Tw: Angst - Tumblr Posts

DELICIOUS DELICIOUS FOOD HSHDHSOSHEHSKSBSKS

Have some pre-Sun’s death Moon from the CU Au! He got some parts of his body replaced due to his old clothes being fused into his robotic flesh and turned metal. So now he can change clothes! This is him close to Sun’s death, he’s trying desperately(along with Solar and Nexus) to find a way to prevent Sun’s death and failed.

He just threw on a button up because his top priority isn’t looking fancy at the moment. He’s heavily sleep deprived as he’s constantly having nightmare visions of Sun’s death, and he’s wanting to desperately avoid that outcome.

Moon experiencing a nightmare as a bonus:

DELICIOUS ANGST WYSNSJSJHEKSHSISNJS

I FEEL TERRIBLE FOR MOON BUT AT THE SAME TIME- ANGSTTT FOOD

One month after the incident…

Monty was at the entrance of the daycare, well not THE daycare but the little area with the weird statue of Moon and the tv’s advertising candy. It’d been a week over a month since Monty had been in there with Monty being rented out by Fazbear for three weeks with only two days off, and the week before Sun’s birthday too. Monty had forgotten to visit as he used his days off to either relax or cause chaos, it’s been two weeks since they’d come back but he hasn’t heard a peep from Sun or Moon, goodness knows they’re never usually this silent…

Monty heard from the other glamrocks that apparently Moon just suddenly completely shut down the daycare about a month ago… right after Sun’s birthday..

Monty figured it was no good sign that Moon’s kept the daycare closed for this long, because it’s never closed this long…

Monty poked the Moon plushie that could teleport others into the tower room area where Sun and Moon lived, he was teleported to the balcony.

Something was off here, Monty could feel that something wasn’t right here…

They accidentally knocked over a box while going down the latter. It made a loud noise when it hit the ground.

Monty saw someone at the door to Sun’s room, they must have heard the box fall..

It was Moon.. but there was something wrong, his hat wasn’t sitting where it usually was, obscuring half of Moon’s face in the process. Moon’s neck ruffles were gone, they’d probably have been ripped off considering there wouldn’t be any other way to remove them… his pants had black stains all over them, it looked like the stains had been attempted to have been removed but to no avail…

Moon: Well, well, well~ if it isn’t my ďęąř łøÿął fřįęñď Montgomery!

Monty: Moon-? Are you good man? Nobody’s seen you or Sun for a month, and I think we both know that you’ve never closed the daycare for THIS long-

Moon has a scoffing laugh at Monty’s statement, like he’s loosing his sanity by the second.

Moon: And ŵħÿ does that matter to YOU Monty?

Monty: (what is up with you..?) Because y’all are my friends and I surprisingly care-

Moon’s laughs, like he was just told a blatant lie and the lie was obviously meant to be taken as a joke.

Moon: Fůńņŷ joke Monty… How much money do you want? Monty: What? When did I ask you for money in this?

Moon’s deranged smile shifts to a cold expression, still with a wide eyed stare… he wasn’t in the mood for jøķęş anymore…

Moon: Well that’s obviously the only reason you REALLY came to visit after over a month of nothing.

Monty: Moon you know I was busy- and I’m not here for money I’m just-

Moon raised his voice.

Moon: DON’T ĄĆŤ LIKE YOU CARE ABOUT EITHER OF US BEYOND THE ŠŤŲPĪÐ MØŇĖŶ MONTY!

Monty: what are you on ab-

Moon: BECAUSE IF YOU ŘÊĄŁĽŶ CARED YOU WOULD’VE KNOWN THAT SUN’S BEEN ÐĖÂĎ FØŘ Æ WĦØŁĘ MØŇŤĦ AND THAT I’VE BEEN DRIVING MYSELF ÎÑŞÆNÊ ȚŘŸĮŃĞ ŤØ BŘÎŅĠ ĦÎM BĂÇĶ!!

Monty became wide eyed at the statement, struggling to say something… Moon looked like he was about to burst into tears, not counting the tears that were already forming from him yelling.

Monty: Sun… He… he what..? No- no he couldn’t… he… no.. what are you on about…Moon…?

Moon: You didn’t even come on his f(udging) birthday…

Moon: …..you would’ve known just as much as I do about what I’m talking about if you even çåřèď enough to check sooner….

Monty: Moon this isn’t- this ain’t funny-

Moon: And ŵħăť exactly makes you think I’m trying to be funny here… if you want proof just look in Sun’s room…

Monty rushed to Sun’s door… and what he saw was horrific…

Sun’s body torn and dismembered… they look to have been cleaned off because there’s no way there wasn’t any oil spillage with how much damage was caused… the dark stains on Moon’s pants made sense now…

Sun’s torso and head were still connected.. it was laid on Sun’s bed and connected to a lot of other machines by a bunch of wires… while there wasn’t any oil on Sun there were oil stains practically everywhere in the path from the door to the bed, and now that Monty thinks about it, there was some oil outside the room as well…

Monty: M-moon… tell me w-what the f(udge) happened to Sun exactly….

Moon: Oh you know… a dear “friend” of ours came through the portal and gave Sun a päîņfųł birthday gift…

Moon: don’t worry… he’s no longer a přøbłêm…. not after what he did to Sun…

Moon: and not after what I dīď to him…

Monty: Moon… what-… what did you do…?

Moon: The same exact thing ęvẽřÿ Moon does Montgomery… heh…

Moon starts laughing… but then it quickly turned to crying as Moon fell to the floor…

Moon: Sun… Sun… he-*hick*- he’s gone Monty! My b- my baby brother’s gone Monty… HE’S GONE AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!…

Moon’s sobbing continued, falling into heart wrenching wailing at points…

Monty goes down to Moon on the floor, he hugs Moon(he’s gonna swear it’s a one time thing), trying to calm him down or even just console him

Moon continues sobbing and wailing, letting it all out, it’s haunting to hear Moon’s cries that day. But maybe Monty also needed to let out a few tears as well..

At some point Moon manages to choke up some words between his cries…

“I-I tried to-*hick* to-to be better Monty! B-but nothing e-*hick* n-nothing even matters now that h-he’s gone!”

And they cried… cried for a while… but at some point, Moon starts powering down because he wasn’t recharging, so he grew tired in his lack of self care…

Before Moon fell asleep… Monty promised him they’d help Moon bring Sun back, no matter what..

Some drawings for this as well:

LORELORELORELORELORE

LORE AND ANGSTTTTTT

deliciousssss :3

Tw: Robot gore and death

Two drawings I have of the moment that Moon found Sun dead in LBS…

They happen one after the other, the first one was from a little while ago and is before his kill code activated, the second one(color) is from today and has Moon looking at the inter-dimensional fřįèņď of theirs.. kill code activated…

I like how they turned out!

Bonus:

The eye reference :)

This is incredible. Amazing writing, and just- aghhhh such a worth it read. Totally didn't just sit here for three hours to read it.. Def check it out, but beware of triggers for gore, angst, and disabilities. (It ends on a good note though 👍)

glass turtles

verse: 2003 rating: t words: 24k

x

Donnie tears off his makeshift gloves with a wet sounding pop, all the air once stuffed in his lungs rushing out of him at like a deflated balloon when he announces to the room in a raspy, tremulous voice,

“I’m done. I’ve done all that I can do.”

Raphael, who’s been standing by his side for the last four and a half hours, has paled, all the green spilling from his skin like a pen that’d long since ran out of ink, his hands shaking like the beginnings of a seizure creeping up on him; Donnie worries for a moment as he watches him carefully, afraid that he might work himself into actually passing out on the floor.

Instead he’s stealing himself, a white knuckled grip on the edge of the steel table in front of them both, wearing a grim smile that doesn’t even make it halfway across his face before he’s soundlessly making his way towards the office chair in the corner and dropping into it with a heavy, shaky breath that sounds like it’s one he’s been holding onto for some time.

“You did good, Don,” comes Leo’s scratchy, raw voice. A chance glance upwards and Donnie would note that his brother's eyes, normally so stoic and sharp and alert were now brimmed with a hue of purple rings, like fresh bruises, tumid from the weighty toll of his newfound grief.

His face is gaunt like he’d dropped about ten pounds of weight in the space of just one night. There’s still pink blood stains smeared sticky across his plastron, crawling up his arms and his neck, drying in three fingered swipes that makes his stomach roll with a sudden queasiness.

He doubts his brother is even aware of it being there, painted across him like that.

“I. Uh. Yeah, thanks,” is all Donnie is able to say in response. He feels void of any possible remaining energy he possesses still. His bones feel heavy like lead, causing his body to bow like a weak, old branch. His eyes tiredly skate across the room. They fall heavy on the cot bed that holds his other remaining brother.

“You need to eat,” Leo says suddenly, appearing at his side in an instant. Or maybe Donnie had just been staring so long that he hadn’t heard him moving towards him, he can’t be sure. His throat is tight and each breath that squeezes past the lump there comes and goes with a tremendous effort.

“M’not hungry,” is Donnie’s quick knee jerk reaction response. He needs to stay. He needs to monitor his brother. Just a few hours ago he had his hands holding together his skull. His brain seeping between his fingers like unset jello. His heart had— his heart had stopped. Over and over again. Donnie couldn’t leave now.

The mere thought of food makes his stomach roll. He can’t eat. He doesn’t think he’ll ever eat again. He’s already made peace with that.

“Don?” Comes Raph’s voice from across the room, tentative and slow. It draws his attention towards him, watching where he’s slumped over in his chair like he’d just woken from a long, restless nap.

“Don, c’mon. Rest. Please.” His eyes are wet with fresh tears, his face already stained from the previous. His hands are still shaking, the tremor working its way through every nerve beneath his skin. Donnie briefly wonders why he isn’t shaking too.

Had he gone completely numb?

He doesn’t get a chance to vocalize his protest a second time, this time hands are moving across his shoulders, making him flinch before he feels the pad of Leo’s thumb work itself in small circles across his scales. He’s guiding him out of the lab before he can try and fight him on it, steered right towards the couch where Raph has already beat them to it with a pillow and a blanket.

“We’ll take turns checking on him,” Leo assures him as he practically pushes him back to sit. “You need to rest, Don. You don’t even need to sleep, just lie flat and close your eyes for a bit, okay?”

As soon as his shell hits the soft plush of their couch, Raph is dragging the old moth bitten blanket up over him, stopping short at his chin. Up close, both brothers have a thick coppery smell about them, and Don supposes he’s probably got the same stink on him too, having failed to wash it off from himself at all. 

He doesn’t have the heart to tell them both, though. They’ve been through enough tonight. 

“I’ll wake you if we need you,” comes Leo’s empty promise. Don doubts that he will, knowing his older brothers they’ll sit virtue in that lab without him for the sake of letting him rest, but Donnie also doubts he’ll be able to find sleep so easily after tonight, so it will only be a matter of time before he’s joining them.

He simply hums as if to pacify them both.

Raph flips the switch for the main light, blanketing the room in darkness, but with his finely tuned ninja skill, he’s able to watch the shape of his brothers as they shift out of the room, hushed voices only heard with a strained, precise ear.

“What do we do now, Leo?” Comes Raphael’s voice, laced with unbridled fear. It forces Donnie’s gut into a hard, unmoving knot. 

“I have no idea, Raph,” comes Leo’s wavering response. “We just wait. Together.”

continue reading on ao3!

TW: venting about my whole ass panic attack. So yeah

So I'm literally in tears rn. My acne flared up really bad. My nose is to big. My lips are too small. My hair just won't work with me. I may be skinny isn't good when your face looks like God hit you 1000000000000000000000x with the ugly stick.

My brother decided to say, "It's not that bad. Why are you upset?"

Easy to say when you have every female in the world falling at your feet.

Like all my siblings got the attractive gene & my genes decided I'd be the ugly one.

My teeth are messed up to. Not lined up, under bite. Got scars lining my body so that's another flaw to add.

Why would anyone decide to date me.

The guy I was dating kill himself. I would to if I was dating me.

He didn't even leave my ugly ass a note. Such a shame ig.

Got ADHD, Bipolar, ODD, Generalized Anxiety, Depression, PTSD, & now possibly falling on the Autism spectrum.

Ugly af

Annoying af

Always fall in everyone's shadows. Only this person's younger sister or this persons older sister maybe this other person's daughter.

Can't even make a name for myself. Sometimes I wish I'd disappear. I was suppose to have a twin. If she made it maybe it'd be better.

School is stressing me out. I somehow passed last year. Kind of tired.

I'm just tired.

No matter how hard I try or how hard I work. Nothing will ever be enough.

Not for me, my mum, my siblings, my friends, my teachers, no one. I'm never enough.

I have a panic attack my mum decides the cry.

What gives her the right. She looks great. She's witty, kind, independent, knows what she wants. So why is she crying. Literally nothing happened.

You're crying cause I'm upset & making everyone else upset. Literally not my fault I'm having a panic attack while looking in the mirror.

Hell now I've started starving myself. Afraid of weight gain ig

I lie. Say how cool my family is. How I don't care whether I am skinny or not. Lie that I'm not ugly or pretty. I lie. Straight through my teeth.

I pretend my life is so great.

No.

I never have been close with my mum. I've always wanted to. Seems everytime I start to I get pushed back.

My mother is proud of all my other siblings.

I gave up on art. I was like 12 or 13. I went to show my mother a drawing.

My mother told me to shut up as my older brother & sister were gonna sing. She couldn't even wait one second to take a glance.

When she decided to look. After praising her oh so talented children. She just said my drawing was cool.

I flushed that drawing down the toilet.

I've decided that I'll just not try.

I'm 16 atm. I try to impress my mother. Be a oh so good kid.

Never one glance.

Where did I go wrong.

My ex boyfriend gave me hope. Maybe someone could love me. Someone could find a way to look past all my flaws & see some beauty that I just couldn't see.

But the rope he hung from could say different.

No goodbye, no letter. Nothing.

Last words were him breaking up with me in a group chat without notifying me .

Having to find out through someone he hates.

Someone who he despises knew.

Then when I joined. He just ridiculed me. Put me down. Kept saying cruel words. Just to break up. Then leave this world.

I know I wasn't the cause. That his world came to an end. But why?

I've only ever looked at the bright side. Wanted to help others. Sit by those who hurt. Helping others gave me purpose. Hope that maybe I one day could.

My mother's name is Hope though. Even she couldn't believe in me. How ironic. The woman who gave birth to me is named Hope. Yet any hope she could've had in me never met my eyes.

I would leave the world as well. I guess I just like the challenge. Tried to leave a couple times. Each one a fail. For 6 minutes & few seconds. My heart stopped. I was at peace. Then my heart decides to beat again. Body decides to work again.

October 23rd 2018. Was my near death experience. Was great honestly. Sadly death just won't take me. No matter how much I've tried. Even death doesn't want me.

How ironic. Death takes everyone. Yet not me.

Take people I care about. Not me though.

I gave up on attempting suicide. Never leads me to death.

I just kind of exist now.

Mother won't let me get a job. Won't let me pierce even my ears.

She says she cares yet victim cards Trump all.

I weirdly love my family though.

My mother saved me from going to foster care. Plus my father was abusive. The memories that'll never leave haven't grown because of her.

Yet it seems I really was just part of the package.

To care for any of the others. I was just the con.

She showed up to my football practice in 8th grade.

She looked so proud & congratulated me on knocking guys 10x my height down. For once she was proud.

One of my matches she showed up to. I was knocked down by a kid. Are team lost. Any hope she had in me. I could see disappear.

She lectured me after. Saying how I could've done better.

I quit the team. Coach said that I shouldn't. It just wasn't as full filing when the person who gives birth to you. Well the one you spend all your time trying to make proud. Look at you with cold eyes.

I had a choir concert not even a year ago. I did the whole thing. Hoping maybe she walk in. See that I was overcoming my fear of singing on stage.

She texted me once I was done. She waited outside the entire time.

Didn't take the time to come in. I thought maybe she was doing something. Shopping or riding around. No. She just sat in the parking lot.

It hurts. I lost my childhood. Lost someone I loved. Lost any hope of my mum being proud. Lost my pride. Lost any love for myself. Lost any meaning for my life.

I've given up. Won't kill myself.

Wouldn't give myself the satisfaction. Plus I've tried to many times. Shot my shot. Missed everyone besides one that I rimmed & missed.

Guess I'll live just to survive. Then die peacefully in life.

Maybe I'll die saving someone. That'd be good to. Be remembered as someone who saved someone .

Well thx for reading ig

Hi I would like to request Finn to torture glisten with fish puns

Your wish is my command!

Sorry sorry I hate to tread on your amazing idea, but I got inspired and wanted to write something for it! :D

—

“Pat?” Virgil’s voice was soft, his eyes wide and confused. Patton could feel himself ripping in two even as he looked at the other side, too ashamed of his past actions to respond. Virgil glanced down to the floor. He bit his lip.

“Patton?” Now Roman spoke, and unlike Virgil, his voice was guarded, his tone sharp. “What did you just say?” The creative side looked down on the man he thought was his friend, and Patton could feel tears prick in the corners of his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I would never mean to hurt you.” Patton wouldn’t make eye contact with either of them, shakily fiddiling with his glasses.

“I don’t understand why you all are are so confused,” Logan said, though even his voice carried a twinge or sadness in it. “He already told us that he was the one to push the others away.” Logan paused, closing his eyes for only a moment before regaining his composure. “Deciet, Remus, and... Virgil.”

Virgil wouldn’t look up from the ground, now chewing nervously on his fingernail.

“Kiddo?” Patton asked desperately, voice cracking with emotion and barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to. You believe me, right? We’re the bestest most dynamicest duo, right?”

Virgil still wouldn’t look at him. When he finally spoke once more, his voice was charged with something akin to wistfulness. “When Thomas was a teenager, I really started to hold some sway over his actions, maybe moreso than any of you. It was a huge responsibility, and I tried to manage it accordingly. At the time, I felt as though I was doing what was best for Thomas, keeping him safe. And everyone hated me for it.” Virgil’s tone had turned sour. “I never understood that part. I was just trying to help, just doing what I was supposed to do. And everyone pushed me away for it. So I pushed back. I was confused as to why anyone would try to silence me, and I grew bitter. I struggled so hard to get out of that endless loop of hatred and loathing.” Virgil let out a humorless laugh. “It’s good to know that the ones who pushed me away are, deep down, no better than me.”

Patton let out a little, choked sounding sob.

Virgil looked up then, making direct eye contact with Patton. “Trying to force my way back to you was the worst decision I’ve ever made.” Virgil bit his lip again, pain clear on his face.

Patton inhaled, his whole body shuttering, the tears in his eyes threatening to overflow. He couldn’t even bring himself to call out for Virgil one last time.

“Virgil, wait-“ Logan tried, and then Virgil was gone. He didn’t sink out, he was just gone. And Patton could feel the hole in his heart growing.

Roman spoke up then. “He’s right, you know.”

Patton whirled around to face the creative side.

“When Thomas was young, no older than five or six, Remus was always there with me. When I was sad, he would comfort me. When he was in trouble, I would cover for him. We were inseparable.” It was Roman’s turn to laugh, though it came out more a mockery of a laugh than anything else. “Well... we were inseparable. Clearly we were quite separable by the time you started to dictate who was or wasn’t good for Thomas.” Roman shook his head. “You’re no better than the monsters you made them out to be. I’m done with this conversation.”

Very slowly, Roman sunk down, clearly repressed tears beginning to fall.

And Patton stood there, torn almost to shreds, tears falling freely down his face. Very slowly, he turned to face Logan, who remained emotionless. “Lo?” He whispered.

“Ah, Patton.” Logan was inspecting a speck of dust on his shirt. “I- I think I should just leave right now. It would be the... ah, logical thing to do.”

Patton nodded, more to himself than Logan, as Logan hastily sank out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Patton collapsed to the ground. Tears dripped from his cheeks to the floor. His shaky breathing seemed to fill the room, a terrifying crescendo of all of his wrongdoings.

And so Patton sat there, and he sobbed.

Please don’t leave me.

I just wanted what was best for Thomas.

More tears hit the floor. Drip, drop. Drip, drop.

just imagine it comes out that Patton (even if unintentional) was responsible for separating the dark and light sides. Like IMAGINE the angst especially with Virgil and Patton’s relationship and then Remus and Roman probably missing so much time together

Touch In The Dark — MYG

For the @btswriterscorner​ - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Min Yoongi comes from the prestigious family of Blue Blood lineage. However, to appear philanthropic in the eyes of the public, they volunteered their son to marry someone from “humble” origins. Two years have passed since he’s been married to his poor, orphan wife. But for the first time in two years, he’s starting to take note of things about her that are causing shifts in his views of her, shaking his heart.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female OC (Kiara Townsend)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of suicide, extreme angst, interracial/intercultural relationship, arranged marriage

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,936

AN: I never thought I would write a story like this. I think this is the softest I’ve ever written for the boys. I know I only have one piece of lit for the fandom, but I have to say that this project caught me a little off guard. I never thought I would write Yoongi this soft, but it’s a very non-conventional soft. So I hope you all enjoy the world I was able to build from this, hug your loved ones a little close, and know that you are always loved. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

  ~ k.t. ~

On the day she was told that she’d been chosen as the “Charity Selection” for The Lottery, Kiara tried to kill herself. 

The heavy knocks sounded like thunder inside her tiny, rundown studio apartment. She stared back at her reflection in the bathroom, a handful of sleeping pills clutched in her palm over the porcelain. She’d purchased a full bottle of the prescription strength medication off the black market. It took her months to save up enough money to buy them.

Attempted suicide was a serious offense, punishable by large fines and incarceration for three months, followed by six months of psychiatric evaluation. The global population was already off-kilter with how many people suffered losses from wars, hunger and poverty. Decreasing the numbers in any amount was detrimental to society’s ability to rebuild and stabilize its structure. 

The knocking continued incessantly. Kiara knew if she didn’t answer the door, they would just kick it in and find out what she was up to. Sighing, she put the pills back into the bottle and placed it in the medicine chest behind the smudged mirror.

Twelve paces. That’s how long it took for her to make it from the bathroom to the front door. The ratty sofa doubled as her bed and the thin, pale blue blanket could hardly be considered covers. While Kiara did not get sick often, she could not stay warm during the winter months. Central heating was a luxury she couldn’t afford and space heaters were few and far between. The yellowing paint peeled off the walls and the stainless steel door knobs, once shiny and new, were now dull and gray from years of neglect.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a man in a three-piece suit and two armed soldiers. He was an official from The Lottery office and he handed her a letter. He congratulated her, telling her how fortunate she was to have been chosen for the “Charity” portion of the Lottery. He explained that everything she needed to know about her future husband was in the envelope and that she could read it on the flight to meet him.

She’d never flown in an airplane before.

Kiara didn’t own much. All of her furniture were either hand-me-downs or things she found on the side of the road. Her clothes, what few she had, could all be stuffed into a single duffel bag. Her friends doted on her, telling her how lucky she was to have been chosen. They all pooled together and bought her a pretty sundress to wear since it was approaching Summer. Kiara promised to contact them whenever she was fully settled.

On the flight over, Kiara took a good look over the files she’d received. 

Yoongi Min. 26. South Korean. Computer programmer. His home was Daegu and he still lived with his family, as per tradition in the country. He was fluent in English, which was a relief. He was definitely handsome - dark auburn hair, pierced ears, and umber eyes that almost appeared a little withdrawn. Or was it sadness?

Was he hurting on the inside too?

At her request, one of the flight attendants gave her a tablet for her to study. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on the first day of meeting him.

If the plane didn’t crash on the way. Kiara could only be so lucky. 

Yoongi wasn’t the one who picked her up from the airport. It was someone from the family’s household staff. He was a kind looking middle-aged man and he helped her load what few belongings she had into the trunk of her car. The drive from Incheon to Daegu was long. The driver, Mr. Song, told her she could take a nap if she liked. But there were so many questions she wanted to ask and she was grateful that he was also fluent in English.

There were things she discovered about Yoongi that she felt she could relate to. He was an avid reader and enjoyed music. He preferred his solitude and when he had the time to spare, he took pictures and tended the garden at his family’s home. There were servants to handle such things as yardwork, but Yoongi insisted on raising seedlings in a greenhouse.

After she arrived at his family’s home, she was welcomed by the rest of the staff. Yoongi, again, did not greet her. His parents did, however. They were not so fluent in English, but they were kind enough to allow one of the maidservants to translate what they were saying to Kiara. She both nodded and shook her head at the appropriate questions. Nothing they asked was outside of a “yes” or “no” response.

“Are you healthy?”

“Are your parents really dead?”

“Were you comfortable on the plane?”

“You’ve never flown on an airplane before, have you?”

And finally, the question that served as Divine Intervention.

“Are you tired?”

The questioning ended when she nodded. It wasn’t that Kiara wanted to avoid her future In-Laws. She really was tired. She refused to nap on the long drive from Incheon to Daegu and the jet lag was starting to rear its ugly head. She could hardly keep her eyes open. After she was escorted to one of the guest rooms, Kiara barely took note of her luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

She fell asleep almost immediately.

When Kiara awoke the next day, she found a handwritten note sitting on the nightstand. Groggy and hungry, she did her best to read the note. Her eyes quickly focused when she realized it was from Yoongi.

Miss Townsend,

I’m glad to see you arrived safely. I know this is a bit of a transition for you, but everything will be fine. I will be out of town on business until the day after tomorrow. Please meet me at City Hall on Wednesday so we can finalize everything.

~ Min Yoongi

Unsure of why, Kiara felt her heart sink. The note seemed so impersonal; business-like. She knew what kind of world they lived in now, but did it really mean that a perpetual wall would exist between them? 

Crumpling the note in her hand, she was grateful to be alone. She didn’t think she’d be able to explain the tears if anyone saw her. Mostly because Kiara, herself, couldn’t understand why she was crying.

~ m.y. ~

The days always began the same.

Yoongi woke up, showered, went downstairs and had his cup of coffee. Two spoonfuls of sugar. No cream. He hated watching television because most channels either rattled on political propaganda or spoke about the “Runners” rebelling against society’s standards for the world. He preferred the soft sounds of jazz peeling from the radio speakers. Sometimes it was purely instrumental. Other times, someone was crooning a song about heartbreak. It was an idea that he didn’t quite understand, but the tones were pleasing to the ears.

He wasn’t a fan of it originally. Yoongi only listened to it because she had it playing while she hung laundry out on the line one warm summer day. “Killing Me Softly” droned from the speakers and he could recall the look on her face when he told her to turn it off immediately. Music containing lyrics had been banned as it was a way for artists to spread their messages of love, freedom, insurrection and justice. 

She didn’t argue with him, but her expression shifted significantly that day.

In their society, love was something that could not be felt because love equaled passion and passion led to impractical thought. Impractical thoughts led to irrational decisions being made. Wars, hatred, violence: they were all ingredients for disaster that nearly wiped out the population of the world.

But mankind couldn’t very well lead itself to extinction. Population growth was necessary, so long as it was monitored and controlled. Maintaining order was paramount in this new age. The Lottery Bill was established across the world - bridging the racial and cultural divide that continued to exist until the United Nations took matters into their own hands.

The class system was determined by lottery. Blue Bloods all the way to Laborers. Everyone had their place and would accept that place. No one would strive to reach above their station as that would disrupt order and breed chaos. To regulate the classes, lotteries were also pulled for marriage. Couples were chosen from like classes to maintain balance in the system. 

But because the world’s government was not cruel, there were families chosen to participate in philanthropic activities. Every year, a small percentage of Laborers were pooled to marry into Blue Blood lineage. It was a way to show the kindness the global governmental body possessed. Most in the Blue Blood class referred to it as “Forced Charity” but they couldn’t argue against the positive impact it had both across the media and in society as a whole.

Min Yoongi’s family was one of the families chosen to participate in the “Forced Charity”. As the only son, he was obligated to be the one to represent their family during The Lottery. 

He didn’t make a fuss. When Yoongi received his Summons in the mail, he went to his district’s City Hall and took the envelope from one of the clerks. He had one week to accept the terms presented in his drawing. Since he was willingly volunteering to marry someone outside of his station, he had one opportunity for a redrawing. But only one.

Yoongi opted out of it.

He was living with his parents still and politely asked that they give him privacy. For five days they tormented him about what his bride was like. It wasn’t out of childish rebellion that he hadn’t given them an answer. It was because he truly didn’t know.

On the sixth day, he finally opened the envelope. 

Inside contained the dossier of his future bride, as well as a single photograph. Everyone who was eligible for The Lottery was required to have their picture taken at their district’s City Hall, regardless of what part of the world they were from. If his bride-to-be had to travel miles to get to him, then that was what had to be done. There would be no objections from either side.

He had no expectations. There was no reason to disagree with the marriage. Yet a part of him hesitated when it was time to call The Lottery office to have them send for her. The same part that looked at her picture and couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking when she was staring back at the camera. Yoongi wondered if he had the same expression on his face when he’d taken his photo.

Kiara Townsend. 26. African-American, German and Scottish. She had no parents and she worked full-time in a textile factory in North America. Her parents were killed during a neighborhood raid of residents who were presumed to have been involved in an underground movement of sorts - advocating free love and speaking out against the societal norms currently in place for the world. 

In the photo, her skin was a golden caramel, hair thick with large curls, and she had prominent brows and a set of full lips. Her eyes, small and hazel in tone, were seemingly endless - like she could see into the very souls of anyone she laid her eyes upon. But there was an emptiness that lingered there in her photo. 

After accepting his lottery choice, she was notified and escorted to his home country of South Korea. In three days, they were married. As a wedding present, his parents bought them their own home - a large estate in the Daegu countryside where they would have privacy. She no longer had to work now that she was married to a Blue Blood. Yoongi worked from home as a computer programmer and only went into town once a month for board meetings.

For the first month, neither of them said a word to each other. It was an unspoken rule that they had their own separate spaces in their home. Yoongi rarely slept and when he did, he slept alone. His wife often slept on the couch and he never bothered her to sleep in her own bed. 

They were like strangers who happened to share the same address.

Four months went by. Yoongi grew more and more numb to his situation. The whole point of marrying someone was to increase the population. Young men and women were fully educated in the concept of sexual intercourse so that there would be no mistakes during the coupling process. No one was truly a virgin when they were age-appropriate for The Lottery. Sex was no longer an act of pleasure in the world. It was a business transaction.

They didn’t have sex. Neither even so much as touched the other.

Six months into their marriage, Yoongi heard Kiara speak for the first time. 

“Can we send the servants home? I want to make dinner tonight.”

The sound of her voice was so soft. He was entranced and nearly forgot to speak. When Yoongi finally found his voice, he replied - realizing that his own tones sounded a little strange to him.

“Alright.”

~ k.t. ~

She hadn’t meant to be silent. There were so many things she wanted to know about her husband. But the very air around him appeared frigid and Kiara knew she didn’t want to bother him. There was a part of her that could sense his loneliness, but she never wanted to push or prod where she wasn’t wanted. The interactions they had between each other were brief, if even at all. 

Kiara didn’t have to want for anything. But was this really a life that she could grow accustomed to? It felt like the more she wanted to grow closer with Yoongi, the further he seemed to appear.

Did he hate her? Or not care about her? When he fussed at her about playing the radio, she wondered if she was simply an eyesore to him.

Wasn’t it better to simply stay out of his way?

The months bled on and while they were finally sharing small bits of conversation here and there, Kiara could sense the gap between them slowly transforming into a chasm. There were times when she caught him looking at her when she was busying herself around the kitchen or even putting away clothes. She was so used to a hard, springy mattress from her pullout bed in her studio that Kiara found it easy to fall asleep on one of the many couches throughout the house.

Their house.

But was it really her house? Could she call it her home?

Eight months into their marriage, she woke up in a bed after having fallen asleep while reading on the sofa. The warm blankets and plush down startled Kiara, causing her to halfway scramble from the bed. The room was unfamiliar to her and she felt slightly trapped. Most people would be elated to wake up in a room with pristine, painted walls, an elegant vanity table, and clean blankets and pillows. It was warm and inviting, something that Kiara saw in the pages of magazines. She never dreamed she would be able to sleep in a room like this. It was part of the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to do it in the first place.

Who could have brought her there? One of the servants, maybe?

Sighing, she took a moment to study the room she was in - the room that was designated as “hers”. It was as unfamiliar to her as the day she first set foot in this country. While Kiara understood the language and continued to learn the customs and culture of South Korea, there was a part of her that still felt strangely out of place. It shouldn’t have been the case, not with The Lottery Bill having been in effect for several years now. 

Only when her raging heartbeat slowed down a measure, did she notice the small note resting on the nightstand. With slightly trembling fingers, Kiara picked up the note and read it.

Stop sleeping on the couch. There’s a perfectly good bed not being put to use. 

You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable for no reason. 

Haven’t you suffered enough in your life?

~ Yoongi

A warm feeling slowly blanketed her entire body. Kiara pressed the note to her chest as she sat on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. Relief? Understanding? Perhaps. Maybe even a little hopeful.

There was the faint aroma of spices permeating into her room from the gap below the door. Setting the note down, Kiara left her room and made her way out into the hallway. The stairwell was just a few feet away, but she paused in front of Yoongi’s bedroom. Her eyes lingered a little further to the third door at the other end of the hallway - the master bedroom. It seemed that Yoongi opted to stay in a guest bedroom just like hers.

Was that out of concern for her? Did he not want to appear entitled? 

But that didn’t make any sense. He was a Blue Blood. His very lineage was entitlement, wasn’t it?

So then...why?

Her palm slid along the railing of the stairwell, her bare feet gliding over the perfectly polished wooden floor. She could hear a pot boiling as someone chopped methodically in the kitchen. When she reached the entrance, Kiara peeked her head around the corner. She felt like a small child stumbling across their parent in the middle of some adult task.

Yoongi was focused on chopping vegetables for a stew. The meat was already fully cooked in the broth and he appeared to be putting the final touches on what he was doing. Kiara gazed at his exposed forearms in awe - watching the muscles tensing as he worked. Her eye-line shifted, roving over the curve of his shoulders to the juncture of his slender neck. Sweat gathered around his temple and trailed down his jawline and with each movement, she saw his earrings twinking under the kitchen’s amber light fixture.

She couldn’t recall a time when she’d seen a man as beautiful as her husband. 

As if he’d sensed her presence, Yoongi craned his neck to look at her - his arms moving to slide the vegetables off the carving board and into the stew pot. He turned the burner down while setting the chopping board into the sink. Washing his hands, he then wiped them clean with a dish towel as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Did you sleep well?”

Kiara nodded. “I did, thank you.”

“Good.” 

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch towards the edge of forever. Just as Kiara took a step forward, preparing to offer some kind of assistance, did Yoongi finally break the silence.

“I dismissed the servants,” he offered gently, his gaze meeting hers for what she felt like was the very first time since they were married, “it’s not like they really have much to do around here.”

Kiara didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent. Unconsciously, she began wringing her hands together. She very nearly averted her gaze until he spoke again.

“I’ll probably send them back to my parents’ home.” 

Again, her eyes locked with his. His expression stayed neutral and Kiara felt a lump forming in her throat. 

“Would it be okay if it was just the two of us?”

Her eyes widened slightly, unsure of what he was implying. But it was true that the servants didn’t have much to do in their home. Yoongi hardly made a mess and what mess he did make, he often cleaned up after himself. The same could be said of Kiara. If anything, the servants were often shuffling around and attempting to find something to do so they didn’t appear to have idle hands.

Surely they could take care of themselves, right?

Kiara didn’t know what expression to make, so she kept her face from shifting too much. Maybe it was out of need to keep herself just a little more guarded because of the lack of interaction for so long. She couldn’t be sure. But appearing too vulnerable, too open, could be just as much of a mistake as being too closed off.

Taking a breath, she nodded once more.

“If you’re alright with it, then I would like that, too.”

~ m.y. ~

He didn’t shower her with gifts because of an impulsive decision. 

He bought her things because he knew she chose to go without. 

Kiara came from a world that was vastly different than his own. Yoongi could hardly fathom the idea of not having enough clothes in his closet or enough food in his fridge. But she never complained about anything - whether he bought too much or not enough. She graciously accepted everything that was given. 

What was even more puzzling, however, was how a mild feeling of irritation blossomed when Kiara didn’t utilize the things he’d given her immediately. He knew she was grateful and she rarely made a fuss about anything. The one time he ever saw her upset in the entire year they’d been married was when he’d made the comment about the radio.

Hadn’t they reached a compromise?

Biting his lower lip, he found it difficult to focus on his computer work. Everything looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics, which was saying something considering that Yoongi lived, breathed, and dreamed about coding. He became a computer software programmer out of necessity for the ever-advancing world of technology they lived in. Modern society was growing more and more dependent on smart devices, which would have been a shame had he lived in a different world. 

People often missed the world around them when their eyes were glued to a screen.

The latch unhooked from the door, causing him to shift his gaze from the computer monitor. When it slowly opened, he saw Kiara quietly enter - arms cradling a small serving tray. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers through each other as she approached. She set a plate of toast, jam, and fruit on the desk - her motions smooth and practiced. She finally set the cup of steaming hot coffee beside the plate, as well as utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin. 

“You should take a break,” she said, the tray resting against her stomach, “you’ve been working non-stop for about four hours now.”

He set the computer to hibernation mode. “I didn’t realize I’d been here that long.”

“You can leave the tray outside when you’re finished.”

Yoongi watched her turn to leave, his body reacting before his mind could process what he was doing. Before he realized it, he was out of his chair and reaching out to grasp her shoulder - stopping Kiara from leaving him. He felt her muscles tensing and Yoongi pulled his hand back immediately. Slowly, she turned to face him again.

Her hazel eyes appeared to glow from the twilight rays peeling in through the windows of his office.

His heart crashed into his chest with heavy thuds. A lump slowly formed in his throat and he made a vain attempt to swallow oxygen through the closing airways. Yoongi knew he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what that something was. He opened his mouth to speak and, again, no words came out.

All he could do was push the bubble in his throat down into the knot twisting in his chest.

Sensing something was amiss, Kiara set the tray down on the desk. “Are you alright?” 

Yoongi remained silent, studying the crease on her brow as her curls bounced around cheeks and shoulders. She reached her hand up, pressing the flat of her palm on his forehead.

“You’re a little warm, but you don’t seem to have a fever.”

Every representation of logic was screaming at him to pull away - telling him to replace the wall that existed between them for the last year. She hadn’t moved her hand from his skin and Yoongi felt his vision swimming for half a second before refocusing back on her face.

How had he missed the beauty mark at the corner of her left eye?

Taking a step back, he watched her arm continue to hover in the air for a few seconds before settling back at her side. Yoongi saw something pass over her face, but it was so quick that he wasn’t sure he’d seen anything at all.

Kiara brushed some of her curls behind her ear. “I’ll head to the market and pick up a few things. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them when I come back.”

Then she turned away from him to head out of his study, leaving him alone without so much as a second glance.

His chest hurt.

Flopping back into his chair, Yoongi carded his fingers through his hair in frustration - hands resting at the back of his neck as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“...I didn’t even thank her.”

~ k.t. ~

The months were getting colder. Kiara wasn’t a fan of the cold, but she loved seeing the snow in South Korea. Everything was covered in a soft blanket of white. It gave her an excuse to indulge in a savory meal, wrap up in a warm blanket, and read by the fireplace. Yoongi was in Seoul for a business meeting, leaving her alone to her own devices. This was the first winter that she would get to experience without the servants around, fussing over her in case she hadn’t acclimated to the weather.

She took a warm bath, drank from a large glass of wine, and enjoyed the book she’d discovered near the back of the library. Most of the books in Yoongi’s library were reference books and non-fiction. She’d combed through most of them. But nestled in the very back, tucked away in a hidden nook, was a small collection of fictional literature. There were more than a dozen; small in comparison to the rest of his library. But the discovery of it surprised her just the same. In the year she’d been married to Yoongi, he always seemed very “by the book” and she couldn’t forget the comment he made about the music she was listening to while hanging up laundry. Finding something of this caliber was like stumbling across buried treasure.

Kiara was currently flipping through the pages of Animal Farm by George Orwell. She chose it because next to 1984 , it had the most worn out spine. It meant that Yoongi read it the most in comparison to the others in his entire collection.

Upon completing the novel, she could see why.

Politics. Justice. Equality. Inequality. A corrupt system. Broken families. Broken societies. A dream that fizzled away to greed - a dream that would only remain a dream so long as dictators felt that “some were more equal than others”.

There was a small part of Kiara that almost seemed to understand Yoongi a little bit better. He was a thinker and also compassionate. He never asked her to do more than what she needed and he readily provided her with anything she would ever need. It was the sort of life that Kiara wasn’t used to for over twenty years of being part of the Labor Class.

Yet something was still missing…

The sudden slamming of the door startled Kiara, causing her to drop the book into the bathwater. She panicked, knocking over the wine glass as she flailed to pull the book out. The pages instantly soaked - some of them were already falling out from the binding. She released a sob while pulling the plug to drain the water, clambering haphazardly out of the tub. Her heel found the bath rug by the tub and she could only cling helplessly to the pages, gathering up what remained in the bathtub into her trembling hands.

There was a knock at the door and she whirled around to face it.

“Is everything alright in there?”

Yoongi was home early. Looking at the ruined book in her hands, Kiara’s heart sank. 

“I-I’m fine,” she said, leaning down to pick up the wine glass, “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Take your time.”

When she heard his footsteps fading away, Kiara sighed as she wrapped a towel around her body. She used a smaller one to clean up the mess on the floor - grabbing a small plastic bowl and filling it with water so she could wash what remained to let it drain out in the center of the bathroom. She let out another sigh, brushing her fingers through her wet curls. It was better to be honest and get it over with, wasn’t it?

Drying herself off, she slid into her pajamas, grabbed the ruined book, and made her way downstairs. Yoongi poured himself a drink in the kitchen, taking note of her presence with a simple nod. He held the glass up and out toward her.

“Drink?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I had some wine earlier.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied gently, replacing the cap on the whiskey bottle. 

There was a small measure of silence that stretched between them and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her fingers digging into the wet pages of the book currently hidden behind her back.

“Uh, Yoongi?”

He hummed during mid-sip, swallowing and then setting the glass down. “Yes?”

Slowly, she pulled the book around from behind her and held it out to him from across the kitchen island. “I was reading and dropped one of your books in the bath.”

“It’s just a book,” Yoongi said with a shrug.

Kiara bit her lower lip, her hands shaking as she continued to hold the book out to him - waiting for him to take it from her. He looked like he was about to say something, but she noticed his eyes lingering over the cover. When his eyes scanned over it, they widened slightly and it took everything Kiara had not to wince. Her shoulders visibly tensed when he snatched the book from her hands.

Without another word, he left the kitchen. Kiara followed on instinct, her eyes widening when she saw him throwing the book into the open hearth. The flames seemed to fight against the wet pages, but it didn’t take long for the book to burn. 

“I’m sor--”

Yoongi was already moving, his body disappearing down the corridor. Her legs were rooted where she stood and Kiara wanted nothing more than to disappear between the cracks - to dip below the earth and vanish into the ether. She could hear his hurried steps and the breath left her lungs when she saw him carrying an armful of books.

Books from his hidden collection.

He moved faster than her brain could keep up and by the time she realized what was happening, he’d already thrown three more books into the fire.

“Yoongi, wait!” she cried, running toward him and pulling at his shirt sleeve, “Please wait! I said I was sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

Yoongi said nothing. He simply continued to throw the books into the fire. When all of those were devoured by the flames in the fireplace, he turned to head back toward the library. Kiara ran at him, wrapping her arms around his waist to stop him. He took three more steps before stopping completely.

She openly sobbed into his back, soaking his shirt as her fingers dug into his stomach to keep him tethered there.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, clinging to him as if he was a life raft, “I’m sorry…”

She felt the flutter of his beating heart against her face, drumming along her cheeks. It almost seemed manic, but his shoulders finally relaxed as she heard him taking several long, deep breaths. The flames popped and crackled in the fireplace, having had its fill from Yoongi’s literature collection. She knew there were still a few more on the shelf in his hidden nook, but Kiara didn’t think she could handle him destroying the things he clearly seemed to care so much about.

“I haven’t read those books in years,” he murmured gently, “I should have gotten rid of them a long time ago.”

Her hands slid up his chest, curling so that her fingers could slip over the curve of his shoulders. Kiara took a breath, sighing through the scent of his cologne.

“But why?”

“Because they’re dangerous. They provoke dangerous thoughts.” He paused and she lifted her face in time to see his head turning slightly. “It’s why they’ve been banned.”

“They’re precious to you, aren’t they?”

“It’s not worth keeping them if they get you into trouble.”

Taking a step back, she blinked and he turned around to face her. 

“Me?”

Yoongi nodded. “You’re so curious. I should have known that you would stumble across them eventually. But it’s just like with the music. You have to be careful.”

Kiara wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she knew could tell that he wasn’t upset about her reading his books. He was upset that she had unknowingly placed herself into danger. He was concerned for her well being.

And that meant something to her. More than she would ever admit out loud.

Averting her gaze, she lowered her head slightly. “...I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” Yoongi said, an edge in his tone, “it frustrates me.”

She felt his hands around her shoulders, gripping them tightly. He looked like he was going to shake her, but thought better of it. Instead, he loosened his hold - letting his hands continue to rest on her shoulders. When she next looked up at him, his brows were furrowed and his pupils seemed to shake. She wasn’t sure what was still bothering him. Kiara wanted to know what she could do to make him feel less agitated.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, she lost all words of comfort as Yoongi leaned down toward her face. She was almost positive that her heart either skipped a beat or stopped altogether at that moment. Everything was so quiet. Kiara felt his breath dancing gently over her face as he pressed his cheek against hers, his lips brushing over her cheek. 

Kiara was afraid to breathe, believing that the moment she did, it would shatter whatever dream-like illusion she was currently experiencing. The second she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, however, was when Yoongi pulled away. Blinking up at him rapidly, she was sure that her cheeks were inflamed and her hand absentmindedly went to touch her cheek as his hands slid away from her shoulders.

“...don’t stay up too late,” he said gently.

And then, just like a mirage, he quietly turned away and made his way toward the stairs. When she heard the door to his bedroom shut, she finally collapse to her knees. Kiara’s breathing came out in rushed waves and she buried her face in her hands, stifling a sob that nearly broke through the silence. She wasn’t sure if she should feel elated or devastated.

What was happening between them now?

~ m.y. ~

It had been three months since he burned his private book collection. The more innocent and bright-eyed side from his youth mourned the loss of the texts. He could always purchase them again if need be. He wasn’t exactly hurting for money. But it was the worn edges of the books, the notes he’d made in the margins, that he could never get back. 

Those would be lost forever. 

It’s probably for the best, he thought, sighing as he cradled his cup of coffee in his hands, the lessons have been learned .

He watched the sun setting slowly over the horizon from his back patio. He reflected back to Kiara’s face when he’d torched his books. She’d called them “precious” and she wasn’t exactly wrong. But she wasn’t completely right either.

There were more important things in life than the words on the pages of books. He wanted to be able to tell her that himself, but Yoongi found he couldn’t. He didn’t think the words he had swirling around his head would be enough to get his message across. 

Or maybe she already understood…

He turned to head back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He peered around the main living area, absentmindedly wondering where his wife was. It was still early. Maybe she was still asleep.

As Yoongi moved toward the kitchen, the distinct sound of typing could be heard down the hallway. Blinking, he set his cup down and slowly trudged down the corridor leading to his office. He slowly turned the knob, opening the door to peek inside.

Kiara was rapidly typing at his desk, her eyes focused but clearly tired. Every few minutes, she would stop to roughly hit the tops of her shoulders, rolling her neck to loosen whatever knots were beginning to form there. His eyes wandered to the desk where there was a large stack of papers. Bundles were separated and stacked in varying directions so that there would be no confusion as to what stack belonged with which grouping. 

His printer whirred to life, shooting out page after page of whatever she’d just finished. When the next bundle was complete, Kiara pulled out a pencil and began to write on pages as she sifted through them.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“What are you doing?”

His voice clearly startled her, nearly causing her to drop the entire packet of paper she had in her hands. Yoongi closed the door behind him, approaching the desk and reaching out for the bundle of papers at the very top of the stack. Kiara made a noise of protest, but his eyes scanned the front curiously.

Then his curiosity gave way to surprise.

“This is…” he began, but realized he couldn’t finish as his eyes landed on the next bundle’s cover page.

Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Yoongi rapidly flipped through the pages of 1984 in his hands. It was written, word-for-word, from what he could remember of the book. The most shocking discovery, however, was seeing his own handwriting along the margins of the pages where he’d taken his own personal notes and written rhetorical questions to ask himself as he read. It was almost too much for him to take in.

Lowering the manuscript at his side, he looked up as Kiara stood from his chair. 

“I felt terrible about you destroying them,” she began, holding her hands up, “and don’t worry! I made sure that there aren’t any digital copies on your computer. Every time I finished one, I would print and delete it right away.”

He said nothing. He just continued to look at her; flabbergasted.

“You have photographic memory.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. 

Kiara nodded. 

“You even put all of my notes back.”

Again, she nodded.

His eyes wandered back to the large stack of papers. If it was separated by novels, then there were at least twenty books in the stack. Maybe more. And if she was taking the time to recreate his own scribbles, who knew how long this was actually going to take; how long she’d already been taking?

Is this what she’s been working on for the last month?

The ream of paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. Kiara gasped, rushing around the desk in a hurry to pick up the discarded pages. He stopped her before she could kneel to the floor, his hand grasping her upper arm to keep her standing. She looked at him with wide eyes and she tried to take a step away from him. But Yoongi held fast, refusing to let her move even an inch away from her. 

“...thank you,” he whispered softly. 

He felt what tension remained in Kiara start to ebb away.

And then she smiled. It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile and it hurt to even look at her. But Yoongi continued to stare at the curve of her lips and the way they turned upward. Her hazel eyes seemed to glitter against the twilight sky pouring in from his office window - the corners crinkling up just a little in response to the smile. He didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi swore he could hear the sound of his heart breaking and reforming simultaneously. Suddenly, it was difficult for him to breathe, but he tried anyway. It felt like tiny needles were stabbing into the organ beating furiously against his chest, threatening to burst free and fall to the floor.

The logical side of his head, the one screaming at him to run out of the office and as far away from Kiara as humanly possible, was losing against the side that Yoongi didn’t even recognize. Like a time lapse, he watched their life together zip through his mind’s eye - a grainy film projection that continuously focused on every facet of Kiara that he could remember. Everything from big to small - a simple gesture and an even simpler question.

Nothing could compare to the sheer radiance that resulted in her smile.

In that moment, Yoongi knew that he wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. To see it past today and to watch her smile every single day after this one.

He would ask for forgiveness later. He wasn’t about to ask for permission. Not now.

Tugging his arm back, he pulled Kiara close to him. Her chest crashed into his, causing them both to stumble a single step forward and backward respectfully. Her smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. He watched her brows furrow and just as her mouth opened to speak, Yoongi leaned his face in - sealing his lips over hers in a rough kiss.

They both inhaled slowly and he could feel Kiara’s hands grasping at his shoulders. But she didn’t fight him. Instead, he could feel the heavy thud of her own heartbeat attempting to chase the cadence of his. Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he tried to pull her even closer. The smell of her shampoo, her subtle body spray, and how warm and smooth her skin was beneath his touch was almost too much. He feverishly kissed her, nipping and tugging at her full lips which would be swollen from his affection.

Darkness enveloped the sky, plunging them into darkness. The only light in the room came from the computer monitor, reflecting its light against the large bookshelf behind the desk. He pulled away from Kiara’s mouth, his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly as they both took the time to catch their breaths.

“Y-Yoongi,” she stammered, her body trembling slightly in his arms.

“I know what this is.” His voice was low, his breath dancing along her skin as he curled his fingers into the flare of her hip. “This is a problem.”

Even in the dark, he could see Kiara’s worried expression. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what this was just as well as he did. And just like him, she also knew how much of a problem this was.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“I didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t.” Yoongi lifted one hand up to brush a few of her curls away from her face, resting his palm against her cheek so he could tilt her face further upward. “But then you smiled, and that was the end of everything for me.”

Even as he continued speaking, Yoongi could feel the panic creeping up his throat, threatening to choke the very life out of him. He’d heard of things like this happening in the past, years before he was born. When marriage was a choice made between two people who loved each other. It wasn’t something to be pulled from a Lottery. 

When loving someone was a gift, not a crime. 

A crime or not, Yoongi wanted to know. No. He had to know.

“Do you love me?”

And like he’d struck something buried deep at the core of her, Yoongi watched Kiara’s eyes fill with tears. They streamed down her face endlessly. For a brief second, he believed he’d hurt her feelings; that he’d done something irreparable. 

But then, just like before, Kiara smiled up at him. He felt her hand brushing over his face, her nails lightly scraping over his jawline and resting at the edge of his chin.

“I do,” she replied gently while nodding, “I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Unable to hold himself back, Yoongi kissed her again - their arms entangling themselves with one another. The need to continuously press and touch, to physically express everything they’d collected inside of themselves all this time, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t stop wanting her; wanting the woman he’d come to love little by little every single day and he hadn’t even realized it.

But they couldn’t stay like this forever.

They both pulled away to reclaim the air they’d stolen from one another, catching their breaths momentarily. He could feel Kiara’s ability to hold herself up beginning to wane. Slowly, he lowered them both to the floor - pulling her into his lap so he could cradle her against him. He took comfort in the feel of her arms around his neck, pulling him close so that he could rest his face against the juncture of her neck.

She smelled so good.

“We can’t stay here,” he finally said, his voice muffled in his own ears from the heavy thrumming of her heart, “they’ll find out eventually and we’ll both be thrown into prison.”

Her chest rose and fell as she sighed. “Where will we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

Yoongi smiled as he closed his eyes. “Anywhere but here.”

A moment of silence passed and he felt her sigh again, but her heart beat began to settle.

“Will anyone be able to help us?”

“I’m sure we aren’t the first ones to experience this.” Yoongi raised his head up so he could look at her. “And we won’t be the last.”

He watched her canting her head a little. “Is everything going to be alright?”

Yoongi gave a slight shrug, causing Kiara to giggle a little. “Even if it isn't, it doesn’t matter. I love you, Kiara.” Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Stay with me. ...please.”

As they looked at each other, Yoongi couldn’t help but drink in everything about her. Kiara’s eyes fluttered before closing and he quickly closed what little distance existed between them. This kiss was less intense, soft and meaningful - pulling and tugging at a want that perpetually nagged at him from the shadows for so long. Kiara shed light on the dark crevice of his heart - a part of him that he’d believed was simply meant to be there and to feel nothing else. To want nothing else.

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he was lucky or not, but he knew that he was thankful. He’d been so hollow for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything; to yearn for something so much that the desire itself could swallow a person whole. But it was a feeling that made him remember what being alive was supposed to entail; what it truly meant.

Love. 

Her love.

His love.

This love.

Their love.

Touch In The Dark — MYG

For the @btswriterscorner​ - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Min Yoongi comes from the prestigious family of Blue Blood lineage. However, to appear philanthropic in the eyes of the public, they volunteered their son to marry someone from “humble” origins. Two years have passed since he’s been married to his poor, orphan wife. But for the first time in two years, he’s starting to take note of things about her that are causing shifts in his views of her, shaking his heart.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female OC (Kiara Townsend)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of suicide, extreme angst, interracial/intercultural relationship, arranged marriage

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,936

AN: I never thought I would write a story like this. I think this is the softest I’ve ever written for the boys. I know I only have one piece of lit for the fandom, but I have to say that this project caught me a little off guard. I never thought I would write Yoongi this soft, but it’s a very non-conventional soft. So I hope you all enjoy the world I was able to build from this, hug your loved ones a little close, and know that you are always loved. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Keep reading

You Can’t Live Without Me - KNJ

Plot: Kim Namjoon has it all. Money, top pedigree, and a guaranteed future. But he lacks true affection in his life. He has no one to blame but himself because the one good thing he had, the one good woman he had, he tossed her aside. He tries to drown his regrets in alcohol. He tries to tell her one more time...

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: one-shot | break-up!au | angst | broken romance | exes

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Female OC (Mileena)

Warnings: Heavy alcohol use, language, class separation, angst, heartache, interracial/intercultural relationship, suggested drug use

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,782

AN: Not gonna lie, I had mixed feelings about this. I know I was all gung-ho about it in the beginning, but now I’m just hurt for a variety of reasons. My intent was to have this be a hot and steamy “we-can’t-be-together-but-screw-it-and-screw-you-while-we-get-naked-on-the-floor” story, but it didn’t turn out that way. I can’t complain. My goal is to hurt feelings. Mine included. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Something. 

Anything. 

Preferably vodka. 

Oooh yes, vodka vodka vodka. 

That's what he desired at this moment. That was what he needed. Even a shot of gin would satiate his hunger and need for a drink. It was not like he could go back home and just order his pints and be done with it. The closest place to home was Seoul Tree, but Namjoon wasn't feeling that tonight.

Normally Namjoon would rely on his lovely tobacco infested cigarettes or the sweet taste of THC in his lungs and throat, but fortune was being a bitch and his last pack had been lost, having smoked his last joint that morning. Disappeared and vanished into thin air. Plus a bit of alcohol in his system was always a better fix. 

Fingers groped in his pocket, sighing in defeat and disappointment at not discovering a smoke he may have hidden from himself. Instead, he was rewarded with a stick of gum. 

Better than nothing.  

Tearing open the wrapper, he stuck the gum in his mouth and made his way into the bumping, noisy Club Fetish.

Namjoon found his way inside easily enough in the dark. Honestly, he could really find just about any club in the world with his eyes closed if necessary - he snuck in them often enough when he was younger. He'd ditch classes at his boarding school back in Ireland. It was a hell of a place; one of few sanctuaries to him - almost like detention. Wow, was that kind of screwed up for him to think such a thing?

He sighed and passed a few bucks off to the bouncer, allowing him entrance before he was soon greeted by the noise and smells of the club. Drugs were afoot, and whiskey flowed like water as the potent sweat of dancers and grinding club goers reached his nares. Bass from the speakers pulsed across his body. They were calling out to him.

He was a regular at this place for the past couple of days. It showed in the staff's actions of grasping his wrists and guiding him to the nearest booth, fervently asking him what it was he wished to eat. To drink. 

Asking for some side dishes for the time being, he looked at a familiar face and smiled. "Can you bring me some whiskey if you have any? Otherwise, just some vodka would work." 

The waitress, Libby, gave him a look of concern, worried that the side dishes may not be enough for him to handle the alcohol content of vodka and that he shouldn't be drinking during a work night. However, Namjoon quickly waved off the woman's worries. "Don't worry, Libby, I can handle at least that much. And if you're intent on making sure I get fed properly, just bring me some of that kickass fruit and we'll go from there, yeah? Please?"

After hesitating for another moment, Libby disappeared in the back for a moment before returning with a bottle and glass. The glass of the clear liquid was set before him. 

Finally. 

Tilting his head back, the glass was drained and the familiar buzz warmed his soul. Thank God, he thought, smiling and pressing the glass against his face; the cool surface doing wonders to his warm skin. That's all he needed. Well actually he would have appreciated some more.

Soon, dishes of food were prepared for him and he partook of them happily. Libby continued to refill his glass faithfully and to ease the woman's troubled mind, Namjoon made sure to eat something every time he took a drink. It wasn't until he was half bleary eyed and into his eighth shot that an unsettling thought crept into his mind. A worm of worry taunted how he might turn out to be like his uncle. A drunken, pot-addicted madman without a care for the world and overly aggressive with his flourishes - caring more about his appearances with his colleagues and peers than his own nephew. 

Well fuck him.

Namjoon had some tolerance to liquor as he often stole booze from his uncle just to escape the reality of living in that insanity; of dealing with the morbidity of having to acknowledge that his parents were dead and gone. Well, his father was still alive but he may as well have been dead as far as he was concerned. 

He moaned slightly at the pitiful thoughts. He was not here to think about that. For God's sake, he went to America to escape from everything. Except now it seemed to be haunting him.

Only one thing could make this better. Well, several one things. But weed and company would always be welcomed. 

Libby filled his glass again and as Namjoon chewed on a cracker, he sipped the shot of vodka down - umber eyes glossy and with a slightly hazel sheen - wet from the intoxication reflected in their depths. He stared down into the glass, lost in the swirls of liquid and neon lights dancing at the bottom of it.

He needed to learn to stop thinking. Thinking brought on these issues with family, with his ex and her new lover. She was sprouting thorns, the very same thorns he’d once taken the time to pluck away. 

Yes. He needed to cease all thoughts.

More. Alcohol.

The sound of the doorbell ripped through the silence of the apartment. Mileena jumped from her bed, wielding her pillow in both hands. Her hair and sleeping shirt were disheveled and anyone who looked at her would easily have pointed and laughed. 

Thankfully, no one was there.

The ringing continued, reverberating off the walls, and a series of heavy knocks followed suit. Dropping the pillow onto the bed, she trudged out of the bedroom and into the living room. Her eyes veered toward the clock on the wall, spying the time. It was an ungodly hour of the morning and she wasn’t having it. She didn’t care if it was an emergency either. Heads would roll.

Grasping the handle, she wrenched the door open violently. Mileena prepped her leg to shin-kick the person waking her up this early. It didn’t matter that it was her day off. She barely slept and every hour was precious to her.

On the other side was her ex, Namjoon. She pulled a disgusted face as he lazily rolled his neck to peer down at her. He reeked of booze. Her eyes roved over his appearance. He was dressed nicely, like he was out at the club or leaving a company dinner. His suit jacket hung off his shoulders and his tie was half pulled from his neck. Their gazes met and she sighed, folding her arms across her chest as he leaned heavily against her doorframe.

Life had a way of messing things up. It was no different now. They came from two different worlds. Namjoon was the nephew of some big-shot CEO. Mileena worked two jobs and attended night school. She was just starting down the road of obtaining her Masters when she met Namjoon; when he swept her unknowingly off her feet. 

Was he a bad boy? No. He was a hurt boy who had too much time and too much money on his hands. He walked a self-destructive path and Mileena almost fell into the volcano with him.

Being called into the Dean’s office about her attendance record was the wakeup call she needed.

“Hey, Millie,” he rasped, his voice thick with his lack of sobriety, “busy?”

“I hate that goddamn nickname.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I was busy sleeping. You know, that thing that normal people with regular jobs do?”

He chuckled; that low, rolling sound that held a baritone timbre that always made her heart flutter. It was the sound that he made whenever he was going in for the kill. When he was getting ready to open himself up to showcase a sliver of vulnerability. The side of himself that he rarely showed anyone.

But Mileena saw it. It was the reason she fell for him all those years ago in the first place. 

“What do you want, Joon?” 

“What do you think?” he asked, his hand moving out toward her; to touch her. 

She immediately took a step back, moving just out of his reach. His drunken grin fell from his face, replaced with a dour expression. Her eyes narrowed slightly. 

“You’re drunk,” she snapped, moving to shut the door in his face, “call a cab and go home. I don’t have time for this.”

The door rattled beneath her fingers at the sudden blow from Namjoon’s fist against it. She blinked away what little haze of sleep remained. Mileena slowly reached a hand up to run her fingers through her raven-colored hair, digging the pads into the back of her scalp. Releasing a slow exhale, she cast her stormy hues up at Namjoon.

“You need to leave.”

“Just hear me out, Mills.”

“Why should I?” She scoffed. “You smell like you swam in a vat of whiskey. There’s nothing you could possibly say that would convince me to take it seriously.”

“I can’t live without you.”

Mileena felt her jaw grow slack. She stared straight into his eyes, taking note of the surprise on his own face. Namjoon must have realized what he actually said at that moment - the internal conflict clearly showcasing itself across his visage. For a while, neither of them said anything as they lingered in her doorway entrance.

She waited for him to take it back. She expected him to. 

Instead, he looked back at her expectantly. A cold feeling slowly washed over her entire body, chilling her spine as it continued sinking down to the balls of her feet. Her vision swam with the onset of tears and Mileena roughly swiped at her cheeks to prevent them from falling. She saw Namjoon moving, his hand reaching out toward her face. This time, she side-stepped out of reach - her own hand angrily smacking his wrist away from her.

“Then why aren’t you dead yet?” Mileena snapped. “Why are you still breathing, Kim Namjoon?”

Her words hurt him. She knew it did. But the damaged part of her, the part that was hurt that Namjoon came to her again like this, couldn’t feel a shred of remorse for her callous words or her icy tone. She didn’t even care that she would probably regret it in the morning. 

All Mileena could focus on was damaging his spirit.

Namjoon bit his lower lip, his brows furrowing harshly. “That’s not fair,” he murmured, taking a step toward her. 

She took a step back.

“I think it’s very fair!”

She could feel her heart jack-hammering against her ribs, but Mileena refused to relent. She wouldn’t give him an inch. Because already, without having to be told, she knew he would go a mile. 

He moved faster than what should have been possible for someone who was drunk. In seconds, Namjoon was crowding her space and forcing her back into her apartment. Mileena watched him kick the door with his heel, slamming it shut behind him. She stumbled backwards, nearly losing her footing, but a sharp pain twisted around her wrist as Namjoon grabbed her before she could fall. Her body was pulled forward and she gasped when her chest crashed into his.

“Mileena!” he yelled.

“You never cared about me! About my life!” she screamed, trying to free her wrist from his hold as she pushed away from him. There was a sharp pop at her shoulder from the strain pulling at her arm. “Why should you, when your future is already guaranteed?!”

Namjoon blinked down at her. The angry expression he wore slowly began melting away. Mileena felt him loosen his grip on her wrist and she took advantage of the opportunity - yanking herself fully from him. 

They were five feet apart now. Mileena could barely hear her own breathing over the drumming of her heart. Angry tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. She shouldn’t have been entertaining any of this. She should have just threatened to call the cops on him. Overwhelming feelings of desire and inadequacy always threatened to strangle her when they were around each other; when he was this close . 

Our lives can never meet in the middle, she thought sadly, feeling her lower lip tremble, and that’s why you ended things.

Gravity held her by the ankles, pulling the rest of her body down to the floor. She collapsed to her knees, her hands falling limply at her sides. All she could do was stare at the hardwood floor, consciously forcing herself not to look up at Namjoon. Mileena already knew. If she looked at him now, he’d see the truth behind her eyes. He’d catch the lie in her seemingly frigid words. It didn’t matter that she was dating someone else.

He would know that she still loved him.

“Please,” she managed to croak, the sound of her voice reflecting how tired she truly was, “just leave.”

There was silence at first. Then the subtle shuffling of feet before hearing her front door open and close - the hinges softly squeaking before the latch caught. Mileena quickly covered her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. 

The silence returned and she knew, for certain, that she was alone.

Namjoon barely felt the people he bumped into on the streets and he didn’t hear their protests. The world was a blur of lights and muffled sounds. But none of it mattered to him. Not one single bit. 

Because the world seemed almost colorless.

Traffic zoomed by and he felt his legs carrying him toward something more quiet and solitary. He needed to get away from all the lights. He needed quiet. He needed a place where he could think; a place where he could fill his head with nothing but thoughts of her.

Pain blossomed over his right knee as he ran into a park bench. He stumbled into the seat, his back popping from crashing into it. For a moment, his vision blurred and there was a soft ringing in his ears. The world swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors momentarily before correcting itself. 

Pressing a hand to his forehead, he shook his head as his palm slid down to cover his eyes. 

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid,” he muttered, pressing the pads of his fingers against his skin.  

It wasn’t like he didn’t know the reason they weren’t together anymore. Namjoon was a selfish prick who had home life issues that stemmed from neglect coupled with substitution methods in the form of “buying affection”. Classic, cookie cutter, spoiled rich kid. He played the misunderstood bad boy and the girls were drawn to him like a moth to the flame. Women filled his bed and faces changed as often as the cleaning staff changed the sheets.

Everything changed when he met Mileena. He wanted to change. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be better for himself because she made him see that there was a different way to do things. Throwing money didn’t gain influence. Behaving like an asshole didn’t achieve success or respect.

But Namjoon knew he was selfish. She wasn’t a dime a dozen. She was his unicorn. 

And just like in fairy tales, his touch tainted her. 

Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. And then one year became two. The more he wanted her, the more selfish he became. The more he pushed, the more she pulled away. She was right. He didn’t care that Mileena was working and studying. He depended on her and demanded her attention way more than what was necessary. But she continued to give and give and give.

Until one day, she just couldn’t give anymore.

Namjoon collapsed under the pressure of his world. Its fake smiles, fake promises, and cold outer shell. Nothing was genuine, but that didn’t make it any less real. The truth was harsh and slashed at him from the inside out.

He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows onto his knees. With a heavy heart, he let everything settle over his body like a lead blanket. He’d fucked it all up and had no one to blame but himself. Because he wasn’t strong enough to truly fight for what he wanted. He was too scared to leave his privilege behind.

Mileena was right. He could live without her. He could still breathe without her. 

But that didn’t mean that he wanted to.

A bitter laugh pushed from Namjoon’s lips as he slowly shook his head.

At least she was free from the shackles of his bullshit.

Sincerely, Yours - JJK

For the @btswriterscorner​ - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Jeon Jungkook hails from humble origins, his family ranked as Laborers. Since he is the youngest of three children, his time for the lottery has not come. But when it does, he refuses to conform to society’s system and runs away. Disowned, he’s now become a fugitive, taking on odd jobs here and there as a “runner-for-hire”. What he doesn’t realize is that he will find love in the most unexpected place.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female OC (Nikita Meyers)

Warnings: Strong language, vandalism, violence, interracial/intercultural relationship

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,607

AN: This is the companion piece to my first story, Touch In The Dark. This is the “rebel” view of what transpires in the world that I built. In all honesty, I think I may like the MYG version a little more, but I think it’s mostly from my love of hurting my own feelings. I still had a lot of fun with this one and I hope you all enjoy it. Writing for Jungkookis is always a good time. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of a nearby building. He whistled a tune to himself, a song from a life he could barely remember these days. A former Laborer, now turned Runner, Jungkook could say that he left a life that he knew wasn’t meant for him. The Class system was such a bogus way to create order and balance in the world. The Blue Bloods stayed in the upper tier and those born in poverty or with lesser means were meant to work for the rest of their days. Throw in The Lottery Bill and that was just the cherry on top of a fucked up sundae.

A soft breeze pushed against his form as he watched the sky transform into a mesh of warm colors: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. The sun was starting to set and the world’s light would dim, blanketed by the cobalt sky littered with the few stars he was only allowed to see as he ran from rooftop to rooftop. Running free, no longer tethered to the rules of the world that dared to shackle him to a life of meaninglessness.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the messages and noticed the priority one at the very top. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed quietly as he glanced over the message. His newest client was scheduled to meet him in an hour. It was a standard escort job. It wouldn’t be too hard and the pay was decent.

In their society, it was a crime to “fall in love” with anyone. Period. Not even the spouse that was chosen during an individual’s Lottery drawing. Love fueled emotions that often led to the ruins of others. Passion had the potential to overshadow logic and reason. When logic and reason were cast aside, only terrible things happened. Emotions were just bad things and led to bad times.

Jungkook didn’t buy into that horseshit.

It was the main reason he abandoned his station in life and lived in the moment. He didn’t worry about yesterday. He could care less about tomorrow. Today was all that mattered and all that would matter when it was finally said and done. 

He slid his thumb over the screen, dialing the number of his new “job” detail. The man answered quickly, interrupting the second ring. 

“Is this Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook smirked at the hushed tone in the man’s voice. “It is. Is this Min Yoongi?”

“Yes,” he replied softly, as if trying to gauge Jungkook’s own tone, “were you able to secure safe passage for both my wife and me?”

Clambering to his feet, he dusted off the backs of his weathered jeans and knocked a bit of dirt off his boots. “That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. That was taken care of by a different handler.”

He knew he was being a little shit, but sometimes it was all about asking the right questions.

There was a semi-long pause from the other end of the line, followed by a slow sigh of what could be presumed as mounting exasperation. 

“So why was I directed to you?”

Jungkook’s grin grew a little wider. “Because I’m the one who’s going to get you out in one piece.”

“I see,” Yoongi said, as if he was mulling over something, “so you’re a Runner.”

It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I just hope you’re as fast as that mouth of yours.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “I’m faster, trust me.” Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, he spied the time. “I’ll meet you at the Square in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

And without waiting for a reply, Jungkook ended the call. Pulling out his earbuds, he connected the jack to the phone and slipped the buds on. It didn’t take him long to find the song he wanted, cranking up the volume as the intro crescendoed slowly. Inhaling lungfuls of air, he stretched his arms out wide and then raised them up so they were parallel with his head. Once he loosened up the muscles, he rolled his neck and hopped up and down - shaking his arms for good measure. 

He always had to psyche himself up for things like this.

As soon as the balls of his feet hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. Up and over the edge of the roof. The world rushed by him in a blur of motion, his dark hair flying off his forehead. The night was cool, but the wind stung his eyes - making them water. He quickly wiped at them, curling his body inward and then extending his limbs. The concrete scraped at the pads of his fingers, but it didn’t take him long to realign his body, forcing his lower half to swing off to the side so that he could catch the railing of the fire escape. 

The bars rattled violently when his heels planted themselves onto the platform, but he was already climbing up the bars to reach the next rooftop. Once Jungkook made it over the edge, his legs pumped the ground in tandem with his heavily beating heart.

Unconsciously, his mouth spread into a wide open smile.

Free-running. They couldn’t have called it something better if they tried.

Sweat broke out across his brow and the pulse of the song’s bass seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. With every jump, lunge, catch and pull he performed, Jungkook’s elation only seemed to climb. It would be too soon if he could never run as free as he was now.

Heaving and halfway covered in perspiration, Jungkook arrived at the designated meeting spot within fifteen minutes. It gave him just enough time to grab a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine, emptying half the contents over his head and soaking his hair. Onlookers peered at him curiously, but he didn’t pay them any attention. He almost never did. He drained what was left in the bottle, savoring the feeling of re-hydrating himself.

Craning his neck, he located a nearby waste bin and was about to toss the bottle into it - arms stretched like he was shooting a basketball into a hoop. 

He stumbled forward suddenly, his body pushed forward from an unexpected impact. Grunting, he quickly pivoted on his heels to see who was responsible, but all he caught sight of was a ball cap flying in his line of sight as auburn curls flew past him. Jungkook reached out and snatched the hat out of the air as the owner turned to catch a glimpse of him. 

Her dark gray eyes glared at him, catching Jungkook off guard. Despite living in South Korea, Jungkook was used to foreigners. But he certainly didn’t remember seeing someone with those eyes and soft caramel skin. Her hair looked dyed, but it strangely suited her.

Jungkook took a step forward, holding her hat out to her. Instead of taking it back, she continued to shift her gaze from him and then to the hat. He grinned.

“Not even a thank you, huh? You don’t want this back?” He waved the cap back and forth, as though he were trying to keep a cat’s attention on him. “Is this mine now?”

He hadn’t seen her move. In fact, he didn’t even realize she’d closed what small distance existed between them. Not until Jungkook felt a soft burst of pain near his stomach. The wind was knocked from him almost immediately and all he could manage was a wide-eyed stare at her.

She grinned, twisting her fist into his stomach a little more. “Not a chance, you fucking tool,” replied the girl.

Jungkook collapsed to one knee when she took a step back, her hat not back in her possession. He struggled to reclaim what air was stolen from him, one dark brown eye glaring up at her. Not to say that women were weak, but he hadn’t expected a punch from a pretty girl to hurt this much. 

Hopping back on one foot, she waved the hat at him in a farewell gesture before sliding it back onto her head. She turned and bolted from the square without so much as a second glance at him. He coughed, rubbing at his chest in an attempt to regulate his breathing again.

Wow, what a bitch, he thought, but Jungkook found himself smirking once the pain subsided.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

“Are you alright?”

The voice jarred him from his thoughts and he quickly scrambled to his feet. He was face to face with his temporary charge, Min Yoongi. Standing beside him was a woman with dark brown curls, hazel eyes, and mocha skin. She peered at Jungkook curiously, her hand laced through Yoongi’s. She was also a foreigner from what he could tell, and well-known through the news as the “Charity Selection” picked from The Lottery two years ago.

He folded his arms across his chest. “This might be a little difficult.”

Yoongi lofted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Jungkook began, taking a few steps toward them before circling around both of them, “your wife’s kinda popular.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not going to be able to help us?”

“I didn’t say that.” He held a hand up and then waved it through the air, as if shooing away a gnat. “I just said that it’ll be a little difficult. Not impossible.” Jungkook met their gazes and grinned. “I got this. Trust me.”

~ n.m. ~

“Nikita, that was reckless.”

Removing the baseball cap, she roughly ran her fingers through her curls while scoffing. She carelessly tossed the parcel onto the table. “What does it matter? I got you what you asked for.”

The man seated at the table steepled his fingers, dark eyes peering over his knuckles at her. Nikita waited for him to say something, but he merely sighed and began to untie the twine wrapped around the brown paper packaging. It was his way of dismissing her, but letting Nikita know that she wasn’t completely off the hook. He’d find a way to pay her back and it wouldn’t be pretty.

She knew this because it wouldn’t be the first time.

Not wanting to press her luck, Nikita quickly vacated the office and closed the door behind her. She rested her shoulder against the door frame, mentally kicking herself for what she’d said. She knew she didn’t mean it, and yet she continued to come off as cold and unfeeling in these situations. Nikita was about to slam her head into the door when someone suddenly cleared their throat beside her. 

“Keep it up and you’re going to put Minjae Hyung into an early grave.”

Craning her neck, she cut her eyes at the shaggy-haired individual - his shit-eating grin never failing to irritate her. 

“Shut-up, Taegi-ah,” she snipped, walking past him. Predictably, he followed but Nikita ignored him, focusing her attention on the warehouse.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Nikki-ah,” he whined at her back. 

She rolled her eyes. Nikita hated that nickname and he knew it. She also knew that he didn’t care that she hated it. 

Because that was the kind of person Yoon Taegi was. 

A pain in her goddamn ass.

But she couldn’t hold it against him. Because he was the one who helped her break the chains the world decided to put on her the day she was born. Without him, she knew she would still be living the life of a woefully ignorant aristocrat - blind to the truth of society’s agenda. Nikita lived in a castle made of glass and didn’t understand her purpose outside of being a breeding agent for some future husband she would never be able to relate to.

When the day came for her to be matched with her significant other, Nikita was ready to accept that lot in her life. She was prepared to walk down the path that she was groomed for. What reason did she have to believe otherwise; to be aware that there was something else beyond the veil?

The truth wasn’t known to her until she saw a couple being arrested on the streets - cuffed and pulled away from each other. They screamed until their throats were raw, and then continued yelling for each other. They managed to share one final kiss until each were thrown into separate police cars and driven away to be incarcerated.

Their fates were declared on international television.

Taegi was the man she’d seen carted away and three months later, he broke out of prison. As punishment, the woman he loved was put to death. It was their attempt to shatter his spirit, to break him. 

They failed.

Sighing, she looked at Taegi’s smug expression and couldn’t help marveling at how far they’d come. A loaf of bread, cheese and meat was all it took to barter for the truth. Taegi gave it to her and Nikita knew she could never go back to her life of privilege. Not if there were people she could help in the process. It didn’t take her long to find herself pulled into Rebel circles - all of them graciously accepting her into their fold.

hree years passed since then and Nikita didn’t regret leaving her family or her “duty” behind. She was free and she was fighting for a cause that meant something. Even if she’d never experienced it for herself.

Love.

Sliding the metal door aside, Nikita stepped into the warehouse. The smell of gunpowder and kerosene instantly filled her nostrils - causing her eyes to water slightly. She quickly wiped at them and sniffed, fishing through a crate on a nearby table. Her hands stilled momentarily as she felt Taegi’s palms slip over her shoulders. He squeezed them gently and she sighed, hanging her head a measure as her eyes stared into the box of homemade pipe bombs and hand grenades.

“Sometimes I worry that the fighting is never going to end,” Nikita said softly.

Taegi rubbed her shoulders in a comforting motion before moving away from her to lean against the table. He folded his arms across his chest, his face lifting to the ceiling. “It’ll stop one day. We just have to stand strong and in solidarity.”

Nikita shrugged, pulling out a few pipe bombs. “I just hope we’re around long enough to see it.”

She checked the fuses, gauging their length, before placing them back in the box. She set one hand grenade out, flicking a finger over the pull pin. After making sure that it was secure, she dropped it into her messenger bag and moved to the next crate. It contained knives of varying shapes and sizes. She opted for a switchblade of decent length, slipping it into her back pocket.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she scanned the message on her screen. It was from Minjae, as expected. He was sending her on another assignment. There was another potential ally they could have on their side versus running amok on the streets.

Turning to move to another table, she felt Taegi’s hand grasping at her arm. She looked at him and saw the worry lines etched across his forehead. Nikita couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You just got back and you’re already prepping to head out again.” He frowned. “You’re like a machine, woman.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, chuckling slightly, “I’m not one to sit around and do nothing.”

“It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about resting. You’ve been gone for three days.” Taegi sighed, releasing his hold on her. “Hyung can’t pass this off to someone else?”

“Nope.” Nikita shook her head. “Recruitment’s my main gig. You know this. Besides…” She paused, meeting Taegi’s gaze, her own expression softening a bit. “...if we don’t have more people on our side, what good is any of this? It’s never going to stop until every last one of us are either dead or re-educated. Numbers mean everything.”

Looking back at the phone, she opened the file Minjae sent her. It was the most current dossier on a person willingly living off the grid. They had been for some time now.

She recognized his picture immediately. He was the guy she’d run into earlier that day. The same guy she punched in the gut for teasing her when she was in the process of playing “courier” for their group.

Nikita couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her. Taegi looked at her curiously but she shook her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. This was going to be interesting. Maybe he’d hear her out despite the terrible first impression she’d given. 

My job just got a little bit harder. Great.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook lazily sprawled himself out on the largest branch of an old tree near the edge of town. Swiveling a toothpick between his teeth, he looked around at the people who passed below him obliviously. It amused him, in a way, how they could mindlessly continue with their lives. They were like sheep to the slaughter, unaware of the truth of things.

Then again, he didn’t really know what the “truth” was himself.

All that mattered to him was no longer having a label stamped on his body as though it were a badge of shame. Society deemed that he was destined to be poor. Society claimed that his ideal match would be someone of their choosing. Society was right and the average person didn’t need to question this.

Well, society could go eat a bag of dicks.

Again, his phone buzzed. He picked it up from where he had it laying on his chest to stare at it - the screen illuminating his face in the shadows. It was another job forwarded by his employer. Sighing, he opened up the dossier of the person he was sent to help this time. When he saw the picture, however, Jungkook sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of the tree. 

It was her. The woman who nailed him in the gut without batting an eyelash. The woman whose dark auburn curls and gray eyes failed to vacate his mind.

He was immediately suspicious.

Normally he would forward a job he didn’t want to another Runner. It wasn’t like Jungkook was hurting for money. In fact, he was planning on taking a small vacation soon - taking himself off the grid completely for a few weeks before coming back. But his curiosity was a damning thing and he didn’t mind being damned if it meant knowing who this woman was.

Nikita Meyers. 25. Former Blue Blood. Currently wanted by authorities due to her association with various Rebel factions throughout the world.

Blinking, he read through the short blurb again to make sure that he wasn’t misinterpreting anything. But what was there to misinterpret? This woman had it all and threw everything away to be a fugitive? Like him? He didn’t get it. Wasn’t the high life a life of pleasure and carefree days?

Why would she ever want to toss it away for the gritty life?

Jungkook frowned, thinking back on the life he left behind. He refused to conform to society’s whims and ran away from home when it was time for him to have his partner chosen through The Lottery Bill. He didn’t know what love was and he wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it if the government was hell-bent on minimizing it throughout the globe. Jungkook could admit that he did stupid things when he was emotionally unstable, hence why he was living the life he currently was in the first place. But he also wasn’t too keen on the idea of bending to the whims of others.

Even so…

Sliding his thumb over the screen, he dialed the number his contact provided for him. It rang three times before someone answered. Her voice filled his ears and he leaned his back against the trunk of the tree as he listened.

“Jungkook-ssi?”

He smirked. “Oh, are we using polite words now?”

He heard a sigh from the other line. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I had my reasons.”

“Sure you did.” His tone dripped of sarcasm, but Jungkook felt his smile growing wider. “It’s alright. I forgive you anyway.”

“You’re so gracious. So, are you gonna help me or are you gonna pass me off so I’m someone else’s problem?”

His lips formed into a small ‘O’ while he scratched the side of his nose. “Is that normal for you?”

Nikita scoffed. “I don’t make it a habit to become a problem for anyone in the first place.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied while shifting his position to stand on the tree branch, “it’s fun to be problematic.”

“I’m sure you’d know that.”

“Of course. That's why I said it.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Jungkook was going to help her. He’d made that decision the minute he saw her picture on his phone as the next job he was supposed to take. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have fun with her about it. 

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to have some free time slotted in my schedule.”

“Good. Now come down from that tree and meet me face-to-face.”

His smile fell from his face and he sat up again, looking around in every direction. He quickly craned his neck down and saw she was standing below the tree he was currently perched in. For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other - each of them holding their phones to their faces; listening to the other person breathing. 

Then he saw her smile up at him. It was a smile that clearly said that she knew more than he did; that she’d gotten the best of him. A smile full of secrets, daring someone to try to discover them.

It was a smile that made his heart twist sharply in his chest.

Hanging up the phone, he slid it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Without batting an eyelash, Jungkook effortlessly hopped off the tree branch, landing with an unnecessary flourish in front of her. Nikita slid her phone into her pocket as he slid his palms over the thighs of his jeans. 

Again, neither said anything. They just took in each other’s presence. 

Now that he got a better look at her, Jungkook was at least half a head taller than her. The strap to a dark gray messenger bag was pressed across her chest at an angle, enhancing the swell of her bosom. Other than that, there was nothing else about her that would elicit inappropriate thoughts. No skin showed outside of her bare neck, face, and thin wrists peeking out from the sleeves of her dark green field jacket. She wore charcoal gray cargo pants stuffed into a pair of shin length combat boots. A black newsboy hat adorned the top of her head this time.

“So,” Jungkook said, finally breaking the silence, “where am I escorting the lovely lady?”

“We’re too exposed here.” Nikita moved past him and he pivoted on his heels to follow after her. 

They were heading back into the city. 

Just as he was about to suggest they could go somewhere a little more private to chat, she hopped onto a nearby dumpster and scaled up the fire escape as easily as snapping her fingers. Jungkook slowly arched his neck, watching her fling herself up one iron landing until her body swung in a half arc to allow her the reach she needed to grasp onto the edge of the building’s rooftop. Her booted feet scraped over the brick, crumbling small bits to the ground until she disappeared over the edge.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he mumbled, his smile returning. This woman was just full of surprises.

“Are you comin’ or not?” she called down to him.

Not like he needed to be asked twice. Jungkook made a game of it, determined to scale the building in half the amount of time she had. Once he reached the top, he pulled himself over the edge in time to see her running at full speed across the building. 

“Hey!” he shouted after her, his own legs eating at the ground in hot pursuit, “Wait a minute!”

But just as he was starting to close the distance, Nikita jumped from the building and curled her body inward. Jungkook was almost to the edge and was preparing his own dismount when he saw her successfully clear the gap. She grabbed onto one of the metal pipes and swung herself into an open window. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to relish in the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his eyes memorizing her movement patterns so he could follow the trail she was leaving for him.

Dust filled his nostrils, causing him to cough from the onslaught to his senses. The room smelled of old wood and mold. The building had long since been abandoned and there was clearly no interest in changing its state of disrepair. The boards creaked under each step that was taken and Jungkook mentally worried if the floor would crack and collapse right beneath him.

A beam of bright light blinded him and he hissed, moving his forearm to cover his eyes. 

“Yo, what’s the deal?!” 

His words sounded snappish, which hadn’t been his intention, but what did anyone expect when suddenly rendered unable to see?

“Sorry,” Nikita said, lowering the light to give him a chance to adjust to the darkness, “I wanted to make sure you were right behind me.” 

Jungkook rubbed his fists into his eyes gingerly, shaking his head to blink the golden spots away from his vision. “It’s fine.” 

She gestured with the flashlight toward the stairs. “Follow me. And watch your step.”

Everything in the building seemed ancient and forgotten. Jungkook swore he heard it groan in response to their presence there. It gave him an eerie sort of vibe that he wasn’t sure he wanted to really wrap his head around. 

Once they reached the ground floor, Nikita disappeared through a door to the right. It looked like an office building of some kind now that he got a better look at it. He could hear her roughly pulling at drawers from what he assumed were old metal filing cabinets. Jungkook took a lean against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest as more dust flew in the air from Nikita’s manic investigation methods.

“Need any help?”

She slammed a drawer closed and yanked at another one, fingers dancing over the folders. “I’m good.”

He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “So what is this place?”

“Used to be a Public Records office until everything became digitized and moved to the various data hubs all over the globe.”

“And now?”

Nikita pulled out a folder and sifted through the papers inside. “Now it’s a place for squatters and a go-between for Rebel units.”

Jungkook hummed in understanding. But something puzzled him.

“So why are we here?”

Turning to face him, she waved the envelope at him. “Gathering intel for another client.”

“Wait.” He stepped inside the room. “This isn’t an escort job, but a recon mission?”

Nikita grinned, shutting the drawer closed with her hip. “Yup.”

He frowned. “Then why was I hired for this? You do know that I’m a Runner, right?”

“I know.” She stuffed the envelope into her bag, using the beam of her flashlight to rifle through whatever contents were also inside. “I know exactly who you are, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know why, but he didn’t like what she was insinuating with those words.

Nikita pulled something else from her bag, but it was too dark for him to see. Using her other hand to secure the bag’s clasp, she stepped toward the window and slid it open. Jungkook watched her poking her head out, presumably to see if anyone else was coming. It was dark and most people had normal work schedules so there wasn’t a chance for anyone to be out after midnight. 

Well, except for them.

“It’s a waste.”

“What?” Jungkook slightly tilted his head, confused. “What is?”

“You left everything behind the same time I did, but all you’ve done is float through life without a care in the world.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “It’s a waste.”

Rolling his eyes, he frowned. “What the hell do you know?”

He didn’t appreciate her judgmental attitude toward him. It wasn’t like she knew him. It wasn’t like she understood what he’d gone through up until that point. Living off the grid wasn’t easy and it wasn’t for everyone. Sure, he could have gone back home and ponied up. He could have turned to those fighting against society’s rules and regulations, seeing refuge from a dying world. But he wasn’t about to let himself become dependent on anyone. Being dependent on others equated to marginalized freedom and Jungkook didn’t want that either.

Even if it he had to remain alone to maintain it.

“I know you’re a Runner,” she said, flashing a shit-eating grin at him, “so I suggest you do what you’re good at. Running.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure what she was getting at. But before he could question her further, something fell to the ground. It rolled across the floor and into the sliver of light that leaked in through the window from the streetlamp outside. 

It was a hand grenade.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Jungkook barely heard his own voice through the panic cadence of his heartbeat. 

Nikita reached out to grab his hand, pulling him toward her. “RUN!”

They both tumbled out the window, rolling onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. They dislodged themselves from each other, frantically scrambling to their feet as they hurried to put as much distance between them and the building as possible. The heat from the explosion pressed against Jungkook’s back, forcing his body to lurch forward. Something cut the side of his face and he grunted as his shoulder collided with the concrete. He thought he heard someone calling him, but it was hard to make out from the soft ringing in his ears and the alarms going off.

“Shit,” he muttered as he sat up on all fours, shaking his head back and forth to chase away his rattled nerves.

Someone grabbed roughly at his jacket, yanking him up to his feet. His face was inches from Nikita’s, her stormy eyes reflecting the fire and smoke eating away at the building behind him.

“Come on,” she said, her hand reaching out to grasp his, “we have to go!”

He didn’t have time to yell at her. He simply followed her direction. Besides, he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t just walk away from this. Jungkook was an accomplice - willingness be damned. 

He was a Rebel now.

~ n.m. ~

She’d be lying if she hadn’t planned it out that way. Nikita never had any intention of outright asking Jungkook if he would join their cause. Instead, she chose to be a dirty bitch about it - forcing his hand and leaving him no other option but to stand at their side. The Rebels weren’t necessarily losing, but they weren’t winning, either. The more skilled people they had on their side, people like Jungkook, the more likely they would win against society’s preconceived notion of what “success” and “happiness” was.

Nikita did it because she knew that they had to have him. That she had to have him. She didn’t feel guilty about taking him away from the life he’d chosen for himself.

A month later, however, the guilt started rearing its ugly little head. Usually in the dead of night; when the urge to smoke overtook her. She puffed on a cigarette, her thoughts swirling around in her head like a busted washing machine in desperate need of repair. Minjae told her that she didn’t need to tell him the truth about that day; what her intention was. She normally never questioned Minjae or his motives.

Now? Another month passed. She wasn’t so sure anymore..

A strong gust of wind pushed up against her body, causing her to take a half a step forward. The wind was always powerful the higher a person was. But the rooftop of their hideout was the only place she could find any solace. More and more people were joining their cause, but more people meant less space. Maybe it was the former high-privileged snob in her, but she liked being able to have a little breathing room in her life.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here,” a voice said from behind her. 

She turned to glance over her shoulder, seeing that it was Jungkook. Her brows furrowed, a soft ache building at the center of her chest. But she didn’t say anything. He took a step back, his hand reaching behind him so he could push the door back open.

Nikita exhaled a thin stream of smoke, tapping the ash off the side of the building. “Stay if you want.” She shifted her gaze back to look at the twilight sky. “You don’t have to leave.”

The door closed, but the sound of feet shuffling closer toward her caused her to release a silent breath of relief. She didn’t want the awkward feeling to continue between them, and in the last month Jungkook proved himself useful. He never demanded to leave, because the people around him wanted him to stay. It made Nikita wonder if he’d never felt a sense of community before now; if he’d always been alone.

She was decent enough not to ask.

“No assignments. That’s rare.” He said it so easily, like he’d been a Rebel for years.

Shrugging, she lifted the cigarette to her lips. “Can’t be busy all the time. Batteries need charging and all that shit.”

He chuckled, sidling up beside her but giving her at least three feet of space. Nikita cast him a sidelong glance, watching him lean against the railing with his forearms.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick. She raised a brow, unable to force back the smirk forming on her face. It was a habit she’d never understand, but it strangely suited him. She shook her head as he clamped his teeth over the twig, making it swivel back and forth with his tongue.

“What about you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m heading out in two days.”

Nikita wouldn’t ask him where. It was better if she didn’t know. The less she knew, the less likely Jungkook would be compromised should something happen while he was away.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She finished her smoke, tossing the cigarette butt off the edge. Jungkook was focused on the starry night sky, so she knew he didn’t notice her looking at him. His hair shifted in back and forth motions from another gust of wind. He looked so lost in thought, yet completely relaxed.

Anything could happen between now and tomorrow. Jungkook could turn his back on them and possibly reveal everything he’d learned to the authorities. Or he could just get captured or killed. There were no guarantees in the world they were both fighting against and fighting for.

“I’m sorry,” Nikita said, surprised at herself with how suddenly the words came tumbling out.

“Huh?” Jungkook straightened up to his full height, flashing her a confused look. “What for?”

“I put us in that situation back then so that you’d have no choice but to come with us.” 

He appeared to not understand what she was getting at. Was he really so gullible? Or was he just that innocent? How had the world not broken him?!

Nikita closed her eyes tightly, biting her lower lip that was already beginning to tremble. “I purposefully set you up. I forced you to become a Rebel.”

She couldn’t see him, much to her relief. But the sound of her heart hammering roughly against her ribs drowned out the sounds of the city. If he was saying anything at that moment, Nikita was confident she wouldn’t have heard him.

“I know.”

Those two words pierced through her loudly pounding heartbeat. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked her head to face him. He was closer to her now, but still wearing that gentle expression. The one of someone who understood something that she hadn’t been able to glean. The kind of expression that told volumes about a person’s life.

About the pain they were forced to endure.

“I know you did. And that’s okay.”

She blinked up at him, gobsmacked by his words. “Wh-What?” 

How could he say that it was okay? What part of what she said was okay? As far as Nikita was concerned, none of this was okay!

“Because it was only after being here, I realized why you did. To me, that’s all that matters.”

Nikita’s brows furrowed in disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was like she’d lost the ability to speak or even formulate coherent phrases. 

He continued.

“I’m a Runner. You said it yourself, running is what I’m good at. People only ever needed me to run for them. Nothing more. Nothing less.” 

She watched him take a step toward her.

~ j.j. ~

Nikita looked like a deer caught in headlights. 

Jungkook felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach; like something was fluttering inside of it. He wondered if he looked the same. If he had that same expression on his own face. Jungkook hoped he didn’t, but he felt weirdly calm. He couldn’t quite place why, other than he believed everything he was saying at that moment. 

And he believed that Nikita would hear him; truly hear him.

Because for damn near two months, Jungkook couldn’t get Nikita out of his mind.

“My family didn’t care about me running away from my responsibilities. If they did, they would be looking for me now.” 

He took another step forward, his eyes flicking downward to see if Nikita was going to take a step back. She didn’t, and that strange feeling in his stomach intensified.

“My two siblings are making up for my shortcomings. They’re happy and so I kept running. Here. There. Everywhere. It never mattered where I was or how long I was gone. Because running is what I do.”

Nikita looked like she was really listening to him. He knew it because of how focused her eyes were; shaking.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered. 

He knew he should take a step back. Reassess things and think about just what the hell was tumbling from his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d planned this and he hadn’t expected for her to apologize for making him a sucker. One day was all he needed to figure it out. After the initial internal battle he had with himself died down, Jungkook was planning to get the hell out of that place. He would play nice and then bounce. Simple as that.

But one day turned into one week. Then two. Then three. 

Until a month passed by.

He realized it hadn’t bothered him as much as he initially thought. Because in that short amount of time, he saw Nikita in ways that he was sure she didn’t realize was being showcased. Jungkook discovered every nuance about her as their paths crossed every single day. From the way she preferred hats with bills than beanies, to how she would scratch at the bridge of her nose when she was annoyed. She preferred dogs over cats, but had a special kind of love for horses. She liked dark liquors and she hated beer. Nikita hated mornings, but she would always get up early to see the sunrise before going back to sleep.

And she was one helluva free runner.

Taking one more step forward, there was now less than a foot of space between Nikita and him. Again, he looked down to see if she would step back. And again, she didn’t.

“For the first time in a while, no one wants me running anymore. And when I have to run, I know I have a place to run back to. Because there are people waiting for me.”

He reached out to grasp her wrists, feeling her pulse jumping with life beneath his palms. For a split second, he suddenly felt self-conscious that his hands might be cold, clammy, or all of the above. But Jungkook selfishly refused to let go. He would apologize later for it if she shoved him aside. 

Or off the building.

He waited - the soft clouds of breath meeting hers as she breathed out in sync with him. Nikita didn’t move or was thinking about what to do at that moment. Jungkook knew he needed to hurry and say what was churning inside of him. 

What he’d been wanting to say for almost a week now.

“Because people like you are waiting for me.”

His hands moved from her wrists, slowly gliding up her arms until his palms slid over the delicate curve of her shoulders. Jungkook even knew how strong she was under all the bulky clothes she wore. It was how people kept underestimating her. It was how she survived.

But even under that strength was a gentle and compassionate woman. A woman who cared about the people around her. A woman who decidedly left her comfortable entitlement to help anyone suffering under the injustice of the world’s system. A woman who cried in mourning for those who could not be with the ones they loved.

Jungkook’s hands cupped her neck, using his thumbs to stroke over Nikita’s jawline. He gently pressed them to her chin, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears forming in her eyes and he paused, feeling his own hands trembling. Could he afford to hesitate? Could he really let this moment pass by, only to fade away into the darkness where it would never return to see the light of day?

He had to keep trusting her. Trust that she would keep listening.

“Jungkook, what are you--?”

“I love you.”

Jungkook felt like his insides were going to fall straight out of him. He said it. His nerves felt liquefied, but he said it.

“W-What?”

“I love you, Nikita.”

Not wanting her to push him away, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her gasp in his mouth and he waited for her to retaliate. To kick and scream and threaten to toss him over the side to his death. He would have deserved it. His death would be justified.

But Nikita didn’t shove him to the side. No. And he lifted his lips from hers when he felt her hands cupping his elbows. What tears were in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Jungkook saw her brows furrow, but there was a watery smile now on her face.

And then he kissed her again, harder. His hands left her face so he could wrap his arms around her, fully pulling her up against him. He needed her close. Closer than he’d ever been able to get to her. The need was terrible and he didn’t want to chase it away. He sucked in air through his nose, drinking in the subtle smell of her shampoo. Nipping and tugging at her lips between his teeth and tongue, he relished the soft taste of ash from the cigarette she smoked earlier. But there was a hint of peppermint. Nikita always ate a peppermint before smoking because she despised the taste.

Jungkook would continue his mission of getting her to quit.

They parted the kiss long enough to get air. He could just barely see her through the clouds of their breaths. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed to glow. He loved how Nikita always looked like she could see right through him.

“I fell in love with you. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers as their noses touched. “I just did. I just do.”

Turning to bury his nose into the curve of Nikita’s neck, he smiled against her skin.

“It’s okay if you don’t right now. We have as much time as we need to figure it out. Until then, just let me keep loving you as you are now. As I am now.”

Her body shook with how roughly she was nodding her head. Jungkook pressed his fingers against the back of her neck as he held her aloft. And for awhile, that’s all they did. Hugged each other. He could feel how hard their hearts were hammering against each other. All the anxiety and hesitation felt like it was bleeding out of him.

Nikita laughed a little. “Damn,” she whispered.

Jungkook smirked. “What?”

“Guess this means I love you too.”

They shared a laugh. He leaned forward to pull her into a hug. Jungkook appreciated how good it felt to know her arms were around him. It may have been a selfish beginning, but it wouldn’t be a selfish end.

He knew things would get harder from now on. But that was okay. Because the hole in his heart was full. 

Because he loved this woman in his arms.

He already lost so much but now he lost everything.

Tags:angts,death,no comfort,GetoxGN!reader,heartwrenching,regret,depressed,Student!Au

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

@muzansslxt @candy69gurl

Suguru's face contorts with a new level of pain. His grip around your body tightens even further, his mind filled with fear, shock and dread. The thought of losing you, his precious Bun Bun, in such a horrible way, hurts him greatly. The curse had robbed him of yet another precious thing from his life, taking away yet another person that he truly loved.

Anger, despair and sadness all flood out of Geto as he holds your broken body in his arms. He holds you closely to his chest as tears begin to run down his cheeks. Suguru buries his face in your hair and lets out a heartbreaking cry. He can't contain the overwhelming sadness and sorrow that fills his body, the pain and despair he's feeling. He holds you close, trying to shield you from the harsh world, wanting to protect you from the cruel fate that's befallen you. His body shakes as he cries, his hold on you growing increasingly tighter.

"Why..."

Suguru says with a low, broken voice as he gently kisses your forehead, his eyes filled with tears. He can't believe you died so unfairly, taken away by that stupid curse he should've killed a long time ago. His hold of you tightens and his grip moves to the back of your head, the only thought in his mind right now is to protect your body and never let anyone hurt you again. He won't let anyone else have you. Suguru cries silently as he buries his face into your hair once more. Tears pour down his cheeks as that intense and possessiveness he's felt toward you only grows stronger. The intense grief and sorrow he's experiencing is unbearable, and he finds himself hugging you tighter. He's unwilling to let go of you now that you're gone. He keeps whispering your name over and over again, his voice low and choked with emotion.

"Don't leave me."

Suguru whispers, his voice sounding broken as the reality of your death hits him hard. He holds you tightly to his chest, refusing to let go of you as the tears continue to flow. The possessiveness he's felt toward you has only intensified in light of your tragic fate and he finds himself squeezing you in between his hands. He's going to do everything he can to protect your body, refusing to let anyone have it or abuse it ever again.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru is standing next to your coffin, his usual stoic expression has been replaced with one filled with absolute misery. His eyes are red and puffy, it's obvious that he's cried his heart out since you left. Every little thing he sees reminds him of you, and all the memories of you that he's cherished for all these years seem to have been magnified even more in his mind. His grip on your coffin is very firm, it's clear that he doesn't want anyone else to touch it. He stares down at your casket with a mixture of sadness and rage. Every time someone approaches his side, he stares them down with his intimidating gaze, as if he's challenging everyone not to get any closer to your body. A sudden urge to protect the casket at all costs overcomes him, like he's afraid someone will touch it or move it. He glares at everyone who's present, daring them to come near your beloved body. He's unable to control the possessive feelings that are overtaking him.

Once it's just him standing by your casket, he leans down close, his voice soft with a mixture of pain and grief. He gently touches your cheek, his fingers brushing over your soft and delicate skin. His breath hitches, the sight of your body in that wooden coffin breaks his heart. His eyes are filled with tears and he keeps his hands on your face, cherishing your presence, even when you're no longer here. He can't help but feel a sense of possession over your lifeless body.

"This can't be real..."

He whispers to himself. His voice is broken as he gazes at your lifeless face, his fingers tracing your soft facial features. In his head, he's hoping this is just a nightmare that they'll both wake up from any moment. But then reality hits him as hard as ever and he can't help but shed more tears. His grief is overpowering as he caresses your face one last time, wishing that things could've been very different. Instead, he's left standing alone by your casket, trying to accept the situation as it is.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru is now seated in his own home, the days have passed since you passed away. He's still grieving the huge loss as he sits alone in an empty room, staring at a picture of your face. Every once in a while, he grabs the picture before burying his face into it and crying softly. He constantly talks to himself, whispering your name and the things he used to do with you. The room is quiet and lonely without your presence. He's filled with emptiness and pain and doesn't know how to deal with it.

He tries to keep himself busy, trying to do things that would help him distract himself from thinking about you. But it's hard to keep his memories away from his mind. He constantly imagines what would it be like if you were still there, still alive and in good health. He wishes more than anything that he had done things differently. He thinks back to the things he had said to you and regrets not spending enough time with you. The silence and loneliness are making him go crazy. He's missing you more than ever.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

The days keeps passing and Suguru is slowly learning to cope with the loss. He's still grieving and missing you terribly, but he's trying his hardest to get through it all. He spends time with friends and family, trying to surround himself with loved ones to help him through this difficult time. Though the emptiness he feels without you is still hard to ignore, he's slowly starting to move forward. He's learning to slowly accept the reality of your passing, but there's still a part of him that can't let go. He keeps your picture with him everywhere he goes. After a few days, Gojo finds Suguru seated alone in his room. He's looking at a picture of you and sobbing softly. Gojo steps inside the room, a worried expression on his face. He takes a seat next to Sugru and waits for him to calm down a bit. Once Gojo sees that Suguru is no longer crying as hard, he speaks up. "Hey."

Suguru's face is still tearstained, he immediately looks up at Gojo with puffy eyes. He looks away quickly, not wanting to talk yet.

"I know things have been really tough for you since..."

He pauses, unsure of how to proceed. He wanted to give Sugru time to collect himself. He notices how he's still holding a picture of you and the sorrow in his eyes makes his pain obvious. Gojo continues to try and cheer him up, his voice becoming gentle and sweet.

"I know you're still hurting and there's nothing I can say that can make it any better right now. But I'm here for you, if you ever need to talk or vent, I'm always here."

"I appreciate that, Gojo."

Suguru continues to look away, his expression is still soft and vulnerable. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, trying to get himself together. He wants to pretend everything is back to normal, but it's impossible when the person he cared about the most is gone.

"It still doesn't feel real..." "I know..."

Gojo leans closer, speaking in a soothing tone. His touch is light as he places his hand on Suguru's shoulder.

"It's going to take some time to get used to the new reality, you're going through a lot right now. I understand that. Give yourself time. This is the toughest thing you're going to have to overcome. Allow yourself to grieve, allow yourself to feel the pain you're experiencing. Trying to suppress your emotions now will only make things worse for you in the long run." "Yeah..."

Suguru nods, staring down at his feet. He seems to be listening intently to Gojo's words, but the pain he's experiencing is overwhelming him. Gojo's hand on his shoulder is comforting though, a bit of a relief from the intense sorrow he's feeling. He knows Gojo is right, he just needs some time. But it doesn't make it any easier for him. Sugru sighs softly and speaks gently.

"It's just so hard without..."

"I know. I can't even start to imagine how lonely it must feel. You've lost someone very close to you, that pain can't be described. Especially when it's so sudden and unexpected. It's only natural to miss and mourn for the person you've lost."

Gojo's hand lingers on his shoulder, his touch is gentle and his gaze is kind. He can see the sorrow and hopelessness in Sugru's eyes, it's making him worry for his friend. He wishes he could just magically make him better, but he knows it's not that simple.

"Mhm..."

Suguru is silent for a while, he's thinking about what Gojo just said. It does feel empty and lonely without you, it's hard to accept the reality of your absence. But he knows that he'll have to do it eventually, he has to learn to move on for his own sake. Suguru looks back up at Gojo, noticing the worry in his eyes. He gives him a weak smile as he speaks up again.

"I appreciate you coming here, Gojo."

"Of course, it's the least I could do."

Gojo's smile is gentle and reassuring, he wants to be there for Suguru at this difficult time. He remains next to your friend, giving him the support he needs in this time of need. Suguru is still trying to keep his composure, he's grateful for Gojo's presence. Gojo's presence alone is slightly lifting his spirits.

🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹🖤⃝🤍🫀🩹

Suguru and Gojo visit your grave together. They're both standing in front of it, silent and solemn as they stare at the flowers and other mementos laid down on your body. Suguru is quiet, his head lowered low as he looks at your grave. His expression is still sad and troubled, he's finding it hard to believe that you're really gone. There are still some tears in his eyes, but he's trying his best to suppress his sorrow. Gojo's eyes are on the grave as well, a slight sadness noticeable in his gaze.

Suguru's gaze is still fixated on the grave, his lips are pressed together as he stands there quietly. He takes a breath, trying to stay calm and collected, but the reality of your passing hits him hard. His eyes are still filled with sorrow, he couldn't believe that you're really gone. It's just so surreal... Suguru's hands are clasped together tightly, he's still trying to make sense of everything that happened.

Gojo's gaze is still on the grave as he remains there next to Suguru, trying to keep his thoughts to himself as he doesn't want to add to his friend's sorrow. The two of them stay silent for a while, neither speaking as they continue to stare at your grave. It's a somber and depressing scene, the silence is only interrupted by the occasional sound of the wind.

hii. Okay so I'm kinda timid to ask for this request, but I'll just put it out here. If you don't want to do it it's totally fine and you can ignore this ask

I want to request a Nanami x reader fic where he has to do cpr on the reader. preferably female reader but gender neutral reader is totally fine as well. The angstier the better, but with a happy ending please

||Breathe || written by me

🔞 Nanami x reader| Minors DNI| TRIGGER WARNING 🔞

Tags:Cpr,angst,comfort,happy ending,disphoria,Nanami x fem!reader,night at the beach,drowning,fluff,cheesy

i'm no english native so sorry for some mistakes

please reblog 🔁 and like❤️

p.s.:hope you like with a tiny hint of body dhisporia

@muzansslxt

You walk towards Nanami kissing his cheek "can we go out for a coffe?"

Nanami gives you a small smile, gently brushing your hair aside "Of course, I would love to."

You purred against Nanami touch snuggling on his neck "buuut can we take it on the beach?" You asked making those puppy eyes

Nanami chuckles, running his fingers through your hair "To see the sunset, hm?" His voice grows softer, as if imagining the scene "We can take a walk through the sand, see the waves crash… Maybe see some stars as the night falls…"

You snuggle more into Nanami touch "Yes"

Nanami chuckles affectionately, wrapping his arms around you "I know just the spot…"

You snuggled more into Nanami chest purring and cooing

Nanami chuckles, gently playing with your hair "And afterwards we'll find somewhere private…"

Nanami chuckles again, holding you close "Where we can just… Lay down for a while…"

"Snuggling under the umbrella" you added cooing

Nanami chuckles "Mhm mhm… Let's just cuddle and watch the sun fade away together…"

𓇼𖦹 ⋆☀︎. 𖦹 𓇼𓇼𖦹 ⋆☀︎. 𖦹 𓇼𓇼𖦹 ⋆☀︎. 𖦹 𓇼𓇼𖦹 ⋆☀︎. 𖦹 𓇼𓇼𖦹 ⋆☀︎. 𖦹

The waves crash against the shore, the air carrying the salt of the sea and the summer breeze. Nanami holds you close to his chest as you walk down, the sky a mixture of pinks, reds, and purples. The sun slowly starts to dip behind the horizon, the sea becoming darker as the sky begins to turn. You make your way to a secluded spot away from the crowd, sand beneath your feet and only the gentle lapping of water surrounding you.

You were sitting on the beach towel looking at the waves but not daring to took away your cover up dress,too ashamed of your own body

Nanami sits next to you on the towel, watching the waves crash against the shore. He sighs softly as he gazes at the sea, lost in his thoughts. Then he glances at you "… You know I don't mind if you don't want to take off your cover up… There's no need to force yourself if you feel uncomfortable…"

Nanami sighs, noticing your discomfort, but knows better than to force anything on you, not wanting to makeyou feel even more uncomfortable. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, brushing the hair off your face "You're beautiful the way you are, you know that… Even in your cover up and all…"

"… Plus… It'll look pretty cool if you got a tan while still covered up…" Nanami chuckles softly, gently squeezing your shoulder

Nanami watches your every move as you let the waves splash against your body, your feet slowly sinking into the shallow water. He remains seated, taking in the sight before him, watching the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of red and orange. The sky slowly begins to darken, the waves grow calm, and Nanami can see a plethora of stars beginning to dot the black sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?…" Nanami's voice breaks the silence, his words carried by the gentle breeze

"I've always found the ocean to be quite peaceful… In a sense, it's sort of a mirror to life… The waves crashing against the shore… Coming and going… And then there are nights like this, where the ocean is as still as a mirror, the sky above us reflecting the calmness and beauty of the universe itself…" Nanami's gaze is fixed on the sky above you cherishing it

"You know… I've always heard that the sea reflects the sky… So in a sense…" Nanami chuckles "It might as well be reflecting your beauty…"

"… You know… The ocean is a vast and endless place… And yet… No matter where you are, as long as you're looking at it… The view is always the same…" Nanami gently strokes your hair "Much like how I always view you… No matter how many times I look at you… I always see the same beautiful person…"

The peaceful scene of the ocean begins to distort, the waves crashing against the beach slowly morphing into a more aggressive tone. The calmness of the night is suddenly replaced by a frantic scene as Nanami's voice is drowned out by the sound of waves, replaced by cries and screams of despair. He is suddenly thrown into a scene of chaos, watching himself perform CPR as he desperately tries to save your life, desperately grasping onto any bit of hope.

Panicked screams and terrified shouting fill the air, tears and sweat dripping from his face as he presses frantically onto your chest . His heart pounding in his chest, he feels powerless, helpless. Every part of him is pleading and praying to any deity or being, begging for your life to be saved. He refuses to give up, even if he feels like it's a lost cause. He refuses to give up. He refuses. He will not lose you.

"Breathe, dammit! Breathe! Come on, please. Please, don't you dare leave me!" Nanami's voice is strained as he desperately gives you CPR.

And yet… The silence suddenly returns, the cries of desperation suddenly vanishing as the peaceful sight of the ocean returns. He feels… calm again. No longer frantic, he feels… a sense of relief wash over him, his arms no longer shaking. He can breathe. He's at peace. A peace that is suddenly interrupted by your gasping, pulling in a full breath of air. After a couple of seconds, your body begins to stir, coughing out the water that had remained in your lungs. Nanami's arms immediately clutch tightly around you as tears begin to stream down his face.

"Honey, can you hear me?…" *Nanami's voice shakes as he asks, fear still evident in his tone. He grips onto you tight, the sense of relief washing over him as he feels your body move, your chest heaving, breathing and coughing, alive once again.

"My God, you scared me to death, I thought I had lost you…" Nanami murmurs, his voice full of relief, hugging you tightly to his chest. Tears spill out of his eyes as his relief turns to joy. He holds you closer, desperate to make sure you're really alive, to make sure that this isn't just a figment of his imagination.

"I… I'm so sorry…" you mutter,your voice raspy and hoarse. You weakly grips onto Nanami as you're pulled in closer, your body trembling but slowly stabilises itself. Your eyes are half-lidded, barely staying open. Though you're conscious, you still seems to be in a daze.

Nanami holds you closer, gently brushing the hair out of your eyes. "Don't say sorry, shh…" He gently strokes your hair as he continues to hold you close "… I'm just… just glad you're alive…"

"I…" you continued to murmur, but Nanami cuts youoff, gently placing his finger against your lips "Don't say anything more… We can talk later, okay? Right now… all that matters is that you're alive.."

"Y-yeah…" you nods slowly, your eyes still half-lidded, your body still trembling but slowly getting better. You wrap your arms tightly around Nanami, holding him close as you buried your face into his chest. Nanami wraps his arms tightly around you, pulling you close and letting him hold you as tightly as he needs.

"what happend…i just remember you talking and then…"

"Shh, It's alright." Nanami says, gently wrapping his arms firmly around you as he brushes the hair out of your face "I-It was just a wave…. You just… You got caught up in the current… and got carried away…"

"… But your safe and alive now…" Nanami says, gently caressing your hair "and that's all that matters…"

"But what if I didn't make it?" you asked softly, fear still evident in your voice "What if you weren't there?…"

"But I was there." Nanami reassures you, running his fingers through your hair "And I would do anything to save someone I love… Especially you…"

"…" You still seems shaken by the event, but your grip around Nanami slowly loosens, slowly letting go as the adrenaline from earlier begins to wear off. Nanami continues to hold you close, gently strokingyour hair as tears of relief start to stream down his face.

"And I love you." Nanami sighs, looking at you in the eyes "More than anything… So don't ever forget that…"

"I love you too…" you said softly, your voice still raspy, your eyes barely opening. You lean your head against his shoulder, resting in Nanami's arms, exhausted and shaken from the experience.

"Let's just… relax here for a while… Maybe we can go back home in a while…" Nanami says, gently rubbing your back "I'll just.. let you rest…"

(Info-dump below!! May have some grammar errors lol) (Also dw Wally's fine ♡♡)

Wing Au lore:

They were puppets, but they broke free from their strings in an act of defiance. Home saved them, gave them freedom. But in turn, it sacrificed themselves for their friends. Traces of him still remain, hovering in the minds of the neighbors and sometimes speaking to them in their dreams, but things will never be the same. With Home's sacrifice, the neighbors broke free from their strings, gaining life outside of their own puppeteers as they were changed. The neighborhood morphed. It changed into a genuine, real world. Welcome Home, as a show, was canceled, and they are now in control of their own lives in turn... mostly. The show set was basically their own 'real world' prior but there was nothing outside of the neighborhood. They were controlled by a script rather than actual handlers. Everyone followed their script, whether or not they wanted to, and over time each became more and more aware of it. That's what they broke from. Their souls broke away from their puppet bodies. As for the wings?Home had always been fascinated by birds. They were small, colorful, and soared through the sky with a sense of absolute freedom. It envied them. It admired them. He wanted the neighbors, his friends, to be free like them. They were the one most powerful of the group, Home being the bridge between Welcome Home and the show Directors. Home felt like their guardians, in a sense. In severing that tie, they severed the connection between those worlds as he gave his friends their freeom. There is still trouble, of course. Traces of those strings still linger, and patched wounds will never fully dissappear. But Wally's doing the best he can for the others, now. They're all doing their best. The neighbor's soul is in their wings, and eyes, like the *essence* of them. The wings themselves represent freedon, the ability to choose, and the ability to escape peril or burden, the very essence of the owner as well as the gift from Home. Even with wings, there are still thread-like strings attatched. Can be felt in vague tugs, like something's attempting to guide them. If someone's mental state deteriorates, so do their wings. Feathers will fall out or become misshapen and messy the worse it gets. At absolute worst, absolute rock-bottom, the wings will be a mess of mangled, tattered feathers and all but inner coverts will be missing. If wings or even feathers are cut, pulled, or damaged, the wing owner will feel physical *and* mental pain, given how important they are. Their body can be healed easily, much faster than a human's speed (their blood is black because why not. No organs or stuff, just all black stuff on the inside). A deep lacerarion can be fine within the hour, and natural death isn't a thing for them. However, if their wings are damaged enough, or removed, they will die. This can also happen with mental deterioration

... if they ever die, they join Home

angst

He runs into you the next day after his dream. Of fucking course he does.

Two whole years of no contact with you, your wishes not his, and he sees you.

His eyes red rimmed, he won't explain why, and truly he hopes his usual black out glare reducing paint hides it.

It does, it always does.

It's chance, the same way the two of you met in the first place.

All by chance.

Back then you called it fate.

He can't even remember what the reporter asked him as he rolled his eyes by the tracks of the station. Just knew that his annoyance led to you.

Standing there but he's too focused on your face to notice anything else, giving him your profile as you stand yards away from him. A thick mass of bodies rushing to the express train that could come in thanks to Bakugou's hero work.

But that's all lost to him.

There is no sound, no bodies obstructing his view, no smell of his burning caramel quirk lingering in the air.

There is just you and only you.

The now still world swatched in sun bleached greys and you are the only color in his life, as beautiful as the day you left him.

He thinks he can smell your spicy perfume, hear your sweet giggle as he presses his cold nose into your warm skin, and somehow he knows the two of you will still fit perfectly together. Like you were made for each other, like soul mates that he never cared too much for before but now

Now with these few yards he wishes it were true.

Wishes beyond a doubt the world worked like one of the stories you've written, that a mark would sear into his skin that would match yours. But there is no such thing as fairy tales.

That's why you stopped writing, isn't it?

Again be it chance or by Bakugou's hopeless heart fate

Let it be fucking fate

You look up at him, right at him. As if you felt the weight of his gaze, straight through the throngs of people just to land on him.

He expects you to look away but you were never the one to break eye contact, never one to avoid it even when you were beyond angry.

His brows furrow as the world becomes impossibly quiet as his ears strain for any sound you could make. Heart racing in his chest the only thing tethering him to this Earth as he looks at your ethereal form with fingers twitching to move. To take the first step that will lead him back to you.

The train rushes by making your dress billow around your body and that's the first time he even registers what you're wearing. Your left hand with what looks like a shiny gem on your ring finger moves to smooth down the patterned fabric over the bump of your stomach.

And that is when the world comes rushing back to him.

The burning smell of the brakes from the train, a child screaming in a tantrum, the reporter's body pressed against his arm where his torn sleeve is already agitating his skin.

He breathes in deeply, tries to drown it all out again, tries to remember the sound of your voice guiding him to count down from ten, tries to think of your loud laugh, your soft soothing hands. Tries to pour every ounce of focus back on to you so that he can once more fall into the tunnel vision of his dream.

You stand still as stone in a river of bodies switching currents push against one another to flood on or off of the train. Parting around you even in your stillness with your hot gaze glued to him.

Standing still all the way until the doors threaten to close, only looking away to watch your step, hand still to your stomach as you cross the threshold from what feels like Bakugou's living world into the veil beyond.

As if stepping on to that train you would be spirited away.

You are in a sense, the train slowly building speed and if Bakugou acted now he could catch it, could slam his hot palm through the glass of the conductor's car and push his way to you.

But he isn't fast enough, the seconds tick along and suddenly there is only a silver blur reflecting the evening sun on the horizon before it disappears all together.

Taking with it the moment where you were his one last time. Suspended in that bleakness and you in vivid color, staring back at him in the seconds before the train made him notice the rest of you. Notice the life that swells and grows inside of you.

The life he didn't help create.

There will be no giggles, no watery whispers from his ma about how proud and happy she is. o cooing baby girl or "hellion twins."

There would be no warmth in the Bakugou residence, not anymore.

Not ever again.

Now he would only have the lukewarm dream version of you that he doesn't have but he did not lose.

Because in the end Bakugou knew that any lasting love he could ever have was

Once Upon a Dream.

This is gonna HURT

I’d like to emphasize that this is another dream sequence, this won’t ever actually happen. Home’s doing it on purpose 😌

sometimes you gotta leave because you love them too much bretha

the end. of the line. | Leon Kennedy

Leon Kennedy x Reader

summary: everything comes to an end, and it seems you and Leon have reached yours.

word count: 2.2k🤏🏼

warnings: angst bro, angst.

a/n: took my cold meds, passed out and woke up to this.

One suitcase. One suitcase containing everything you own.

It feels a bit pathetic as you helplessly stare at the plastic exterior, reflecting the harsh fluorescence of a singular bulb that lights the kitchen. It looks so small from the stool where you’re perched, the once hot tea having gone cold, bitter taste swirling around in the mug that you grasp so tight.

The apartment looks bare now, stripped away from its soul. The walls are empty, pictures of you and Leon that were once decorating it, now nowhere in sight, vanished like memories that never existed. No candle sitting on the coffee table, your books vanished from the shelf, the little potted plant that was once on the window sill gone to a better home. On instinct, your hand goes to grasp the golden locket that hung from your neck every day since you had gotten it as an anniversary gift but your hand only grazes empty skin.

Its eerily quiet this morning, a stillness in the air that nearly suffocates you, slowly dumping the old tea down the drain, rinsing the dirty mug and placing it back on the shelf like you had never touched it in the first place. A deep unease sets in your stomach, riddled with guilt and confusion. You should have left a few days ago, like you were going to, like you had planned, disappearing instantly with nothing but a letter for Leon to find.

But you were so weak when it came to him, tears cascading down your face as you wiped away any evidence of your presence in his life, guilt ripping you apart as you did all this while he was away god knows where, doing god knows what, no guarantee that he would come back to find his home empty.

And you were so close too, standing in the middle of the cold apartment, jacket tight around your shoulders, handle of your suitcase propped up and your ticket gripped tight in your fingers, nails indenting the paper when your phone had rung, the noise bouncing off the walls.

You had stared at it, still ringing in your palm, the glare of the contact number numbing you, recognizing the number instantly despite deleting his name from your phone. How could you ever forget something that you had spent night after night staring at, in vigil and in prayer that he returns to you in one piece, untouched and unharmed by the horrors of his life. Deafening silence greets you on the line before he breathes out a soft hey baby, I know its late but could you come get me please. I really want to see you.

Yes, of course. Of course, you will come. How could you not? How could you ever deny him? He who sacrifices his nights and days to keep the world safe, he who puts himself in between whoever dares to threaten the delicate balance of peace, he who pays with his body and soul so no one else has to. Of course, you will come. It’s the least you can do.

But can you do it anymore? Stand by and witness as he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, crumbling underneath it bit by bit, cracks deepening in his façade, losing his light and returning home to you with scars you’re not sure will be able to heal this time. You can’t, you can’t do this anymore.

But you will bring him home one last time.

Your heart breaks when you find him, fluttering in disobedience as your eyes drink in his appearance, head hanging low and eyes shut underneath the lamppost, leaning against it for support. The rumble of the car engine mutes as you kill the ignition and throw open the door.

He doesn’t open his eyes as you near him, feet splashing in the puddles without care. The soft utterance of his name from your lips wakes him, eyes slowly peeling open to see you standing at a distance, hands clasped in front of you, tugging at your fingers nervously.

Leon opens his arms and you find yourself helpless as you are tugged towards him, unblinking as you notice the ghost lingering in his hollowed eyes, tousled hair and bandages peeking out from underneath his shirt. He holds you close, gripping you tight into him, face buried in your neck, his breath fanning harshly against your skin as though he’s breathing for the first time.

Tears sting your eyes, words knotted in your throat, your fingers gently threading through his hair, confused if you’re trying to soothe him or yourself. And suddenly he feels real; broken and bruised, smelling of sweat and iron but real and present unlike the phantom of his presence that haunts your shared apartment.

No words are exchanged, silence now a usual companion as you drive back home. Leon has his head tipped back against the headrest and you would think he was asleep if it weren’t for the way he was holding your hand in his lap, thumb stroking against your knuckles. You would stare at him at every stoplight, memorizing the dips and contours of his face under the red hues changing to green.

He’s slimmed, you realize, the hollowness in his cheeks more pronounced, the dark circles grinded more firmly in his skin with small cuts littering under his jaw. You tighten yours, swallowing back tears.

The apartment door shuts with a resound click, Leon swaying where he stands, hunched over as your pry his jacket off his form. Your suitcase is nowhere in sight, hanging his jacket from the peg and discarding the keys into the small bowl on the table next to the door.

If he notices your missing keychain from the house keys, he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t comment on the missing photographs from the walls as he drags you with him towards the bedroom, doesn’t comment on the glittering golden necklace that rests on the vanity instead of around your neck when he slips underneath the covers, pulling you with him.

 And you let yourself be consumed by him, submitting yourself to a moment of weakness. The pillow is cold underneath your cheek, facing Leon and staring into his eyes, noses nearly touching. The two of you breathe in shared air, his hand tracing lines into your back as you cup his cheek, holding him in place with legs tangled together.

The way he holds you is bittersweet, reminiscent of the days spent in bed, sharing laughter as the sun drizzled in, warming the atmosphere but all that’s left now is lingering memories, even the moon hidden behind a drape of dark clouds. There is no light this time.

Leon held you tight throughout the night as slumber pulled him under, lips brushing against the top of your head as you lay there listening to his steady heartbeat, tears soaking the soft cotton of the pillowcases.

His warmth still lingers around you as you stand in the kitchen, staring pensively at your suitcase, your ticket heavy in the back of your pocket. His footsteps are quiet as he approaches from the bedroom, the knots tightening in his stomach when he had woken up to find your side of the bed cold, all neatly made up, devoid of any sign you had been there in the first place.

The sun is finally out but it does little to make itself known, hiding just like the moon like it can’t bear witness to this finality. Leon stands a million miles away from you, sleep having done nothing to relieve him from his exhaustion, if anything he looks more tired. He doesn’t flinch at seeing you on the threshold, meekly standing with your packed bag. But his eyes betray him as you see them shatter. What a blessing and a curse that you know him better than you know yourself.

“Please...” He croaks and this time you flinch.

“No,” You shake your head, growing smaller under his watch, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Tell me how to fix it.” The wobble in his voice nearly kills you, the lump getting heavier in your throat, “Just tell me how and I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You can’t,” You whisper, staring dejectedly at the ground, unable to witness him come undone, “Not this time.”

There is desperation in his voice, “I can try. Please, just don’t do this.”

You look up to him, vision blurring and heart aching to see him look so small, hands bundled into fists by his side, pleading so strife on his face. You hate yourself in this moment for being a contributor to his hurt but you need to do this to spare each other from the inevitable.

His chest starts to move faster, the tips of his ears glowing red, face contorting in disbelief, “You’re not even going to let me fight for us?”

“I can’t stand-by and watch you kill yourself, Leon.”

It comes out louder than you intended, hitting him like a ton of bricks. The silence is back, raw and all consuming. Leon’s erratic breathing is all you hear as you fight the tears that are threatening to spill. “Every single time that you come home, it’s like a piece of you dies. I can’t keep pretending like I don’t see it and I can’t keep pretending to be strong for both of our sakes. I…I’m tired of pretending that I don’t suffer seeing you like this.”

“You knew this before, you knew what it meant to be with me,” Leon whispers, dejection set heavy in his shoulders.

The smile you offer is watery, barely put together like haphazardly piecing together broken china, never quite the same ever again, some pieces lost forever. “What a fool I was.”

“You don’t love me anymore?” Leon asks, hesitation in his voice as though the mere idea of it will cause him to vomit.

And his words feel like a stake through your heart, tears falling freely down your face. This isn’t what you wanted, this is exactly why you wanted to leave before he came home. You didn’t want to add on to his already unending pile of hurt and certainly never wanted him to doubt your love for him: its why you needed to let him go.

“Leon,” A sob pulls through your entire body as all he does is watch in agony, suppressing the urge to close the distance between you two and hold you in his strong arms, stopping you from crumbling in front of him – helpless, again, as all he can do is watch you suffer, “I love you so much. That’s why I’m making this choice for us, I can’t hold on to false hope thinking that there won’t be a day where I won’t get the call that you aren’t coming home.”

“That’s unfair.”

You laugh bitterly, “I never said it was. But it’s the way it is, no? I can’t ask you to not save the world, to stay here with me or run away with me someplace far away where it’s just us. Because that’s not who you are, and I would always question if keeping you here with me is selfish.” Tears dribble down again. “And I want to be selfish, so much, but I think doing nothing would break you far more.”

“So what? That’s it?” Leon asks, sounding weary to the bone, ready to fall to the ground at a moment’s notice.

“Yeah,” You wipe away your tears, sleeve damp as you pull away, “I suppose it is.”

This time the grip on your suitcase’s handle is firm, holding you upright as strength saps from your legs, overwhelmed at seeing blues of Leon’s eyes dampen, silently accepting what’s happening in front of him. You don’t feel real in this moment, more akin to a stranger barging in on an intimate moment between two people you don’t recognize. The four walls surrounding you feel foreign, devoid of their usual familiarity.

A reel of moments flashes in front of your eyes; your first dinner date where he had cooked for you, spilling wine down your cashmere sweater, eyes blown wide open in worry as all you could do was laugh in absurdity. The first night you had spent after moving in with him, falling asleep together on the couch as a movie blared on the TV, long forgotten by then.

The balcony where the two of you had kissed, counting down excitedly to welcome the new year, a tall Christmas tree standing resolutely in the background. The long hug of goodbyes at the front door where he would bury himself in you, whispering promises of coming back to you, promises that he could not keep but still made. The teary greetings when he would return, beaten and bruised, melting in your arms with whispers of assurances.

You take a step back, feet heavy as they move, Leon moving forward on instinct, panic flashing in his eyes. You shake your head at him and this time he plants his feet, unmoving and turning away, unable to watch you leave. Your presence fades, melting away, the dim sound of moving wheels ceasing.

The door shuts with a resolute click.

"...Sora?" (TW nightmare, angst, panic, body horror)

MC - Roxas

(Not a ship)

(short story/context under the cut)

The dream Roxas was having was getting weird, weirder than most.

He had suddenly found himself in a dark area devoid of any people or objects except for a crescent moon shining far above his head. The ground he was on was invisible with a thin layer of water on top of it. Roxas couldn't help but wander and occasionally call for someone, but no matter where he chose to go, he found nothing. Just the same void.

At least, that's what he thought for a moment.

"Roxas? Is that you?"

That voice! Roxas spun around to see his sudden visitor. The joy and excitement he felt at that moment, however, immediately drained from his body as shock settled in.

"It really is you! I thought I was seeing things for a moment, haha... Roxas?"

That was Sora, alright, but something was terribly, terribly wrong. Those parts of his body should not be crystallized like that. His fingers shouldn't look that sharp. Those tears in his eyes shouldn't be there. He shouldn't look so fragile, so in pain, so... hysterical.

What happened to you?! Roxas wanted to scream, but he couldn't bring himself to utter a sound.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Sora asked with a nervous smile. "It's just me, Roxas."

It doesn't look like it.

"I-I'm not gonna hurt you."

How could I know that?!

"Why are you suddenly so scared of me? Was it something I said?" Sora's voice was quivering as tears began to fall from his one unchanged eye.

Oh god, wake up! There's no way this is real!

Sora looked horrified suddenly, like he just heard his former Nobody's thoughts.

"Wait... Roxas, don't!" he cried, breaking into a run with one hand outstretched. "NO!"

Roxas screamed, and his body jerked violently from his position on the bed. His eyes flew open as he gasped for air. He was back in his room, and from the darkness of the place and the moonlight filtering in through the windows, it was still the dead of night.

Sora... What happened to you?

Obito Week: Day 6 - Birthday / Grandma

// The wooden floor creaked horridly under his weight. It was old, unused to being stepped on after years of solitude and emptiness. No one had entered the house since his grandmother had passed, not even himself, he couldn't bare the pain of memories. Obito left everything behind that day, he started over. Lady Mikoto took pity on him, or perhaps she truly cared, he wasn't sure. He stayed with her, her husband and her son until the mission at Kannabi Bridge was given. With Mikoto now dead under the hand of her son, the orphans he used to train and nearly raise ice cold, and the elderly Uchiha that used to give in to his candy addiction now long gone, Obito felt empty. He couldn't kill them, even if he pushed all of his pain and feelings to the deepest pits of his stomach, he couldn't keep a blade steady enough to do it. He was truly alone now. Regret swelling in his heart. Rin... Minato... Kushina... they were gone as well. The only person he cared for that was still alive thought he was dead, and he couldn't go to tell him otherwise.

Instead, he stood in an empty home. It was cold and unloving, unlike his best memories, and an absolute mess from years of untidiness. He stepped further in despite it, treating every object he moved with care, and every box he opened he opened delicately. It was his grandmother's treasures, things she'd cherish forever she said. She'd scold him if he wasn't gentle.

In a dusty box tucked underneath her bed, Obito found her old camera sitting atop an album of photographs. They were all of him. Smiling, pouting and embarrassed, sometimes asleep, all captioned with how much she loved them. Tears pricked at his eyes as he removed his gloves, refusing to get dirt or grime on such a precious book, and placed it neatly in a bag he found in his old room. She once said she would show all of the photos to her great-grandchildren, and while Obito doubted he'd ever have a romantic life, he'd take it with him to make it come true for her. Even if he hated pictures.

// @obito-week

Iwaizumi x f!reader; cheater!Oikawa x f!reader

Word count: 6,4k

Category: Angst, Smut

Warnings: Cheating, cursing, sex, some choking, slapping and mentions of violence (reader basically asks to be hurt), daddy kink (not ddlg), scummy Oikawa being an asshole, kind of toxic Iwaizumi, uh, that’s about it? Dm me if I missed anything.

Summary: Having your heart broken by Oikawa Tooru is unexpectedly hard, but it’s even harder to let yourself fall for someone new.

Songs that inspired this: “Sparks” by Coldplay, “Song for a guilty sadist” by Crywank and “Skinny love” by Bon Iver 

Huge thanks to @velvet-kissesss for editing this and always being the first to read my stories! <3

Oikawa Tooru is like the sun. His smile is as bright as a summer day, his gaze as cold as ice, but he‘s still your sun. Or he used to be. Clouds of doubt that came in the form of suspicious text messages and excuses clouded his brightness and warmth that never really cleared away. 

He‘s busy busy busy. You‘re always wasting his time, you‘re always annoying him with your silly messages, asking- no, begging for his time; which you know you won‘t get. Your eyes and heart are completely filled with Tooru, your sun.

Even his friends notice the odd behaviour of their former captain yet they mask their concerns for your wellbeing with jokes and laughs once you stop showing up to their weekly dinners. 

The storm started when you overheard the conversation you weren‘t supposed to hear. It‘s a rare occasion to be home at the same time as Tooru, even in your shared apartment, your boyfriend so kindly paid for (You offered to pay rent, but even if he would‘ve accepted your offer, a broke college student would never be able to afford it). His voice sounded slightly annoyed, the notes barely there, but from the time you spent together you could clearly tell he was having an argument. 

“I’m not fooling around. I don’t know what to do,” 

You couldn’t tell what the argument was about, but you pressed yourself against the living room wall that divided the two rooms. Eavesdropping wasn’t good, but you were worried for Tooru. He was never home, never shared his worries and now he was getting into arguments. Your anxiety was rising. What if something was going on? 

“I’m not leading her on, you don’t know what you’re talking about! The only girl you’ve ever dated left you before college started. Adult relationships are so much harder,” 

There was only silence for a moment that seemed to stretch out into infinity. 

“I’m thinking about ending things. I think… I’m almost sure I’m falling out of love with her,”

Everything went silent until then the ringing in your ears took everything away. Your head was spinning, eyes unable to focus on anything, lungs suddenly filled with water and throat with sand. Empty. Empty, so painfully empty but full at the same time. You were the ‘her’ of the conversation. You were the girl Tooru was falling out of love with. 

You didn’t feel yourself falling onto your knees. You didn’t hear the loud thud, you didn’t even notice how cold the floor was until your silent bubble was popped by Tooru’s voice. 

“Shit, Y/N!”

His arm on your shoulder felt so heavy. Too heavy, the water filling your lungs seemed to spill out of your eyes, tears running down your face. Oikawa kneeled before you, pulling you into him, letting you bury your face into his sweatshirt that used to smell like your perfume but now smelled of something unfamiliar and unwelcoming, his hand in your hair stung colder than ice. 

He lets you cry, lets you grip him so hard, as if you think that letting go would be deadly and lets you whisper quiet “You don’t love me’s” until your throat becomes sore. 

“You heard everything,” it wasn’t a question, rather a statement. His hand reached your back, rubbing in gentle circles but it was anything but calming. You felt as if you couldn’t let go because as soon as you did, Tooru would disappear. Your sun would never shine anymore. 

“Don’t leave me, Tooru. Don’t leave me, please.”

His eyes watch your form, so defeated in his arms. 

“I won’t.”

You’ve been together for such a long time, you’ve been there through the highs and lows, always cheering him on, always there to greet him with a smile after a long, stressful day, always so willing to do anything to make him feel better even if your late night love-making ended in being unable to walk the next day and having to conceal the finger-shaped bruises left on your frail neck. Maybe it’s the stress of trying to balance college and volleyball. Maybe it’s the way seeing your face and feeling your gentle touch doesn’t put a smile on his face anymore. 

You at least deserve another chance. Another chance before he’s sure he fell out of love, even if he knows he has. 

“Y/N, I won’t leave you, I won’t,” he repeats like a mantra, like he wants his words to fill you full, like he wants you to believe it; even if he himself won’t. 

You don’t remember being carried to the bed, you don’t remember Tooru covering you in a soft, fluffy blanket but he’s still there when you wake up, with your back pressed against his chest, his long arms draped over you and his head resting against your shoulder. 

It's idle, it’s painfully normal that you can almost pretend nothing bad ever happened, that he still loves you the same way he did before. You can almost feel the brightness and warmth of the sun after being lost in the dark for so long.

The next few weeks go by fast and Oikawa keeps his promise. You never feel lonely, constant fancy dates that feel foreign after such a long time and the awkward smiles of his friends when he starts bringing you with him again. 

It almost feels too good to be true. And it is, as you learn when you return from your shitty part-time job earlier than usual. 

Don’t fly too close to the sun or you will burn. And you were burnt. Like Icarus, the wax of your wings melted and your false feelings of security you held onto are shattered into tiny pieces, never to be collected by anyone. 

He’s in the arms of another woman, another pair of lips is kissing away at his skin, tainting him, the sight making you dizzy when you can’t take your eyes off of their tangled bodies.

The woman notices you first, yelping and pulling the covers to save any dignity she has left. Oikawa can’t look up. He’s physically sick, any minute and he’ll throw up. Is he mad because you showed up early or is he disgusted by himself? The feelings mix into a dangerous combination and he’s unable to say anything. 

Only when you open your mouth do the apologies begin pouring out of his mouth, the girl beside him long forgotten as he climbs out of bed, pulls his sweatpants on and chases you into your shared bedroom. 

He catches your wrist and tries to tug you closer when you reach for anything you can. Your charger, a few clothing items and your favorite perfume he gifted you, tossed carelessly into a bag and all that’s left is the sorrow in your eyes.

He wants- no, he needs you to be mad, but as tears flow down his face he can’t help but shout at you, grab you by your shoulders and violently shake you until you plead to him to let you go, until there’s fear mixing in with the tears in your eyes. 

After he releases his iron grip, you storm off. All there’s left is the bruises starting to bloom on your skin and the voice of another woman. 

Oikawa throws up soon after that. 

***

Your phone is overwhelmed with notifications from missed calls and messages, but you run until your legs are sore and your lungs are burning. The bag in your hand is the only thing still grounding you to this world while your tears mix with the pouring rain as you fall on the cold, slimy sidewalk once again; your tights ripped and dirty. 

You reach for the door already shaking and even more pathetic-looking than before. The doorbell rings a silly melody and you consider walking away before you make a fool out of yourself, but you don’t have the time to re-think that decision when the door swings open, a slightly annoyed looking Iwaizumi standing before you.

His scowl drops as soon as he sees it’s you and his features form a worried expression when he takes in the state that you’re in. 

“Y/N, what- What the fuck happened?” he doesn’t wait for your answer, already ushering you inside as the warmth of his home seeps into your tired, frozen body. 

“I-“ 

He guides you to the living room immediately before turning up the heat and sitting you down on a couch, before sitting beside you.

You don’t dare look at him. 

“Y/N, tell me what happened.” 

He’s worried and you shrink into yourself, the feeling of guilt unbearable. You’re not worth the worry.

“Oikawa he…I found him having sex with another woman.” 

The words come out fast, like ripping off a band-aid. Iwaizumi frowns, his lips part in disbelief. Oikawa told him he was falling out of love with you, but… cheating on you in your own home was a whole ‘nother thing. 

Iwaizumi didn’t know if his face showed any obvious disgust or anger, but your hands started shaking. 

“Should I go?” your eyes find his, fluttering shut to hide the glossiness, “Iwaizumi, tell me if you need me to go. I know that Oikawa is your friend and that I’m just some girl he dated but I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t know who else to call,” 

He can feel your uncertainty and stress so he does the first thing that comes to his mind; gently grabs your hands, flinching when he finds them ice-cold. 

“First of all, you’re not just some girl, I have known you since our third year of high school. I’m your friend as much as I’m Oikawa’s. And I won’t let you go anywhere, not in the state you’re in.” 

You stare at him in disbelief, hands still shaking. 

“Yeah, Iwa, we’re besties for life,“ your voice breaks as you try to make a joke. 

You can’t help but burst into tears again. Pathetic, fucking pathetic and annoying. Your thoughts run wild, trying to find a reason why Tooru did this to you.

Iwaizumi pulls you into a tight hug while you’re left with your arms awkwardly hanging limp by your sides, your tears and snot soiling his shirt. 

“Listen, you’re cold and your clothes are wet. How about you go take a shower while I make you something to eat? Then we can talk more about it, if you want to. But you will catch a cold staying in those wet clothes.”

The kindness is unexpected. You knew that the dark-haired man never lacked compassion, but he was so painfully kind. Too kind.

“Iwaizumi- It’s too much. I-“ 

He doesn’t let you finish, already letting you go to bring you a set of fluffy, fresh towels. 

“It’s what any friend would do. Please listen to me, I don’t want you to get sick. Please.”

There’s too much “please’s” in that sentence, but you do as he asks and let him guide you into the bathroom, pretending to listen when he tells you something about using any shampoo and shower gel you want.

And then he leaves you alone. Painfully alone again.

You undress, the wet clothes falling to the floor. Your biceps have handprints imprinted on them and you can’t stand to look at yourself anymore as you climb into the huge bathtub. 

The water is boiling and it feels like your skin is going to peel off as you trace patterns on your tired body, trying to burn Tooru’s touch away; but no water could ever be hotter than the sun. 

You don’t know how you find the strength to wash your hair, but the musky, citrusy smell of Iwaizumi’s shampoo untangles the knots in your hair, keeping your head empty. Or, as empty as it can be.

You don’t know how much time goes by but you’re sitting down with your back against the shower wall when a knock comes. 

“Y/N? I don’t want to bother you and you can take your time, but I went through your bag- I- I uh wanted to find you some clothes, didn’t mean to snoop around. But- Uh, but you don’t have any warmer clothes packed so I brought you some of mine. I’ll leave them by the door.” 

There’s no footsteps and you realize he’s waiting for an answer. Is he worried? Afraid you’ll drown yourself in his shower? A soft laugh slips past your lips. 

“Okay.” your voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to you; too distant and unrecognizable. 

The footsteps fade away and you decide to not feed into Iwa’s fears as you step out of the shower, drying yourself off. 

Wrapped in a towel, you open the door and grab the pile of clothes Iwa has left. There’s a pair of panties and a bra from your bag, then a pair of sweatpants and a huge hoodie you don’t recognize so they must be Iwaizumi’s.

Getting dressed feels like a chore. Your arms are heavy and your legs feel like they’re made out of wood. Iwaizumi’s clothes smell just like him, musky and citrusy, erasing the smell of sex that haunted you since you stormed out of your home.

The clothes fit you weirdly but you can’t complain, because they’re warm and comforting.

An aroma coming from the kitchen almost makes you dizzy again and you realize that you haven’t eaten today. 

“Sit down,” suggests Iwaizumi, as soon as you step into the kitchen, “I made ramen. It’s not anything fancy, but I didn’t do any grocery shopping recently. We, uh, I could order you take-out if you’d like that more?”

You hop onto one of the comfortable chairs and muster a smile. 

“Iwa, it’s fine, ramen is fine.”

That seems to calm his concerns, even if for a little bit. You eat in silence. He seems to observe you, blushing as soon as you catch his glance, but you don’t have the energy to ask him anything. 

You want to help him wash the dishes, the guilt of him being so kind and you not being able to do anything in return, but he just asks you to sit down, assuring that he’s got this.

He stands before you after putting the dishes away and once again grabs your hands. You don’t know if it’s to comfort you or because he doesn’t know what to do, but his hands are cold and unfamiliar; though his touch isn’t unpleasant or unwelcome. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You manage to shake your head, letting it fall into his chest. The position is awkward, but one of his hands almost automatically begins massaging your back in slow motions. 

“Ok, we will not then. Makki- uh, Makki said that you liked watching ‘Howl’s moving castle’?”

You lift your eyes, raising an eyebrow at the brunette’s statement. 

“Makki remembers stuff like that?”

Iwa lets out a dry laugh, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere. 

“He said you made him watch it with you twice.”

A ghost of a smile graces your lips. 

“No one else would, so Makki was my only option. It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it. I even heard him talking to Mattsun about it.”

It seems like your mind wanders off for a second. ‘Good’, Iwa thinks. 

“Do you want to watch it right now? I can bring you a blanket and like, snacks or something? Or you can go to sleep if you’re tired, I already made the bed.”

You’re lost in your thoughts for a moment and then your gaze meets the former vice-captain’s olive eyes again. 

“Can we um, can we actually watch ‘Jurassic park’ instead?” you ask, uncertain. 

“Yeah, of course we can,”

A good hour passes and you’re halfway into the movie, hidden almost completely under the warm blanket, when Iwaizumi turns his face away from the TV to focus it on you. His slightly chapped lips part, as if he couldn’t voice his thoughts. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, turning your attention away from the blood-thirsty dinosaurs chasing a group of people. 

“Why did you pick this movie?”

You feel heat flood your cheeks, palming the material of the blanket.

“It’s one of Tooru’s favorites. He likes watching dumb dinosaurs and even dumber people.”

Your answer is quiet, but Iwaizumi knew the answer even before the words left your mouth, he only needed you to confirm it. How does watching a movie that the ‘person who cheated on you’ liked could bring you comfort?

“I know it’s stupid and God, um, I probably look pathetic right now and all but,” you pause to take a deep breath, tears threatening to spill all over again, “If I watch it closely enough, I can almost convince myself that everything’s like before. That we’re watching a movie with you and Tooru and he just left to get a drink.”

Soft cries that you fail to silence leave your lips as Iwaizumi pulls you closer, not resisting enough to look at you so hurt and defeated. It’s probably weird to hug you as much as he did today, but you don’t seem to mind, burying your head into his shoulder and crying away. He’s not good with words;  the complete opposite of Oikawa, who makes small talk and comforting words look effortless. Physical comfort is his only way Iwauzumi can show that he truly cares. 

It’s a good half an hour before you’re asleep in his arms, the movie long-forgotten. Iwaizumi’s eyes take in your form. You poor thing, Iwa didn’t really know how to help you or take your pain away besides taking care of you the best he could. 

He reaches for his phone on the edge of the sofa, wanting to check the time and probably carry you to the bed but he finds tons of notifications still ongoing. They’re all either from Oikawa or the groupchat of the former third years. 

He doesn’t bother responding to Oikawa, opting to read the groupchat. He can’t care enough to read all the messages they’ve exchanged while he was gone so he scrolls a good bit. 

Shittykawa: fuck, you really don’t know where she is?

Makki: for the 10th time, we tried calling her friends. 

Makki: none of them know, how do you expect us to know?

Shittykawa: just fuck

Shittykawa: shit, this is so bad. What if something bad happened to her?

Mattsun: Yeah? Something like her boyfriend cheating on her?

Mattsun: Oh wait :D

Makki: mattsun, now’s not the time

Makki: oikawa you fucked up and I want to personally beat you up, but blowing up the groupchat won’t help you find Y/N

Makki: take a breather, calm down. I’m sure she just went to some friend we don’t know or something

Shittykawa: I’ll try calling her

Iwaizumi scowls, fingers typing out a fast response.

Iwa-chan!!: don’t

Matssun: Iwa? Wtf 

Iwa-chan!!: she’s at my place

Iwa-chan!!: she’s safe and asleep, just finished crying her eyes out

Shittykawa: what the actual fuck

Shittykawa: I’ve been calling fucking everyone and NOW you decide to tell me she’s at yours?

Makki: why is she at yours tho? 

Mattsun: Yeah, would’ve guessed she went to Mina’s or smth

Iwa-chan!!: well im her friend too so

Makki: yeah, it’s just weird

Mattsun: She also could’ve went to ours lol

Makki: good thing she’s at Iwa’s

Makki: I couldn’t handle another marathon of fucking studio Ghibli movies

Mattsun: Where’s Oikawa tho? 

Shittykawa: omw to Iwa’s

Iwa-chan!!: wtf no

Shittykawa: I’m taking her home

Mattsun: Yeah, probably not the best idea

Iwa-chan!!: she just fucking cried because of you, you think she wants to see you

Makki: you should give Y/N space, Oikawa

Makki: I doubt she wants to see you rn

Shittykawa: don’t care

Shittykawa: open the door Iwa

Iwa grunted, gently moving you away from his shoulder and slightly increasing the sound of the movie, not wanting to wake you up when the inevitable screaming match between him and Oikawa breaks out. 

Makki: wanna bet ¥1000 that Iwa at least slaps Oikawa?

Mattsun: Nah, I bet ¥2000 that they get into a screaming match and wake Y/N up 

Iwa puts his phone down, not bothering to read any more incoming messages and moving to open his door. He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to look his best friend of so many years into eyes. Doesn’t dare wonder what will happen when you wake up and see Oikawa here.

Despite so many reasons to not open his door, his arm automatically reaches for the handle and swings it open. 

Oikawa stands there, looking like a ghost in the pale moonlight. His features seem blurry in the light, warm brown eyes now cold as ice. He pushes past Iwa, uninvited and slams the door shut, eyes searching for any sign of you, as if you’re just going to appear out of nowhere. One of Iwa’s hands clutches Oikawa’s shirt sleeve and holds it tight.

“She’s sleeping, don’t you dare go and fucking wake her up after the day she’s had,” grunts Iwa, dragging his best friend to the kitchen. Despite being there so many times before, today Oikawa seems out of place. 

“I’m taking her home,” states Oikawa, once again. 

“No, you’re not,” retorts the dark-haired man, “Sit the fuck down and let’s talk.”

Oikawa begrudgingly pulls out a chair and sits down. They’re looking at each other for a moment, not daring to break the silence. It almost feels like everything is okay, for a moment, like nothing happened, like it’s another quiet evening spent talking at Iwa’s house. If Oikawa concentrates hard enough he can almost imagine hearing your’s and Makki’s banter over the movie choice for tonight and Mattsun chuckling. Almost. 

“What the hell were you thinking? I thought everything was going okay,” Iwa tries to ask calmly, but the way he talks through his gritted teeth alarms Oikawa that they’re not about to have a quiet, calm conversation. 

“I wasn’t thinking. Y/N wasn’t meant to walk in.”

“So you planned to cheat on her and just go on with your life, God I-“ Iwa stops to take a deep breath. He knows he needs to keep himself level-headed but it’s so fucking hard, “When you told me that you’re falling out of love I was hoping everything would turn out okay. Even if not, I thought you’ll just break up with her, not… Not that,”

Oikawa looks lost. His eyes trace the coffee mugs on the table, then reach the colorful rag near the sink and then travel back to Iwaizumi. Hajime knows that his friend is looking just above his eyes, avoiding the judgemental gaze. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” the former captain’s voice is merely a whisper, the confidence it always carries gone. 

Iwa sees the way Oikawa is suffering, yet he cannot find it in himself to feel sorry for the former captain. The complete and utter selfishness of his actions; disgusting. 

“Get out and sleep it off. Let her rest, that’s the best you can do.” 

“I want to see her, to apologise, to-“

“Would you want to hear apologies from your partner, who you just caught cheating on you?” Oikawa’s face drops even more, if possible. A frown takes its place on his guilt-ridden features, a bunch of different thoughts making it hard to focus.

“I fucked up- I,” Oikawa’s searching for words, but can’t seem to find any, “There’s no coming back from this, is there?”

Iwa looks up. Seeing Oikawa in so much pain almost makes him physically ill. He feels conflicted. He wants to comfort his best friend, tell him that everything will be okay, that this situation has a solution, but Iwaizumi has never been a good liar. The former vice-captain manages to nod and they sit in silence until there’s footsteps. 

Oikawa scrambles to stand up, already at the kitchen entrance before Hajime manages to catch him. It’s like their conversation flies out of Oikawa’s head — he’s trapping you in a tight hug, whispering promises and apologies, while you just helplessly stare at Iwa.

“Let me go, Oikawa,” you mutter, voice completely powerless and void of any emotion. The usage of his surname sends a shiver down Tooru’s spine. Small details begin to fall into place – your red, puffy eyes, the way you hold yourself like you just want to hide and the fact that you’re wearing his best friend’s clothes. You smell like Iwaizumi and that finally snaps Oikawa out of his trance. He lets you go, “If you have any respect left for me and my feelings, please leave”. 

You say the sentence with such exhaustion that it seems like it’s physically hard for you to speak. 

“I’m gonna leave, alright?” He leans a bit, so that you can look straight into his eyes. It seems like he has been crying too. You catch Iwaizumi’s gaze in your peripheral vision, “But please know that I’ll be waiting for you to come back, okay? 

Your eyes wander away and he abruptly grabs your shoulders. You notice Iwa tensing up. 

“I know you’re too smart to listen to my apologies, but please consider it, okay? I know you love me, Y/N, so think about it. I’ll come pick you up anytime, alright?” 

You manage a nod and just like that – Oikawa is gone, a quick goodbye to Iwaizumi and he’s out the door.  It hurts, hurts so fucking much. A moment of enlightenment then complete darkness again.

“Y/N…” Iwa is careful when he hugs you, like he’s afraid to hurt you. You step away so that you can look into his eyes. Dark green mixed with olive and brown tones seems to magically reel you in. You just want the pain to go away, even if for a moment. You’re so incredibly close to him and you can’t resist – your lips connect and you close your eyes. Iwaizumi doesn’t seem shocked, and even if he is, he instantly kisses you back. 

His lips are slightly chapped and his hands explore your body carefully – every move and touch thought through. 

He pulls away for a moment and your arms instantly reach to pull him closer, to go back to the state with no thoughts and problems – just pure passion, kisses filled with sadness and longing. 

“Do you really want this?” he murmurs, almost into your lips, “Do you really want me or am I just a temporary replacement you can imagine Oikawa’s face on?”

He can read people so well, even if it doesn’t seem so. There’s nothing else besides physical affection and a long-lasting friendship. You trust him, you trust him to take the pain away, to make you forget your sun. 

“I want you to take the pain away,” you answer him and your lips meet once again, “Please, Ha-ji-me,” you say his name in between kisses and Iwaizumi curses himself. 

He’s an awful person and an even worse friend – leading, no, dragging you into his icy cold bed, when he should be comforting you, kissing away at your neck and quickly undressing you instead of calling Oikawa to come up with a way to fix this mess. He can’t help it, he can’t help himself from marking your pretty tits up when he’s wanted you since third year in high school, since you were utterly and completely Oikawa’s. 

Having something so forbidden is exciting and Iwa knows that he can still back out, can still stay a good friend to Tooru, but why not just give him a taste of his own medicine? God, his moral compass is all fucked up. 

His fingers softly massage your clit until they dip lower, slowly and softly fingering you while his thumb plays with your clit. He swallows up your sweet moans and mewls within his mouth, kissing you roughly and full of passion.

“Good girl,” he mutters, leaving yet another mark on your neck, the possessive side of him enjoying the already visible bruises that litter your upper body. 

You whine when he thrusts particularly hard, hitting the spot that almost makes you instantly cream around his fingers.

“D-don’t be gentle, okay? I’m not gonna break,” you manage to say in between moans, “I want you to cause me physical pain, yeah? O-oh- so t-that I can forget why It’s hurting so much,”

Iwa’s brain seems empty. On one hand, he should be comforting you, not hurting you, but on the other hand, how can he say no when you look up at him, utter and complete sadness clouding your teary eyes, short pants slipping past your plush lips. 

“You want me to make it hurt?” he chuckles, one huge hand enclosing around your neck with the other still inside you, grinning when you lean into his cold hand’s touch, desperate to be ruined, “Okay, I’ll do that.”

Iwa’s not a sadist in bed, most of the time, but you asked him to make you forget. And to be honest, he really wants you to forget. How euphoric would it be if that fucked-out look would be reserved for him only? 

“A-ah, can I come, please?” you ask, hardly able to talk, pupils dilating, hands trembling and reaching to grab his snow-white sheets, looking for something to hold onto. 

“Good girl, such a good girl asking for permission,” he mumbles and your eyes light up, but then the hand on your neck squeezes harder and you’re left with your mouth agape, watching Iwaizumi’s delighted face as he fingers you into completion, “You have to ask nicely if you want to cum. What did you used to call Oikawa?

His fingers slow to an agonizing pace and you let out a groan in frustration. Iwa wonders if he’s crossed a line with his questions, but all his worries are calmed down, when your eyes sparkle with fresh tears and you manage to sob out a frantic “Please, daddy, please, can I cum?” as if you’re afraid the brunette will take away your pleasure. 

“Cum” he orders, high on the power you basically handed to him without any resistance. And then he watches you come undone on his fingers, your face filled with ecstasy as you keen and cream around his fingers.

Iwaizumi gives you a moment to get yourself together and breathe as he moves his hand away, but after that he’s expectantly shoving his fingers with your juices towards your face and beams when you suck his fingers clean; even without him asking. 

He strokes your cheek and pulls out his pulsing cock out of his boxers. He’s so impossibly hard and he just can’t wait to be in you, feeling the heat of your tight walls on his dick. 

You look down and your eyes become as wide as saucers – he’s no longer than Oikawa, but definitely thicker, oh you just know you’ll have trouble walking the next day. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, baby,” he chuckled, “Let daddy take care of you.”

There’s thoughts rattling through your head for a moment, but then you give in and nod – still not able to completely think after a mind-numbing orgasm. 

Iwaizumi lines himself up with your creaming hole and then pushes in. You mewl and keen, but he keeps going, swallowing all the noises with comforting kisses, knowing that If you’d really wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him so. Inch after inch and he’s finally bottomed out – your pelvises rubbing together. 

“I’m gonna move now, yeah? Pretty girl,” he can’t help but praise you – so pretty, all submissive and blissed-out just for him.

Iwaizumi’s thrusts are hard and fast – it seems like he wants to engrave the shape of his cock into your tight walls and his name into your fuzzy, pleasure-filled brain.

“Daddy-“ you whine, “So good, feels mmhm- feels so goo-good!” you scream, biting at his neck, making the brunette suck in a harsh breath. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna be my good girl after this, huh?”

You can’t focus your thoughts to answer – the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the way his muscles are flexing when he grabs your hips, the way he smells, the-

Iwaizumi slaps you. Not hard, but hard enough to get your attention and for pain to begin blooming in your cheek. 

“Daddy asked you a question. I expect you to answer, honey.” His green eyes are darkened with lust, pet name condescending. 

“Y-yeah, gonna be your good girl, daddy,” you pant, breath coming out in short puffs.

From your expression and the way you’re clenching down on him, he can feel that you’re close.

“You on birth control?” Iwa asks, not completely lost in pleasure, still able to think, but fuck is the thought of coming in you hot.

“Y-yeah,” you cry out, “Cum inside me, yo-you can cum inside me,”

That’s all it takes. His vision flashes, strong arms trembling and squeezing your hips even harder and then he paints your walls white. You come soon after – a little stimulation to the clit and you’re coming on his softening dick. 

You stay there for a few moments, both breathing and collecting yourselves. Iwa falls to your side, pulling you close to him, tucking your head under his chin, your hot breath tickling his neck.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, before blacking out. It seems like today’s events really tired you out. Hajime doesn’t mind. He could get used to this. Used to you in his bed, used to you being completely his. He couldn’t get used to the guilt though. He stays up, lost in thought, until first rays of liquid gold begin leaking through the curtains.

***

Iwaizumi picks up your things from your’s and Oikawa’s place. You’re miserable yet again – asking Iwaizumi to do it for you through hiccupping sobs. 

His best friend of many years has your bags ready, your shared apartment weirdly empty, cold and unwelcoming without your things. 

“So she’s really not coming back,” Oikawa mutters. He looks even more miserable than you; it’s fucking depressing and the guilt comes back stronger than ever. Fuck.

“Well you can’t blame Y/N. You cheated,” Iwa retorts, tone colder and harsher than he intended. 

“Yeah, that,” Tooru laughs, a noise so empty and pathetic that his best friend cringes, “Does she have a place to stay?” 

“She’s staying at mine’s” 

“You’re fucking, aren’t you?” Oikawa chuckled and Iwaizumi froze, “Figured. I have no reason to be mad at you, Iwa, but I fucking am. Still feels like… She’s mine, you know? And I really wanna fucking beat you up for touching what’s mine, but I’m not going to do that,”

Iwa nods. His best friend was always too good at reading people. Too good for his own good. 

“I’m going to Argentina soon. Got a good deal to play at in professional team while still being able to finish my studies,”

“That’s… That’s amazing Tooru,” Iwaizumi is excited for him – there were no doubts that he was going to make his dreams come true, but it’s like a weight has lifted off of Iwa’s shoulders; Oikawa is going to be miles away from you and you’re not going to fall back into the setter’s awaiting arms. 

“I know you’ll feel like she’s completely yours when I’m gone, but I’m not doing this for you. I want to change, to be a better person. A new country might help. But I won’t be gone from her life, yeah? I’m still her friend, even if it's a really shitty one. Time heals people, who knows what the future will bring.” Oikawa smiles and Iwaizumi’s heart beats in his chest. 

“If you want to get back with her someday-  I won’t- I won’t let you. Okay? Yeah, you have everything and she’s mine. You had your chance, Tooru,” Iwa is about to walk out, your bags in his hands, but there’s something stopping him. Right, “Text me when you’re there, tell me how you’re doing. Still want to know that you’re safe.”

“Will do,” Oikawa responds and the door to his apartment closes. It’s over.  

*** 

Iwaizumi blocks Oikawa’s number from calling you. The less you know the better. He’s away now and he doesn’t have time to call you. Everything is over and you’re happy with Iwaizumi. 

But when you press his hand against your neck harder and harder, the look in your eyes looks something close to a prayer, begging. He doesn‘t know if he should cry for himself or for you, because you‘re asking him to hurt you over and over again, harder and harder, for the physical pain to replace the everlasting ache in your heart; if even for a moment. You are completely and utterly Oikawa Tooru‘s and no matter how many  “I love you’s” you whisper into Iwaizumi’s neck on lonely and self-hatred filled nights, when the sun is replaced by the moon, he knows that you’ll never be his. That he’s never going to be your sun. He knows from the way your hands reach for your phone as soon as it rings, from the way your face drops when it’s not the voice you crave to hear, from seeing your eyes tear up when you’re looking at him, your head spinning from trying to imagine a different face instead of Iwaizumi’s. 

It's stupidly foolish of him to hope that he could ever be enough for you. That he could ever replace Oikawa, replace the man you compared to the sun. Iwaizumi was cold and bitter, the care and worry always masked by a scowl. Could he be your moon at least? Would you ever be satisfied with the coldness of the moon, when you once had the warmth of the sun? 

Iwaizumi doesn’t want you to answer the questions he never voices, the ones you have probably already answered hundreds of times in your head. 

All he can do is pull you closer and hope to be enough. The night is filled with sounds from the city that flow through the open window alongside the darkness. He can almost pretend he doesn’t feel the uneven rise of your chest, almost ignore the quiet sobs you try to hold in. 

Iwaizumi buries his face into your hair, the citrusy and musky smell of his shampoo filling his senses assuring him that he’s not in the wrong here. 

So why does it feel so bad to be selfish for once? To hold you in his arms like this, seeking to give you the comfort he knows you crave from another. 

Why does it feel so bad to keep you away from the sun?