2. Wipe off, clean away, cleanse


She saw her death at his hands.

It happened in a heartbeat. One moment, she had been hopelessly professing her love – so pitifully, so desperately – and the next, he had struck, with all the swiftness and callous brutality of the lightning element he so proficiently commanded. She had merely blinked – and he had been there in an instant, surging forward in graceful, fluid motion towards her.

Her startled brain had only a fraction of a second to register just how close he suddenly was - before indescribable pain exploded behind her eyes, staining her vision to red. It was agonising. Crippling. A level of pain she hadn’t thought it was even physically possible for the human body to endure, much less survive. 

But of course, that was the entire point; she wasn’t meant to survive. Sakura saw her death - but even as his hand stabbed with ruthless force through her chest, spearing through flesh to puncture her heart, rupturing the organ beyond repair and shattering her entire existence to fragmented pieces - all she could see were those haunting, tragic eyes.

Mismatched, unfamiliar – yet still achingly his – holding her captive to her last, raggedly drawn breaths.

She saw the way they lowered after a moment, as if refusing to meet hers – as if incapable. And all she had been able to think about, then, as her lungs had rattled from the blood rapidly pooling into them, were those last, torturous words that echoed almost tauntingly in her ears.

‘You really are… damned annoying.’

Those five words hurtled her mind back four years into the past, flung her into her twelve year old self’s body again, to a cool, early-autumn night, under a starry, midnight sky. To a cobbled-stone path, and the sound of sniffling sobs and the feel of her voice breaking with emotion as she’d pleaded with him, with every fibre of her being, to stay by her side.

Those words dragged her back to the moment when he had finally shifted to angle an almost sardonic glance over his shoulder at her. To the moment those lips, ever set in a firm, serious, unyielding line, had finally relaxed into a slight, amused smirk that had caused her breath to catch in her throat.

You really are… annoying.’

They’d taken her back, to the memory of his presence and warmth, as he’d stood so close behind her.


An excruciating pause, one she had regretted ever since – because she should have used those last few seconds of silence to move, to act, to turn around, to throw her arms around him – but instead, every muscle in her body had locked, frozen her in position – a helpless prisoner to the quiet, silky smoothness of his voice.

‘…Thank you.’

And just like that night, all her present self could think about was the slight, almost pained smirk he had given her this time; so different to the last - yet it had accompanied almost identical words.

His parallel response to her second confession had whispered assuredly to her that as astounding and impossible as it was, he recalled that night with as much indisputable clarity as she did.

And he’d permitted her no more than a mere second to acknowledge the weight and significance of that realisation - and what it had to mean that he remembered-a mere second alone to feel her heart leap and her stomach flutter – before he had lunged in for the kill.

The physical trauma, however, of having a hole torn in her chest as if her body was nothing more than paper was nothing compared to the mental and emotional anguish that followed the realisation that it was Uchiha Sasuke - the boy she had loved so desperately, for what had felt like her entire life – that was the one to stop Sakura’s heart beating.

S… Sasu-ke… kun…” his name fell in a senseless whisper from her lips one last time, before the tangy taste of copper filled her mouth and began to choke her.

It was only fitting, in a way; she thought numbly to herself - as he wrenched his arm out from the fatal location in which he had impaled her, with ruthless, merciless force - that she would meet her end at his hands.

For he had already killed her so many times before. For every time he had left her side, left her far behind, and slipped further and further away from her, traversing increasingly darker paths that she could not follow, she had died a thousand deaths.

This was merely the final one. The most absolute.

And as her trembling knees collapsed under her - sending her crumpling to the rocky ground like a lifeless puppet clipped of its strings - Sakura’s mind broke under the unbearable strain of the torturous knowledge that her greatest nightmare had come into full fruition.

Dying, leaving the world behind, leaving him… without being able to pull her troubled, former teammate from the oozing tides of darkness that were swallowing him up, even now, dragging him deeper and deeper into sinister depths that he would not allow her to reach.

Failing before she could save him.

As her eyes closed, she saw his beautiful face – the face that had enslaved her to such a wretched, cruel fate - drift through her fogging mind one final time. She saw, once more, the almost bitter, rueful smirk he had angled over his shoulder at her, split seconds before he had so viciously attacked without warning. And Sakura almost completely surrendered to the blackness, as the searing pain in her crushed heart and body begun to ebb, at last, into the merciful nothingness of death.

Her body and soul destroyed by the trauma of meeting her demise at the hands of the very man she loved more than anything else in the world, Sakura almost succumbed – but then she unexpectedly heard his voice whisper fleetingly, distantly, inside her head.

Like a passing breeze, like the slightest of brushes, it spoke to her, a brief caress.

Hate me, Sakura, it willed.

The words seeped through her brain like venom, seeking to impose their iron command on her consciousness and authority over her thoughts and senses. They sought to bend, to warp, to erase and alter and grotesquely disfigure emotions, to secure absolute obedience.

That was when something finally snapped, near audibly, in Sakura’s mind. That was when she realised and she knew. And suddenly, her mind was fighting back, screaming and clawing and battling against the steely chains that contained her.

Never! I never will!

And that was when – with frightening strength – the furious fire of her chakra network roared into being inside her, flaring so brightly and blindingly and with such abrupt, inextinguishable intensity that its sheer force warded back the encroaching shadows, singing and burning them until nothing else was left but righteous, pure light.


Hatake Kakashi’s dejectedly bowed head lifted at the thoroughly unexpected sound of the young woman suddenly stirring beside him. He blinked in astonishment; sharply, he sucked in a breath, not daring to hope it was possible.

But as his awed gaze flew to rest onto her slender form, he saw that it was true; Haruno Sakura was breaking out of Uchiha Sasuke’s genjutsu. Breaking free from the highest level of illusionary technique, which Kakashi knew, for a fact, Sasuke had slammed into her with the sole intention of keeping her down and out of the way.

“Sakura!” Kakashi reached for the rose-haired girl, gently placing a hand atop her left shoulder. The tense lines marring the smooth skin of her forehead openly conveyed the violent, internal struggle raging within her mind as she fought to dispel the illusion inside which the last of the Uchiha had tried to imprison her.

“Interesting,” Otsutsuki Hagoromo remarked as he observed her. “Genjutsu cast by the rinnegan is much more potent than its Sharingan form. A remarkable young woman she must be, to be able to free herself from its mental shackles.”

A surge of fondness and pride swelled inside Kakashi’s chest as he watched the only female member of his team battle to regain consciousness. Yes; there was no question about it. She certainly was remarkable.

Come on, Sakura! He silently urged. He knew she had the strength to do it; the purity of her feelings surely could not lose to the chaotic darkness of Sasuke’s will. Kakashi believed in her – in how much she had grown and how hard she had fought to earn her position as a respected kunoichi in her own right within the Team 7 dynamic, from under the shadows of two of the most naturally gifted and powerful shinobi Konoha had ever produced.

And he felt his eyes sting, as she released a sudden, painful gasp, and her green, green eyes flew open at last, disorientated, unfocused, brimming with tears but awake.

“A remarkable woman, indeed,” Hagoromo repeated.

“Sakura,” Kakashi gingerly helped her to sit up, supporting her weight somewhat awkwardly as she leant back against him. “Are you alright?”

His heart constricted when she simply wept in response, floods and floods of sobbing tears that only caused the bitter disappointment in his chest at the way things had unravelled to intensify.

If only he had tried harder to talk sense into Sasuke, all those years ago.

If only he had paid more attention to training Naruto.

If only he had been better able to protect Sakura from the same depth of misery he personally knew unrequited love could so cruelly bestow – instead of feeding her false promises that everything would go back to how it had been.

Perhaps it was only fitting for someone so short-sighted, Kakashi sorrowfully found himself thinking, that he had lost the powerful eyes Obito had gifted to him.

The guilt of his past failures and present uselessness was like a crushing burden on his shoulders. He could do nothing and say nothing – only watch, powerless and defeated, as Sakura cried woefully into her palms.

He could only guess what distressing image Sasuke had chosen to inflict upon her as he’d cast the genjutsu – one certainly harrowing enough to leave her in such a dispirited state. He swallowed thickly, the same anger that had prompted him to confront Sasuke immediately after he’d knocked poor Sakura out burning in his chest once again. The unstable boy’s unjustifiable treatment of a selflessly dedicated girl who had only ever wanted to give herself entirely to him was completely unacceptable. Sasuke had crossed the line the moment he had attempted to take her life – the same life he had always so valiantly protected in the simpler days before he’d defected from Konoha.

Sakura had shed blood, sweat and tears for the young Uchiha, risking her life on numerous occasions, pushing her body to its limits repeatedly. Her devotion to him was absolute, unwavering. The kind of patient, pure devotion that he knew Sasuke would be hard tested to find in anyone else. It pained Kakashi, to see her hurting so much because of the heartless actions of someone so ungrateful, so unworthy of her affections. But he knew, only too well, that love was an emotion that could not simply be switched off or discarded, the way Sasuke seemed to so adamantly and foolishly believe.

Suddenly, Sakura stopped crying. Just like that, the tears ceased. Sniffling, she lowered her hands and wiped at her red-rimmed eyes. The clarity and focus had returned to her gaze – but her expression remained strained with anguish.

“Thank you, Kakashi-sensei,” she murmured, taking her own weight again. “I’ll be fine, now.”

“Sakura,” he said. He thought briefly of the unkind, disrespectful words Sasuke had voiced about her feelings for a moment – then decided she didn’t need to know about them. Instead, he informed her, “They’ve gone. All we can do now is wait and hope that Naruto can make him see sense.”

She was silent for a long minute, her head bowed. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet. A concerned Kakashi noted the way her body seemed to tremble – the after-effects of the genjutsu still lingering.

Sakura stared ahead at the empty, rocky plain ahead of them. Then her eyes rose to the sky, where she noted the ominous storm clouds gathering.

“After the rain,” she said quietly, “comes the sun.”

“…” Kakashi’s eyes lowered. Still, she held onto hope. His eyebrows drew together, pained. There was no doubt that he believed in Naruto and his resolve.

The question was - could he trust that Sasuke would finally recognise the errors of his ways and withdraw from the cloak of irrationality that had him shrouded in its dense grasp before he mortally wounded Naruto – or himself?

It alarmed Kakashi that he couldn’t quite be sure. Sasuke seemed to be so far gone…

“Don’t worry, Kakashi-sensei.” As if sensing his uncertainty, Sakura turned to him, a small smile curving her lips. His eyes lifted to her, his own mouth twitching underneath his mask at the irony of the situation.

How the tables had turned. Now she was the one reassuring her old teacher.

“Everything is going to be fine,” she went on with conviction. “I’m going to make sure,” she added softly.

His amusement immediately vanished, replaced with instant alarm. “Sakura,” he warned sternly. “There’s a reason why Sasuke placed you under genjutsu. He knew you’d try to follow. Don’t do anything reckless!”

But Sakura didn’t seem to hear him. She was staring ahead again. He caught the familiar, steely glint in her eyes, the way her jaw suddenly set and how her hands curled into tight fists. He recognised that look – the fiery determination and resolve. And it frightened him, to realise what it was she had already settled on doing, knowing that he hadn’t the strength or chakra reserves left to stop her.  

“This isn’t like back then, on the hospital roof,” Kakashi went on almost desperately, his words pleading for her to see reason. Even when a part of him knew it was hopeless. Just like her teammates, Sakura was infuriatingly stubborn. “With their power and abilities, Sakura… if you were to get in the way-” he broke off, the remainder of the thought too terrible to articulate.

Last time, he had been able to protect Sakura, been physically able to prevent Naruto and Sasuke from causing a tragedy that would have crushed them both. This time, however, he knew he could not.

“Don’t worry, Sensei,” Sakura assured him once more, her expression hardened. Grim. “I’ll make sure they come back.” She lifted her right fist, as she pledged, “Both of them.”

And with that, before he could say anything else to dissuade her, she bolted forward, away from the safety of his side.

His pounding heart leapt fearfully into his throat as horror washed over him. No! He’d already lost everything once before. He couldn’t, again!

He couldn’t lose all three of them!

“Don’t, Sakura!” he yelled, scrambling onto his feet, managing only several pitiful steps before his body once again gave up on him, forcing him back to his knees. “Damn it!” he hissed in frustration, looking up just in time to see her back disappearing further away into the horizon. Panic exploded inside him. “No! SAKURA! Come back!”

Her words echoed torturously in his ears – the last words, he realised with a dawning sense of dread, he might ever hear her utter.

‘I’ll make sure they come back. Both of them.’

He didn’t doubt the sincerity of her promise. But as she completely vanished beyond his line of sight, Kakashi frantically wondered at what cost she would deliver it.


The more the fight wore on and the more wounds they both sustained, the more exhaustion began to creep over Sasuke. Already worn out from the previous, lengthy battle they’d waged with Kaguya, he felt every muscle in his body scream in protest and resistance as he once again channelled a stream of Chidori into his left palm.

This was it, he knew, as he watched Naruto summon a rotating orb of his own signature Rasengan attack opposite him. He could feel his reserves dwindling into their lowest limits. He had next to nothing left.

This would be the final clash. It was almost nostalgic, he thought, one corner of his mouth tilting in what wasn’t quite a wry smirk – for he was far too tired to managed one – that despite their spoilt wealth of newfound abilities, they would both call upon their original techniques for the last collision.

Their intense, deadly scuffle had spanned over an hour, blown off rocks and debris from the mountains around them. The black flames of Amaterasu still crackled in the locations Sasuke had directed them. Whenever he’d felt he was finally getting the upper hand, Naruto had pulled out a last-second response. He’d met and matched everything Sasuke had thrown at him – and vice versa.

They’d fought and fought, and the longer it dragged out, the more Sasuke had realised that Naruto’s words were starting to get under his skin. Like iron pellets, they hailed down upon his armour, chipping and chipping and chipping tirelessly away, leaving weeping, narrow chinks that were starting to worryingly widen.

Sasuke swallowed thickly. No, he thought furiously. He would bring about his revolution! He owed it to the Uchiha Clan – to his mother, his father, to Itachi – to ensure the ninja world was reformed. And that could only be done under his rule as Hokage!

He was not going to let Naruto take that away from him – even when a small part of him was starting to lose the will to continue – was starting to question whether it was all really even worth it.

The part of him that was so exhausted – physically, mentally, emotionally – the part that just wanted to give in, to run straight into the path of Naruto’s whistling hurricane attack and succumb to the permanence of death.

Because at least, in death, he would no longer feel the aching burden of the pain he had already shouldered beyond his limits; at least, in death, he would no longer have to think.

The more he contemplated it, the more his body yearned for it.

Naruto’s eyes widened. He saw the barely perceptible sag in Sasuke’s posture that openly betrayed his fatigue. And still, he refused to give up hope or belief.

“You know I’m right, Sasuke!” he shouted across at the young man he still considered his best friend, his brother. “You know this is madness! I warned you once before; if we do this, we both die! We don’t have to take this final step! Let me help you!”  

“Shut up, Naruto!” Sasuke snarled, the stream of electrical energy screeching more loudly in defiant response. “I don’t need your help!” He reared back to strike. Naruto’s heart shrank at the cold, unbridled rage and seething denial he glimpsed in those mismatched eyes.

“I don’t need ANYONE!” Sasuke screamed – and then he lunged at full speed, straight at the blond, his left arm extended, lightning energy flaring and hissing destructively at his palm.

“SASUKE!” Naruto yelled, equally as frustrated. So it had come to this after all – he’d stop Sasuke with his own life!

The cyclone orb in his hand picked up speed until it reached full momentum and destructive force. Naruto hurtled himself forward, extending his right arm in a motion that mirrored Sasuke’s, his pulse thundering as he prepared himself for the inevitable end – and the explosion of pain that would accompany their last collision.

He was ready. In his mind, he had already prepared for this outcome, a long time ago.

Their ears were filled with the deafening shrieks of their elemental attacks. Yet somehow, over the howling of wind and the crackling of lightning – they still heard her cry.


Naruto’s widened eyes met Sasuke’s in a look of abject, wordless horror. His gaping lips were moving – but Sasuke didn’t hear his words.

All he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears. Nothing could have prepared him for the devastating way his heart lurched at the realisation that she had somehow, against all the odds, managed to dispel his genjutsu.

It was impossible; he scoffed disbelievingly to himself, utterly stunned as he finally caught sight of her slight form, racing directly into the path of their attacks like an incoming, targeted missile – just as she had done at the age of twelve.

Déjà vu slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as the same, senseless panic that had crippled him back then overtook him once again. 

Except this time, it was even more frightening in its intensity.

Because this time, he knew she was alone – and neither Kakashi, nor anyone else, could redirect the unstoppable force of their attacks.

How? How? He was enraged at himself, at her for her reckless, annoying stupidity. What had he done wrong?!

“SAKURA-CHAN!” Naruto’s frightened, hysterical scream was blood-curdling. “NO! GET OUT THE WAY- WE CAN’T STOP-

He heard someone else yell at her, in a tone full of such sheer desperation, that it shocked Sasuke to register that it was his own voice shouting.

“Sakura, MOVE!

But he could see that as always, she had absolutely no intention of listening to him. She continued forward, her eyes burning bright like luminous green flames. The tears that had plagued them at twelve were non-existent. All Sasuke saw instead was a fierce, fiery resolve.

And he realised then, from the pure determination in her features – that there had been absolutely nothing wrong with the genjutsu he had cast. She was there, through no fault of his; he’d shown her the image of what he had known for a fact had been her greatest nightmare – her murder at his hands - in the hopes of breaking her mind, of making her detest him, the way he deserved to be hated, after every deplorable thing he had ever done to hurt her.

He’d intended for his genjutsu to keep her down until their battle was over – to prevent her from doing precisely what was happening at that very moment. Because he had anticipated Sakura’s careless intervention – and that was why he had felt it necessary to disable her. For her own safety – to protect her from him. Sasuke had specifically programmed the illusion to automatically dispel at his return – or Naruto’s. Because one of them, he had reasoned, had to make it out alive.

He just hadn’t quite bargained on Sakura’s natural genjutsu know-how manifesting itself so powerfully. He’d hit her with the strongest illusion he could – what else could he have done? He thought that fate was cruelly coming full circle and mocking him, because she had not only actually managed to break out of the mental prison, but had arrived just in time to launch her body between them once again.

I WON’T LET YOU KILL EACH OTHER!” she screamed, raising her arms as if to ward them both back. “STAND DOWN! NOW! BOTH OF YOU!”

Everything seemed to happen in sickening slow motion, then – Sasuke watched, powerless to stop the momentum of his hurtling body, powerless to call his chakra back in time, as she arrived directly between them at the precise point of impact.

Except Naruto, in one last-gasp, mighty effort, managed to jerk himself marginally to his left, to graze the bulk of his attack just short of her left shoulder. The hurricane cyclone flew from his palm, striking the ground where it exploded, causing rock and debris to crack all around them as the blond slammed sickeningly into the ground, stomach first. He lay there, dazed, unable to divert Sasuke – or help Sakura.

The blood in Sasuke’s veins froze and icy fear prickled down his spine. Dread knotted itself in his stomach as he attempted to do the same as Naruto had. But he couldn’t shift. Not even an inch. Lightning didn’t move once aimed; his deadly element was set to strike its targeted location. In pure, mindless desperation, he tried to engage his rinnegan, to swap her position, despite knowing for a fact that his chakra reserves were all but spent. It was hopeless. He could do nothing but look on in horror, as her eyes turned to his.

And they were not filled with the anger and hatred he had so desperately wished to find, which would have been the tiniest consolation to him – but rather, they were swelling with love.

The same strength and depth of love she had professed tearfully to him, that had caused his treacherous legs to tremor and halt, that had made him realise just how dangerous she truly was in how profoundly her words and emotions were still able to reach the part of him he had believed he’d closed off forever.

Even before his hand drove lethally through her chest, Sasuke’s mind – and anything else that was left of him – shattered. Someone was screaming – he didn’t know if it was him, or her making such terrible sounds - and then pure chaos ensued, as lightning energy exploded, blinding his vision.

When the chaos ceased, Sasuke opened his eyes to find her crumpled on the ground beneath him. His hand was still embedded inside her mortally wounded chest, and her body convulsed as the remnants of the Chidori stream jagged through her system, before sizzling out.

No. His heart thundering, Sasuke yanked his arm out of her. It was stained crimson with her blood. He numbly thought that he had never seen so much blood – not since the day of his Clan’s massacre.

He scarcely even registered that his entire body was shaking.

No. No!

Her long-lashed eyes were still open – but glazed. There was no life in them – nothing but the pools of tears that were already drying from their outer corners.

Not her, his reeling mind rejected unthinkingly. Not Sakura!

His gaze had frozen onto her face. Somehow, he just couldn’t look away. The unspeakable horror of what he had done and what he had allowed to happen was suffocating, asphyxiating, made it so difficult to function, to breathe. He was silently choking on air. Choking. And at that second, all thoughts of a revolution – of anything else – evaporated from Sasuke’s head. As if he could no longer make sense of anything; as if he suddenly couldn’t remember why he had even started such a stupid, meaningless fight.

This was the innocent girl who had offered him the love he had spurned and rejected. The love his cursed self had never been worthy of, the love he thought he could never have again – and with her gone, he knew was lost to him, forever. The girl who had held his hands in the Forest of Death, allowing his fingers to near crush her delicate bones from the depth of agony he’d experienced back then as she’d held him tightly and comfortingly to her. A girl whose sheer will to find him had kept a portal open - for his wretched self - across a scorching desert, when she’d pushed her body to its absolute limits. A girl he’d sincerely thanked, who he’d left far behind, who had wanted nothing more than to look after him, to smother him with her concern, her kindness and love until all the pain and demons of his past were erased.

And now… now he had killed her. He had killed her. And this time, it was no illusion.

“Sakura… chan…” a hushed voice spoke.

Sasuke’s heart constricted excruciatingly. His gaze fell back to his bloodied hand in shocked revulsion. Inside his head, he was stunned to hear someone screaming in anguish. His inner voice. On the outside, however, he was perfectly expressionless. Motionless. Silent.

Naruto fell to his knees opposite Sasuke. With a trembling hand, he reached out to the gaping wound in her chest.

“Sasuke…” he choked, in a voice raw with emotion. “What have we done…?”

We? The urge to vocalise the internal screams intensified. What was he talking about? Didn’t Naruto realise that it was him alone who had done this? He had killed her! He had been the one unable to stop. He had been the one who had let his hatred consume and blind him!

It had taken her death to snap him out of it. But what was the use of seeing clearly at last? Self-loathing gnawed at Sasuke, burning at his insides like acid. It was far too late. He could never forgive himself.

“Sakura-chan…” Naruto’s eyes flooded with tears, as he whispered, “She- she just wanted us all back together…” His head bowed. “She didn’t want us to fight!” He leant over, and rested his head on her flat stomach, sobbing uncontrollably. “This- this wasn’t- this wasn’t how it was meant to end!” he wailed. “Damn it, it should have been me!”  Weeping, he went on, “We’re so sorry, S-Sakura-chan! We’re so sorry, we’re so sorry!”

Overcome with nausea, Sasuke stumbled back up onto his feet. Without thinking, he turned dazedly away, turned his back as if in a trance, unable to stand the agony of looking at her lifeless form any longer.

Naruto was wrong. Naruto was wrong, because it shouldn’t have been Sakura, or him.

It should have been Sasuke. He was the one who deserved to die. To rot into the ground, unremembered by anyone.

Sakura… Sakura deserved death the least. Sakura, who had always been so full of life. He staggered slowly away, moving unseeingly, the will to carry on lost from his body. A world without her sunshine smiles and maddeningly annoying declarations of love was one that suddenly felt so alien to him. Things would never be the same. There was no place left for him left anywhere – no place but hell. There was no going back, no escape from the shadows in his mind, not after he’d committed such an atrocious and unpardonable crime.

There was nothing. Only her blood on his hand, on his clothes, and the crushing guilt and hatred for the person he loathed most in the world – himself.

A sharp intake of breath behind him alerted him to the fact that Naruto had noticed his half-hearted attempt at departure.

“Sasuke-!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking with fury and disbelief. “You bastard! How can you just walk away?”

The damage had already been done. What purpose was there in lingering? There was nothing else he could do. Sasuke continued to walk aimlessly onwards, finding himself strangely unable to focus on Naruto’s words.

A hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him roughly back around. “You bastard!” Naruto yelled furiously right into his face, his fists closing tightly at the collar of Sasuke’s blood spattered top. “She loved you, and you-!” he broke off abruptly, as Sasuke stared dully back at him.

Something deep inside Naruto’s chest constricted painfully as he noted that Sasuke’s sharingan had deactivated completely. But that wasn’t what made him halt in his intended insults.

It was the staggering sight of the lone tear that rolled down Sasuke’s cheek. He seemed not to register it at all, however, for he continued to stare mutely and blankly back at Naruto.

“Sasuke…” Naruto whispered, realisation washing over him at last. “You…”

His voice trailed off for a second time. He didn’t need to finish the words. He’d already known it in his heart, all along – known that Sasuke had been lying all along, merely denying a transparent truth.

You care about her. You don’t need a reason, either.

The last Uchiha said nothing. He simply stared vacantly – the look of a defeated man who had given up on everything. A man whose enormous guilt was tearing his soul to pieces.

A man who had been completely crushed.

Naruto’s mind raced. It couldn’t end like this, he told himself frantically, his heart pounding. Not now that he knew the quarrel between them was finally over – for good.

“Wait a minute!” A sudden idea then struck him. He gasped, dizzy from the whirl of his thoughts – before dragging Sasuke abruptly back with him to Sakura’s corpse.

Sasuke watched, silently, numbly, as Naruto knelt back down beside her. He then glanced up, a frown of impatience on his debris and blood-marred features.

“Sasuke, come on!” he urged. “Give me your hand!”

Sasuke swallowed back the bitter taste in his throat. It was hopeless. She was gone. He couldn’t comprehend what Naruto was trying to do, or why he was suddenly looking so foolishly hopeful. The idiot had always been hopelessly naïve. Didn’t he understand that Sasuke had simply had enough? Why wasn’t he angry at him? Why wasn’t he pummelling his face into the ground and taking out his fury and grief over Sakura’s death on him? Sasuke thought that had their situations been reversed, had Naruto been the one to still Sakura’s heart, then Sasuke wouldn’t have hesitated for even a second to pulverise him into oblivion.

When he didn’t respond, Naruto reached out and tugged forcefully on his wrist. Sasuke finally knelt down, overcome once more with nausea and unbearable guilt at the sight of Sakura’s ashen face again.

“Naruto-” he managed to utter at last. His voice sounded unfamiliar to him. Alarmingly hollow, even by his standards.

“Just trust me on this!” Naruto interrupted. He positioned Sasuke’s bloodied hand above Sakura’s chest, palm-side upwards – the palm bearing the Yin Crescent. Meeting Sasuke’s empty gaze, he said, “The Sage gave us these seals for a reason.” Holding up his own palm to display the Yang Sun symbol, he exclaimed, “Let’s do this!”

Slapping his hand into Sasuke’s, bringing their seals together, he yelled, “RELEASE!”

Sasuke didn’t say it – he didn’t have to. Somewhere deep inside him, his still beating heart pulsated with the word.

A mighty gust of wind immediately shot up from the point at which their hands connected, accompanied by a great explosion of blinding light. Sasuke and Naruto shielded their vision, bracing themselves, and as the mystical, sacred energy of their chakras blended and tried to push their hands apart from sheer force, Naruto’s fingers closed more tightly around Sasuke’s hand, pressing it down more firmly against Sakura’s chest.

“SASUKE!” he shouted, over the deafening howl of air. “DON’T LET GO!”

Sasuke squeezed his eyes shut against the rushing wind funnelling around them and finally gripped back.


The riotous, blinding din seemed to last forever. When it eventually subsided, Sasuke’s ears were left buzzing and his head spinning. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wasn’t as foolish as Naruto to believe that anything had actually changed.

He heard a brief, choked laugh. The crushing hold on his hand released. He felt fingers grip his wrist, turning his palm so it rested on Sakura’s chest.

It was strange, Sasuke thought distantly, how it almost felt warm. How it almost seemed to move-

Unbidden, his heavy heart palpitated violently inside him, a thoroughly startling and unsettling sensation. His thoughts grew deadly still – and every muscle in his body froze.

“You can open your eyes now, Sasuke,” Naruto chuckled teasingly.

With painstaking slowness, the last Uchiha’s eyelids dared to lift. Immediately his breath hitched in his throat, the air fragmenting in his lungs as he blinked down incredulously at the most beautiful and damned annoying sight he was certain he had ever seen.

Mismatched irises met shining apple green. And the emotional, trembling smile that curved her lips as she gazed up at him with tear-filled eyes was nothing, nothing compared to the explosion of conflicting emotions that ricocheted chaotically inside him, as a thoroughly overwhelmed and staggered Sasuke registered that she was alive.

But how? He suddenly didn’t care for an explanation. The blood had disappeared entirely from his hand – as if the light of chakra fusion had cleansed it. Sakura’s right palm lifted to rest lightly – almost shyly – atop his fingers. And when she spoke his name, it was like liquid sunshine, thawing the ice, flooding through the numbness and pain and guilt and leaving behind nothing but a deep, throbbing ache in his chest that he just couldn’t comprehend.

Not at that moment. Not right then. But in time, he would.

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispered.


This will be posted on FF.net tomorrow. Tumblr exclusive, for now! I did warn you it was emotional! What did you think? I tried to make it as IC as possible. Please reblog/share if you liked it, so other SS fans can read. Thanks!





Eternal Happiness

Summary: You find out you’re infertile and you know how much Taehyung wants kids. Since you can’t, you break up with him because you think he deserves better. 
Member: Taehyung X Reader
Type: Angst / Fluff
Length: 1692 words

Ahh, as a person who wants to build a family of her own, it’d be devasting that you aren’t able to bring in your offspring into the world. But then again, technology has made creating a family possible so there is always a way out. Hope you guys enjoy!

- Admin Fits

Originally posted by jeonjam

In a perfect world, a world so idealised that you could only dream of, you would get everything that you want. You would live in a house by the sea side such that the very first things you would hear when you’re awake would not be the chirping of birds but the beautiful note of the waves crashing, assuaging your tired muscles to go back to sleep. You would grow old with your lover for whom your heart beats slowly for, for whom your lungs breathed for and for whom your entire life is dedicated for. You would surround yourself with kids that were too energised by the sugar cereal you gave them and now you regret it, hoping that your husband could gather them for school. In an idealised world, your life would be perfect.

However, reality was not so kind.

You, of course, was lucky enough to marry the man of your dreams. He was a man that you met in college and fell in love over small cups of coffee, late nights drunk with redbull intoxicated concoctions and sometimes when the both of you were lucky, long conversations about nothing and everything with no one but the moon as your witness. Taehyung was a man who managed to suck out all the air in your lungs to leave the breathless wisps of tenderness, with just a smile. He was the same man whose ability to harmonise your sense of peace with your sense of adrenaline as if you had taken too much caffeine for the day. He had the ability to make your heart rupture with just a graze of your fingers with his lips, a feat that you considered magic because your body had never reacted to somebody so fiercely, so passionately.

To be in love as such, to be loved as such, you’d willingly give him all that you could. You’d willingly given your heart to him when there was just that slightest doubt that once you fell, he would catch you. But there he was. You had willingly gave him your nights where you’d stayed awake, blushing all by yourself just by the thought of him, a fantasy that you deliberately twirled around yourself only to be broken once a glimmer of the sun would sliver through the cracks of the darkness that provided you your privacy. But there he was, during the day, to make your dreams come true.

You thought you could give him your all but what if your all wasn’t enough? It wasn’t a what if though. It was a reality.

Sunshine smiles became pained. The softest flurry of his breath on your skin became sighs so heavy with dread that it physically became a burden in your chest. Strained and tired, that was what your 2 years of marriage had become, 2 years too long. And the both of knew what was wrong, or rather who was wrong.

It was you, plain and simple. Just you.

Tries after tries, push after every grind, cries after prayers. You held the pregnancy test for probably the 100th time and your heart deflated for the nth time even though deep within you, you knew the result was going to be the same. It always was. A single line that encapsulated your inadequacy as a woman, your incompetency as a lover and your worthlessness as a wife. The realisation was always there but the tangible results couldn’t stop the buckling of your knees such that they crashed to the bathroom tiles, leaving nasty purple blooms. They didn’t stop the cries that crawled out of your lips with such desperation that you didn’t recognise who it was that was shrieking, to have their agony vocalised and magnified among the bathroom walls. They didn’t stop the shaking of your despondent hands that were begging the Gods to give you a baby to hold.

Oh no, they didn’t stop for you at all. They didn’t stop to give you the one thing that would bring Taehyung utmost happiness.

We’d have so many kids; you’d be able to make a soccer team.

You’d have to take back your words now because that was only going to be a dream that was unattainable, a dream that you couldn’t hope of grasping with your own hands. A dream to truly make Taehyung happy, that is.

The guilt that manifested in your chest became a tangible entity that it pushed your heart to the corner of your ribcage and you struggled oh so hard to breathe. Every breath shook and rattled, as if it took your all to get it out.

Two years and that was all it took to break you. You took out your phone and sent him a text, a text so short yet it held so many questions and no answers for your husband. A text so cowardly and distasteful that it didn’t bother hiding the bitter aftertaste that was left in your mouth. In your head, you held out a mantra that you were doing all of it for his own good but it felt like you were pushing against a wall. Your heart was squeezed and squeezed and the fists that had its unrelenting grip were your very own.

Immediately after you pressed that send button, your phone rang. You knew who it was and the constant ringing was like a desperate plea. You could almost hear his own voice, his own cries that called out to you, just wishing that you could think this through.

And maybe you loved him Taehyung too much to have him go through such pain, which was why you picked it up. You didn’t say anything though because his voice jumped on you and good lord, your husband sounded so heartbroken, so broken.

“What do you mean you can’t do this anymore? What can’t you do anymore? Where is this coming from? What was it that you-”

“I can’t do this anymore because you deserve better.”

There was just something about fighting over the phone. All you could hear was ragged breathes interspaced by deep gulps as if Taehyung was trying to so hard to keep it together but trying wasn’t enough. You knew if Taehyung was there, he’d shake you to have you reconsider, to have you listen. Which was why you did what you did, so that you wouldn’t fall back to being the wrong one for him.

If you truly loved him, you’d let him go.

“What do you mean I deserve better?” It was a question but his tone didn’t leave any place for you to argue back but you did anyways. You had to.

“I can’t have children, Taehyung. I can’t give you a child.”

“I don’t care.”

“What do you mean you don’t care? Don’t even try lying to me because I know you love children! I know you want to wake up every morning to the sound of a kid calling you ‘dad’. I know you want to play with a child on days you are free. I know you want a kid to call your own. I know. I know all of these! I know all of these and I can’t give you what you want. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Your comment started out loud, demanding his understanding but as you tried to wrap everything up, the words lodged within your trachea and you started gasping, trying to get the words out. Your heart ached and dear god, why were you just so useless?

That was when you heard the door unlocked and you turned around the same time when the door opened. There, stood your beloved. Taehyung stared at you, his hand still holding his phone to you, but he was looking at you as if it had physically pained him when he heard those words leaving your lips. He started walking towards you and you just stood there, waiting. You were just too disconcerted and exhausted to even do anything but just, perhaps, leave. But when Taehyung gently took your hands in his, you knew that that opportunity had just left the window because every second, every minute, you were craving for his touch. And him just rubbing your arms in such a comforting manner that it might’ve just made you cry, was a game over to you.

“Please don’t apologise. I meant what I said, I don’t care.”

“No, I can’t make you happy. I’m unworthy and I-” You were shaking your head vigorously but stopped only because Taehyung was cradling your face in his hands, forcing you to face him. His eyes, dark charcoal, were warm and caring as they searched in your drained ones.

“Stop! Just stop. Can’t you see, I’m already happy. I’m happy when I wake up with you in my arms. I’m happy when I get to eat with you even when the both of us are busy. I’m happy when I get to see you smile. I’m happy because you’re here,” he revealed. Your first instinct was to be stubborn because he couldn’t be satisfied with you just there, but when he was staring at you like you were the only one that was dear to him, your words died on your tongue. The only thing that you could do was sniffle and give in to the hug that he was extending out. Gingerly, he enveloped you in his arms and kissed the top of your head. Instantly, you heard your heart quiet down to something slow and soothing.

“We can adopt, do invitro or even go to a surrogate mother. It’s endless, baby. So don’t do that to yourself because I don’t care if we can’t have children of our own. So long as at the day, the family we build is one that is with you and me, I will be eternally happy. So eternally happy.” You couldn’t help but cry again when he confessed his deep thoughts. You were too overwhelmed with your feelings that all you ever managed was to hug him tighter and you knew after this, you wouldn’t let go no matter how much the world fights against it.