angsty goodbye taehyung feelings via words

~ hi god, its me again. when will i ever get over my teenaged angst? ~

“Was it everything you wanted?” And really, the words shouldn’t sound so bitter coming off your lips. You wanted this for him. Truly. You wanted to see him thriving, in a city full of lights he wanted him to shine as the brightest star. You wanted him happy and well and all the other positive words in Webster’s damn dictionary had to offer... but a darker side of you also just wanted him. And what did it matter what you wanted for Taehyung, if it didn’t coincide with what you wanted for yourself? 

“___,” he begins and really, you should applaud him for even making it this far. Nights like this usually don’t get any further than a drunken phone call that ends after the dial tone. He looked like a good 90′s teen romcom, what with his hair all matted to his face like he’s been running through the conveniently misplaced rainstorm. 

You’d invite him in if it didn’t mean knocking down your own walls.

“Well was it?” You spit, giving him yet another chance. Another chance to lie and tell you everything you wanted to hear. That maybe, just maybe, nothing of the past could make up for the time lost with you. That home was wherever you were. That maybe he had made mistake but now he’s got his priorities right. You wanted a bad 90′s movie so bad. 

But Taehyung never could lie and the telling the truth meant pulling the knife out of your chest and leaving your to bleed out so he opts to take the opportunity to break your heart for the nth time with his silence instead.

Unrequited love is difficult, to say the least, but none more difficult than slapping a band aid on it and blaming yourself for the fantasy that you let live rent fee in your head.

No, what you and Taehyung had was much more... requited.

Taehyung loved you. You knew by the flowers he sent and the tiktoks and memes he dm'ed. You knew he loved you when he came home and sought you out first, the phone calls that came at the end of each of his days.

And that’s what made it all the more difficult when it came to being reciprocal. 

Because loving Taehyung meant long nights away. It meant affection in the form of flowers rather than touch. Loving Taehyung meant distance and phone calls at three AM when you’ve got work at seven. That having him, meant sharing him. That being with him, meant being second to him. 

Because Taehyung was a good man, a fair man. He loved so fairly, it hurt. Taehyung held your hand with his left and carried the weight of the world with the the other. He would rather be pulled apart than let one go.

And maybe you could have called it selfish or self indulging. Maybe Taehyung was being overambitious in getting his cake and trying to eating it too. You could maybe attribute his love as being greedy... if only you didn’t see the blood dripping from his vice grip. The burns on his hand as what he loved set itself on fire to see which one he would drop first. 

And if you were a good person, you would have helped him hold up what was right. Or at the very least, beholden enough to quell your own sparks of resentment in a telltale sign of comradery to dull the flames that fed the fire that swallow what he held by his fingertip--but alas you were neither. 

You are neither good nor beholden. You are not the love that was born to steep in stillness, but the fire that was set and you destroyed what you touched in proclaims of self-preservation. 

The boy in black reaches his hand to yours, gives gift to your lips. You could never deny him entry, but you would never again offer him shelter. Too many times, Taehyung has stolen your breath away only to leave you suffocating in his absence. 

In his retirement, you are all that he has left.

seven | min yoongi

summary: a session between you and your therapist/guardian angel min yoongi

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe you’re just a dramatic little bitch?” He says and it’s in the same nonchalant tone you would use when telling your best friend a hard truth that been staring her in the face for months. It dawns on him that maybe there’s a better time to tell you this, perhaps when you aren’t crying two separate puddle onto his obscure off brand love seat but - “That maybe it has nothing to do with your inner demons or your childhood or you lack of social construct and instead has everything to do with the fact that you can’t stand having anyone know more than the two facts you give them. Your name and that your guilty pleasure involves hot cheetos and Nutella.”

“Wow,” you look up at him, snotty nosed in all your glory. Yoongi would think you’re ugly if he hadn’t already thought you gross and annoying. Three adjectives for a mundane such as yourself would be a waste of his celestial capacity. Regardless, he hands you a tissue in hopes you use it instead of--nope, you definitely used the sleeve of your sweater. “And you wonder why you only have a 2.4 yelp rating. No one appreciates honesty in this line of work doc. Diagnose me with something. Give me too many pills. Make me run some awareness exercises. Anything to distract me from the real problem.”

“I do none of that and yet,” he sighs, finally putting down his pen and looking up at your through his thin lashes, “you're still here.” Yoongi leans in, not to listen, but to inhale and light his cigarette.

“Like clockwork,” you peep. “My perfect attendance is the only thing I’ve got going for me and if your shitty reviews are any indication, it’s the only thing you’ve got going for you too so I’d give the psychobabble thing a another try if I were you. Or maybe just be a decent human being for once and instead of dismissing my feelings we address them.”

“It’s not in my nature,” he exhales and you’ve never found smoking to be hot, let alone your psychiatrist but you can’t help but audibly gulp. You want to say it’s his rugged insight that gets you back here every week, but it would be a damn lie if it wasn’t just looking at Yoongi’s face in the five minutes of silence you get between your crying and his exasperated attempt to get you to leave his office.

“What? The niceties part or the decency as a human being?”

“Both. Excuse me while I get that.”

Not only was Yoongi a below average psychiatrist, but he also was the world’s most unprofessional. The first part you knew, but the latter you only realize as he brushes past you and opens the front door for who you can only presume to be Doordash because who else would book Dr. Yoongi, self depreciating extraordinaire. 

“Well, look at you,” the man croons, smile spreading wider than the state of Tennessee. “All reformed and wholesome. It’s just…” he sighs dramatically, “such a waste. You were glorious.”

The side of Yoongi’s mouth frowns in annoyance and for the second time today he wishes he had thought twice about opening his door. The retired angel bends time around him, the ticking on his watch ceasing as he focuses his entire being into preserving this moment. His wings stretch to blanket the entryway, careful not to let Taehyung see your face of which he obliges and returns full attention to his lost brethren.

“My, my” he sneers. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were hiding something.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Patient-doctor privileges.”

Taehyung let’s out a haughty laugh. “Oh please. How do you think I found you after all these years? You think I knock on every washed up therapist’s door? Please.” All it takes it a wave of Taehyung’s hand and Yoongi flies across the room, leaving you in clear view.

“I needed help. You took advantage of that,” Yoongi mutters under whim.

A snort escapes Taehyung. “I don’t believe denial is a part of therapy, brother,” he nods at the scene behind him before flashing another smile. “You enjoyed it. Probably more than I did.”

“You got in my head.” Already, the old memories gush. Because yes, Yoongi had enjoyed it and that had made it all the more nauseating. Yoongi’s fingers twitch at the thought that came with unleashing the full extent of his strength.

“Got in your head?” Taehyung’s eyes spark. He smiles. “You make me sound like some kind of god. Such power you give me over you, it’s quite flattering.”

“What do you want?”

“Invite me in,” the antagonist smiled. “We don’t want to make a scene for the neighbors, now do we?”

“Excuse me but, um,” you talk to break the palpable tension, but immediately wish you hadn’t made a sound because if you ever thought you ever held Yoongi’s attention during your short sessions, you haven’t--because if you had you’ve would have realized the darkness in his eyes as he all but decimates you where you sit, but he isn’t the only one looking. 

If darkness was what you saw in Min Yoongi’s eyes, then it must be where you currently reside. One moment you were sitting on his uncomfortable, unfashionable, and unworthy couch, and the next you were nowhere. Yoongi couldn’t find you, couldn’t feel you and for the first time in centuries, he panicked. 

"Return her to me." Yoongi’s eyes burn into the other but Taehyung only returns a satisfied smile. "Return her to me or Heaven be damned Taehyung your next gasp for air shall be muddled with your own lackluster blood."

"Do you mean to kill me?" Taehyung teases at the title. "Or to simply rip out my tongue?”

The older angel brings his fist to a close at the base of Taehyung’s neck. The other doesn’t so much as flinch and instead edges him on with a choked speech. “Your threats have always been so ambiguous,” he spits. “But if I do have a choice in the matter, I would dare you to try the former."

Taehyung effortlessly removes the vice-grip before throwing it back to its owner’s side.

There were a dozens of other ways for you to find out, a hundred other ways he had planned on letting you know that your prayers hadn’t gone unanswered, that, indeed, it was him listening. There were a million other ways to explain your uncanny talent of escaping death. There were a hundred million other ways he could have told you rather than shamelessly pleading for you life at the mercy of Kim Taehyung, Angel of Death.

"Please," the angel speaks and it sounds like high pitched screeching to your ears. "I never knew you to be so fond of, well,” he shrugs, “anything."

"I am fond of what's mine,” Yoongi responds, doing the best to conceal the desperation in his voice. His nerves are on end. Taehyung is unpredictable, merciless, and desperate for power. It was the perfect combination that puts you right in harms way. The thought of even a scratch on your skin makes Yoongi’s own blood boil.

"Yours?" Taehyung erupts in laughter. "Oh please, need I remind you of what you've done?"

Yoongi panics, visibly afraid of the words on Taehyung’s tongue. What if you hate him? What if you think he's a monster?

"Oh this is rich. She doesn't know? You havent’t told her." It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to piece it together. The fact that Yoongi wasn’t just hiding. He was hiding you, protecting you. This was all just all a facade. The reason for your nightmares wasn’t what lied outside Yoongi’s doors, but what kept you in. Yoongi had wiped you of the memories, but he couldn’t take away the pain.

Outside was hell and Yoongi had locked you in.

jujutsu kaisen!au --- how can u write a jjk!au without including THE jjk (jeon jungkook);

“I, uh -” Jungkook rubs the nape of his neck, not yet sure how to break your heart without... well, breaking it. He wishes you would have kept silent because now he wishes he could have just walked the path alone. 

Jungkook cringes. 

It’s not like Jungkook didn’t know. You didn’t exactly keep it a secret with the way your otherwise blank eyes lit up when your paths crossed on hunts, but he never thought you’d outright say it either. Jungkook didn’t come prepared for this. He didn’t know how to turn you down and how to remain your friend. 

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t love you. Far from it. He admired you, cared about you, thought about you, but in no way could he give you what you wanted. He was Sukuna’s vessel, and that was as far as it went for him.

“Don’t drag this on any longer you need to,” you smile weakly in attempts to lighten the mood. “It’s embarrassing.” 

You take Jungkook’s hands in your own and for the first time in a long time you wish you didn’t like they way they felt. The roughness of his hands that silenced curses without a weapon. You wish the butterflies in your stomach and the trembling weakness in your legs were just part of the curse. You wish your hands weren’t so sweaty from the fight that just manifested because now it feels as if Jungkook might just slip between your fingers. 

He doesn’t. 

He remains limp, but he doesn’t pull away. You physically will yourself to give him one more shy smile.

“Why now?” He asks calmly, looking down at his hands as if Sukuna was sure to make an entrance if Jungkook were to break concentration. “Why are you telling this now? I’m still collecting Sukuna’s fingers aren’t I? I’m still living with purpose aren’t I?” Tears well up in his eyes. He’s not afraid to cry. No, crying in front of you was far from his worst fear, but losing you? Losing you is the last thing Jungkook wants, but he doesn’t know how else to love you. 

A dark laughter rumbles from his Jungkook’s direction and his panics.

“Just kill me,” you begged. “Please, Jungkook just-”

His heart drops to his feet at the realization of the situation.

Not that you were expecting him to figure it out. You knew Jungkook was dense. It was his one weakness, one you were trying to exploit, and it was working. You wanted this to end, needed it to, and you were giving him an ultimatum.

love but mostly hate

`the one where taehyung is the loathing little shit of a promised husband and you dont want to get married. oh yeah, and you’re dragons. ----- 

“I have sisters,” you say quick and easy. “So many of them.”

You would think sisterhood brought you together, that there would be some unspoken bond about not throwing each other to the wolves when it came down to meat. But alas, here you are, at the mercy of their beauty and hoping that in all the mean names Taehyung called you in primary school, that he at least meant one of them. 

“Please, take your pick. Any of them. All of them!” you offer. “Lisa, Jennie, Jisoo, Rose, Joy, Sana, Yeri, Irene, Nayeon, Seulgi. Come on, Taehyung, I’m running out of fingers!” You point as each sister as you name them, giving him at least ten different reasons as to why he should not choose you to be his bride.

Taehyung looks at you at in disgust, partially because you’re trying to pawn off your own flesh and blood, but mostly because it’s you.

goldilocks and the three bears of truth

jimin’s in love with you, but like... not that in love with you. or conversely, men that have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence!

“No, no, no. Please don’t do that,” Taehyung hushes as he brings his more than big enough hands to your cheeks. You raise your gaze to meet his and his heart hits the floor. He knew you were upset, that much was obvious, what with you throwing the entire contents of the buffet table at him and ruining his Versace tux. He knew you were upset - that was fair. But never did it dawn on him that you were going to cry! It wasn’t fair that you were so pretty when he was trying to break up with you. “Please don’t cry.”