Omggggg Is This How A ...........heartbreak Feels Like?!!:((

omggggg is this how a ...........heartbreak feels like?!! :((

𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐦𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Taehyung x Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚:  The one where Taehyung didn’t give you as much attention as he should.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: Angst, Short.

°•. ✿ .•°  

Could he exist in a world never touched by you, Taehyung wondered. In the multiversed layers of this cursed existence, could he find one surgically clean of you? Could he delete the multitude of synesthesic reminders you scattered around every corner of his life?

But most importantly, would he want to? He wasn’t so sure anymore.

There was a half empty bottle of your perfume on top of his drawer, a single pink sock under his bed, a charger he found behind his couch. He called you one night, trying to lure you into talking to him under the pretense of giving it all back - as if he could! - but you didn’t pick up. 

Was that how you felt? All those times he didn’t pick up when you called or didn’t answer your texts, too busy soaking up spotlights and drinking up applauses. Did his silence feel as suffocating as yours? 

Keep reading

cutie

PLOT TWIST (maybe, maybe not 🫣) ROMANTIC DREAMS HAS MOVED TO THAT APARTMENT COMPLEX BECAUSE HES BEEN FOLLOWING YN LONGER THAN WHAT WE ALL THINK 😈

who knows 😌

*and the plot thickens*

h a e g e u m | 02 (M)

p a i r i n g. yoongi x female reader

g e n r e. crime au. two-shot. thriller. angst. smut.

e x t r e m i t y l e v e l : 6

w. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS WELL BEFORE YOU PROCEED. 18+ o n l y.

(M) non-Idol!BTS; psst, not much edited, i’m tired ; major story unfolds right from here; italics are the flashbacks , explicit scenes in form of injuries, blood, angst + amygdala lyric parallels, please, this fic is not for minors at all, reader is kept hostage for a while ; slight gore ; multiple POV’s, cameo of a certain bunny (classic) , (explicit scenes of) panic attacks, mentions of being drugged, sexual harrasment innuendos and slight mentions, yoongi and the chopstick scene, rifles and Jeongguk, someone gets actually k#lled by them, passing out of exhaustion, Yoongi is mean.

w c. 5k+

I couldn't go on writing the continuation of this in this same part, for when you'll read, you'll understand. This was originally planned a two shot, but for the sake of my readers, I left it as where the last scene ends. I promise that the third part would be the last.

p a r t 0 1

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02. WHO'S FAULT?

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Your throat burnt.

At first, you couldn't understand why did you wake up— your head felt heavy on your neck, eyes burning at the sensation of keeping them open. Throat felt as if raw salt was rubbed furiously over a wound. Sweat stuck on your flesh like your second skin, and your muscles felt painfully sore.

I don't know your name

Raindrops. The raindrops felt gently on your cold, yet burning skin as you struggle to keep your eyes open. It was dark, dark all around. Your ankle was in pain, yet you remained lying down in the floor, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. You felt your jacket cling uncomfortably to your damp skin and you shiver at the feeling of the your blood mixing with the rainwater which clung to your flesh. You don't honestly remember wearing a jacket, because you were dressed in a tee..

You felt the dotting scabs on yoir skin moisten as water dripped down, feeling your body convulse with the cold which blows over the haunted room.

A journey through memories

Your hair falls on your sight of your now blurry vision. Your eyes are tired, and irritated. They feel painful to be opened, and cold droplets travel down your cheekbones, dripping down your hair tresses. You gasp pathetically trying to breathe, twisting your head to find a certain someone.

Him.

You spot him, lying right beside you. His white tee, transparent due to the rainwater, sticks to his pale skin, propped half-way through his upper torso. His messy parted bangs fall over his eyes, making them disappear.

His lips are slightly parted, trying to gasp air just like you, water dripping down his temple just like yours, his skin shining with the small droplets of water taking homage on his small, button nose. He's drenched as you are. And even more injured; his jeans, once a light faded uraniun blue, is now soaked with blood and mud, ripped open at his knees. The flesh of his right thigh was sliced open, blood clogged down in between the fabric and his flesh.

A blood chilling shiver runs down your spine at the sight; at how you feel the pain in your chest despite yourself.

His white tee is already ripped in half, a long, throbbing scrape extending from his sternum to his belly button.

Your vision travels upto his face, noticing bruises on his neck and cuts on his lips, and when you reach his eyes, you notice that..

His scar is bleeding.

Though you don't see the whole of it, covered with his mass of hair, but you see a droplet of crimson bleed out of the scar, now a maroon transversal thick line, dried scab. It bleeds out and mingles with his silky, wet skin with the rainwater, but the bleeding didn't cease. A drop falls out, slowly, slowly.

Your chest tightens at the sight, yearning to reach out to him and wipe it off, and even without thinking twice, you cup his cold, wet cheek. Wiping off the blood which trickles down. You wonder if it hurts him as much as it hurts you to look at.

Though you yourself feel shocked at your action, you don't budge. You simply stare at him, and your touch has maybe stirred something in him. You see the brown of his eyes sparkle open at your touch, barely a creak, as he sighs, softly in your touch.

A journey through memories

“ Run. ” his voice came out rather hoarse, as if not been in use since a long time.

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes at his words.

“ But Yoongi, you're injured..” your voice is shaky by the time it reaches out of your throat. He shakes his head, a small, tired huff coming out of his lips which sounds quite like a laugh.

“ I'm all fine, Bonbon.. ”

and when his eyes meet your own, a thunder cracks up in the now distant, weeping sky.

And the rain increases in its entirety when his blood soaked hands reach up to cup your cold, now drying cheek, wiping off a lonely tear with his thumb which made its way down the confines of your eyes.

A sob threatens to bubble up it's way up your chest seeing him so weak, so vulnerable like this, all this because of you, you feel like drowing and never getting up. His brow furrows as more tears slip down your eyes, a sob spilling out of your lips as you break down completely in his touch.

“ I can't leave you like that, Yoongi, please..” you're sobbing by the time you hold his wrists cupping your cheeks. He pulls your face closer to his, not untill your foreheads touch. His breath mingles with your own as his eyes locked to yours own, and even if they weren't clearly visible, they were filled with emotions, glossy.

How do you feel these days

You cannot afford to lose him. You cannot be selfish. You want to stay by his side, hold his hand and treat his injuries. Just not the physical ones, but also the ones which take time to heal, leaving behind scars for eternity.

“ Bonbon, you have to stay strong for me. You would, won't you..? ”

You have to stay strong.. for him ?

A small cry of his names leaves your lips as you hiccup, his gentle, yet patient fingers caressing your burning skin with delicacy.

It's just not a simple question, it's a ask for a promise. A promise which you grant him with shaky hands and trembling voice, with slurred sobs and a broken heart.

You know that he's hurting as much as you are, even if his own emotions are buried inside for your sake. He's not pretending, he's being real here. If you die, you both will die. It's funny really, how you feel your heart cracking as pain blooms from the lower ribcage to right at the centre of your chest, the tightening knot in your chest which threatened to break at any moment.

But if one of you escapes, you— you don't know.

The shed under which you're resting feels small as you run, run in the downpour which doesn't seem to cease at ay point. The earth is gloomy with grey skies and grey beach sand as the shine, leaving behind footprints of your own. You struggle to see your path infront because of the never ending tears welling in your eyes as your body screams to stop, stop behind and take him with you, take his pain away with you, your whole being screeches with pain.

But you don't stop, because you have made him a promise.

Memories I want to have erased

You gasp as your eyes fly open, searching frantically for whatever you just saw infront of your own eyes. But what your eyes met..were certainly not what your dreams did.

A wave of darkness washes over you, seemingly suffocating the air. Nostalgia floods over you for some unknown reasons, because this reminds you of something you don't wish to remind yourself. The walls, once painted a faded shade of white, are now covered in peeling, cracked wallpaper, revealing the decaying plaster beneath. The faint scent of dampness permeates the room, hinting at years of neglect and abandonment, along with the rough years of angst it might've faced throughout its years of youth.

You realise that you're alone and helpless. You do not wish to pry on your nerves any longer, because you remember him, and his face the last thing before you're met with darkness. You huff a small breath, you're alive.

But at what cost?

Dim light from an unknown source filters through the tattered, moth-eaten curtains, casting eerie shadows across the room. The floorboards creak underfoot, as if whispering secrets long forgotten. Cobwebs drape from the ceiling like forgotten tapestries, swaying gently in an unfelt breeze caresses your skin, comforting you in an eerie way. Overall this room is awful in its appearance, yet it's not so disgusting as you'd imagine it to be.

You soon realise that your hands feel numb, almost dead from the lack of circulation. It doesn't take a rocket science genius to find out that your wrists are tightly tied behind the chair you're seated, and so are your legs together. Your wrists jerk as a reflex as soon as you realise that you're still in your uniform, now soaked with sweat and your hair is tied in a ponytail, though you don't remember doing so anyway.

You exhale out a sigh through your nose as even you're gagged with a cloth tied over your mouth, feeling perspiration accumulate on the underside of your eyes are droplets, blinking away.

The room feels awfully quiet except the obnoxious winds blowing and the sound of rain mixing together, and you realise that you're done. Your eyes scan over to the room, squinting hard to make out the objects you can visualise in the centre.

In the center of the room, an antique wooden table sits, covered in a layer of dust and neglect. A single flickering candle, its flame struggling against the darkness, casts eerie, dancing shadows that seem to mimic the macabre atmosphere. A weathered, leather-bound journal lies open on the table, and you wish if you weren't seated so far away, you could've moved forward to take a look at the browned pages which seem so inviting right now. Alas, you're bound up.

It's actually intresting to you to know that you're still alive and not dead.

Your eyes scan everywhere they can, except that the room is bland. In the further corner of the room,there resides a weathered brown piano, standing as a silent sentinel of forgotten melodies. Forgotten, just as the memory you unlocked in your dream. A lump makes it's way to your throat at the awakening of the nostalgia seeing the old brown piano. The piano's once-polished wooden surface has dulled with age, now adorned with a delicate layer of dust that tells tales of neglect and solitude. Its deep brown hue, once vibrant and lustrous, has mellowed into a warm patina, revealing the passage of countless years. It seems like the piano hasn't been used since decades, the thick layer of dust being evident for the proof enough.

The instrument's elegant frame, though showing signs of wear and tear, still exudes an air of dignified grace; almost as if it weeps silently for it's forgotten, yet it keeps its head high, gracefully. The ornate carvings along the piano's legs and edges, while faded and partially obscured, hint at a bygone era when craftsmanship held great significance.

As your gaze moves closer, the intricately designed ivory keys come into view. Once pearly white, they now bear the marks of age, with slight discoloration and tiny cracks that betray the passage of time and the touch of countless hands. The ebony sharps, though darkened, provide a striking contrast against the aged ivory.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, as if the piano yearns to be awakened once more, to fill the room with its resounding melodies and evoke emotions long dormant. Yet, the room remains silent, with only the soft whistling of the wind filtering through the cracks in the timeworn walls. You can only let out a longing sigh, wishing if you could help the piano with it's melancholy.

Again, you're left with no hope.

A tattered sheet of music, yellowed with age, rests upon the closed lid of the piano, its notes long forgotten and its pages delicately curled. It speaks of past performances and cherished moments, now preserved only in the fading ink and fragile paper. There's something written in dark amd bold, a funky handwriting in black stands out the papers above all, but it's far away for you to read it. Only the winds which blow occasionally along with the splutters of rain reminds you that you're kept hostage, in an unknown place, now just a commoner, a no one.

You close your eyes.

You do not absolutely wish to dwell on your memories as a cop. You've tried to always be honest in your pathway of work, always working hard; but universe has always got different plans for people like you, and karma goes in her reverse path during times like these.

The same man who saved you from your demons, is now the same man who's possibly keeping you hostage, away from the world.

Yoongi .

Now known as agustD.

The room is filled with silence untill there is a creak of the floorboard underneath your feet; cracking obnoxiously. You know you had to be imagining things, but who knows? Anything can happen. You do not know how much time has passed since you were drugged and terminated as an officer, but you're sure it hasn't been way too long. You were possibly shot a dose of pentobarbital, and because the toxins are relieved from your body, you wish to pee so bad. Your throat is dying for a drop of water. You gulp down your own saliva painfully, thanks to the gag you're bound with. It cannot be more than 48 hours; and pentobarbitals aren't really such strong of drugs to be used. The floorboard creaks again. The air grew colder, carrying a faint scent of floral smear and an unidentifiable, sickly sweetness which you cannot recognise, but the smell floods you with an unknown memory which you cannot seem to unlock, yet.

Soon you can make out a silhouette in the dark, visibly a thin figure, possibly a man. If you're kept hostage, there's no need to pretend. You may will die or whatever, so pop off. The stranger's steps were unnaturally silent, barely making a whisper against the cracked floorboard; and you try to concentrate more on the noises of the crickets outside more than the throb of your head or the incoming steps of the stranger. His steps near you, this time, a bit louder, and suddenly comes to a stop.

Almost as if they're surprised to see your presence.

Your inner self is screaming over and over again to look up and take a peek at the stranger who's presence is felt in this room, and you finally raise your head up.

Your eyes widen.

Large, doe, coffee coloured eyes meet your own, and you swear you were just an inch away from gasping loudly into the cloth refraining you from doing so. His eyes are always capable of expressing his emotions, though his face remains perfectly stoic; slight almond shaped eyes with their gentle corners widen nevertheless his expression, and you can tell that he's as shocked as you are.

Jeongguk.

“Noona..?”

Aw hell man.

His voice has matured a lot, though the ridges of his voice retain the boyish charm you were once familiar with. It's now a lot more deep, more like a rasp in the beginning to a slow hum in the end, and you swear you feel your heart paining.

This kid has grown up to a man.

You're very well aware that he has grown lot much taller than he was, taller than how you are. He has a well built figure though he remains clocked in his midnight black shirt and skinny jeans. His short sleeved shirt gives you a full view of his arm littered with art pierced on them, and so are his eyebrows done with. His face is a lot more angular and defined than how it was years ago, now slightly tanned, even, with his midnight blue hair flowing over his eyebrows.

You hum back a greeting to him, muffled.

“ Noona.. ”

He repeats again, almost as if he's trying to work his own brains out. His voice comes out as a statement of confirmation rather than a question, this time.

Your eyes never leave his own, as if you're questioning him all the questions you've ever had in your mind ever since you've come here. You couldn't imagine that even Jeongguk would be with Yoongi, but somehow you had to keep that in mind, that Jeongguk grew up with Yoongi, practically. Even if that meant that Jeongguk was just a young teen when you left Yoongi, and you are only left to wonder what does the neglect of youth does to people. The innocence behind his bambi eyes retain themselves, and it aches you to the core to know that Jeongguk is just as pure that he chose to be with him, even if that meant that he has lost all of his means to live in a world of normal adulthood.

Why didn't you leave Yoongi? Why do you still work with him? Do you not know the dangers he possesses?

Jeongguk takes a few steps forward, his brows creased. But freezes immediately as you two hear the presence of another person. There's a small thump nearby, and you almost visualise his bunny ears peeking up at the noise, getting alert; only the difference was that he was a grown up man now with a huge body. He turns away immediately his arm slides over the door to wham it open and stride over to see who's the intruder in the dark night.

You're left alone, again.

But not for soon, though. This time, the woodboard creaks again, and this time you feel a lot more anxious than how you felt earlier. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, perspiration gathering in yoir temples, and you breathe in wildly. The air around you feels suffocating as suddenly there's a gaint man in the entrance, stumbling his way inside. He sways on his toes as he walks with steps, with a flushed face and an disheveled appearance. You freeze in your chair immediately as you realise that this man is drunk, watching his dirty clothes and drool slipping over his overgrown hair, screaming lack of personal hygiene.

This man instills a sense of danger and unease with each step he makes inside the room, suddenly taking homage on the floor with his upper half propped up on the wall nearest to the door.

He slurs something in his speech which you don't quite understand, but you do catch on his satoori dialect as he speaks. You just pray to God Jeongguk appears soon as possible, because your restraints are bound quite tightly, a way where you feel is almost impossible to open up so that you can run. But you fear you cannot do it with how limp your body seems to be now. Even in a situation like this, you trust Jeongguk more than anything else because if he had any notorious intentions, he'd have executed it by then, but he didn't really, did he? You tug faintly at your wrists, only to feel a jerk of pain shooting up your arm at the loss of circulation.

Please, no. You cannot even fight back this man in this state. Even if you wrte trained enough for situations like these, panic fills your veins. You desparately try to free yourself without making any possible noise, as you see the man grunting to himself.

That's when his rusty eyes meet your own.

Shoot. His lips stretch to a grin, more like a smirk, and you know you're damned. He stumbles to get up properly, mumbling incoherent words as he nears your chair with such loud steps that they alone makes you want to throw up. You don't know whether to panic even more and trash around in vain, or just sit in silence and accept your destiny because this would happen whether you do something about it or not, no matter how strong your efforts are, but your body gives up.

You're kept in hostage by Yoongi, and you're bound to be eaten alive by monsters in the dark. You're about to die being captured by the flames you, in your whole career fought to extinguish all the life. His leather shoes are seen in your vision, telling you that he's standing infront of you.

Did Yoongi honestly hate you so much, now to have you in this situation ?

Tears sting in your eyes as soon as you watch the dirty, blood scabbed, glove clad hand of the man resting on the hand rest of your chair, right above your own. His hand feels disgusting to be on the top of yours and he fucking reeks of weed and cheap booze. His breath really brings up bile from your stomach, and your head feels light headed. You harshly turn your head to the side, hoping to cut off some of the stench.

That's when you feel rough fingers grip your chin and turn your head to the person standing infront of you. Oh god, the stench is so fucking disgusting that you now seriously think you're either going to pass away or throw up all over. Harsh fingers raise your chin up and you finally get to see the man hovering over you. His eyes partially hidden behind long, unkempt bangs, adding a mysterious and unsettling element, adding to the dread already setting down your stomach. His gaze is intense, malicious even, piercing through you with an unsettling combination of amusement and malevolence. It's as if he knows something you don't, and he derives pleasure from your unease and discomfort. His body is so close to yours that you almost feel squished in between the chair and him. You wish to deliver a straight punch and run away from this punk, but maybe…this is your fate.

You squeeze your eyes close tightly, not wanting to face that motherfucker any longer. You feel his stinking breath near your lips, and you nearly lose it all. You grit down on your teeth, feeling your body give up as longer as you resist the restrains on your wrists; as you try to trash up your wrists in an attempt to free yourself up. But that goes vain when the front legs of the chair lift themselves up and the hind legs fall behind. Perhaps you lose your balance, or the chair gives way unexpectedly.

As you tilt backward, your feet lose contact with the ground, leaving you momentarily suspended in mid-air. A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your body as you realize you're falling backward. Your arms instinctively shoot out to either side, attempting to grab onto something for support, but the momentum is too great. Time seems to slow down as you brace yourself for the impact, your heart pounding in your chest, realising that you're still very much bound and the man is free. You did the stupidest thing ever, and now he has access to you in a better position.

The chair tilts further back, and with a mix of surprise and panic, you feel the sensation of weightlessness. The man leaps forward, and you anticipate the harsh fall and the impact on your head as you'll fall. The chair's backrest supports your upper body, while your legs dangle in the air. As you continue to descend, you feel a moment of weightlessness..

But the fall never comes.

Only, it feels as if time as frozen— your eyes shoot open as you do realise that you're frozen mid air. The man is no where in front of you now— atleast not in your immediate vision. You realise that your chair is being held by someone in the position as you were.. You crane your neck, and what you saw was what you definitely did not imagine in the wildest of your dreams.

A single gunshot shatters the stillness. The sound reverberates through the room, jolting your somewhat sleepy and mild mind. A muzzle flash momentarily illuminates the darkness as the bullet is propelled forward at an incredible speed, and you're very well aware of the impact, because you expect yourself to flinch, but maybe years of handling a rifle has taught you better.

Time seems to slow down as the bullet finds its target, the shabby man. It strikes with unyielding force, tearing through the air. The man's body jerks backward, caught off guard by the impact. Pain and shock register on their face as they realize the gravity of the situation.

A red stain begins to spread rapidly across the man's clothing as blood seeps from the gunshot wound, right on his left, clothed calf. He stumbles forward, struggling to maintain balance, but the force of the shot proves too much. With a gasp, his body collapses down with a loud swear on the floor, the blood quickly forming a small puddle.

Your heart rate is thrice the rate as it was a few moments ago, knowing that the man was shot right infront of you by someone who's most likely holding your chair in the same position as well. Your breath gets clogged in your throat as you process the information, watching the man grunt and look up at the source of the gunshot; only for him to snarl with a curse, muttering something out with his arms trashing wildly in air, looking for leverage.

“ You're not a m..man..if you try sav..ing sl-sluts like he—”

You do not even have the time to blink when wiith lightning-fast precision, a shadow in the dark launches forward, almost like a wild cheetah hunting on his prey, closing the distance between them. Only then you realise that in the faint lighting, you saw a pair of chopsticks grabbed tightly in their pale, right wrist, hovering mid-air as he hunches the sticks forward, right where their target is. They strike with the precision of a predator, targeting vital points on the startled man's body, who screams in agony from the sudden attack.

The man's eyes widen in shock as they feel the initial stinging pain, realizing the severity of the situation. The man's strikes are precise and calculated, finding vulnerable spots between the victim's ribs and joints. Each jab and stab of the chopsticks draws blood, causing the man to weaken with each passing moment, grunting and screaming out curses. Blood squirts out with each jab, but the hunter never ceases his torment.

Despite his struggle, the man's strength begins to wane, his movements slowing as life drains from his body, with a final grunt.

And that's when the hunter raises their raven haired head up, to meet your eyes with his own, blazing with red hot anger, still hovering over the corpse of the man.

The same, pitch black, cold, raging, feline eyes which your vision last perceived before you passed out some forty eight hours ago. The same eyes whom you recognised deep inside yourself the apparent first time you saw them through a camera, but you were caught in the strings of denial for yourself, all throughout.

Yoongi.

Who just murdered a man right infront of you.

With a pair of chopsticks.

Your exhale comes out rather as a stuttering breath when you realise that a match target rifle rests on the chair edge, right beside your shoulders. Your eye follows the trail to the owner of the hand, the very beginning of tattoos littered on the tanned skin which glistens in sheen layer of sweat.

Jeongguk.

Your thoughts raced like wild stallions, colliding into one another, as a desperate attempt to grasp reality became futile. Logical reasoning became a fragile thread, threatened to be severed by the onslaught of irrational fears; sure, you’ve done this countless times in the stretch of your career, but for the first time, you actually feel your heart thumping wildly at the sight of a rifle which, not even a few minutes ago, had someone fall victim to it's cruelty. Your mind was slowly becoming labyrinth trapped in a conflicting emotions, unable to distinguish between genuine danger and figments of imagination, trying to process if any of these were even real.

Your neck hurts by the time you're looking up at the younger man, still holding your chair in mid-air. His facial expression remains quite unreadable, with a hint of confusion in them; but as soon as your eyes meet his own puddle of coffee, they soften like butter kept in the open rays of warm sun. His ridges of eyebrows, though, remain a bit rigid as if still aware of the danger lying in the surrounding. But his voice comes out soft, soft, as he speaks to you,

“ Are you alright, noona..? ”

You almost wish to answer him; you truly do. Your chest heaved as a response from the adrenaline rush dying in your bloodline, leaving your body lax in the restraints. Your dry lips open themselves to speak, but close immediately as you find your throat dry, and the gagged cloth prying your vocal chords.

“ It's not the time for this shit, JK, ” a rogue voice interrupted your little trance you had fallen into, and you watch Jeongguk’s eyes travel to the source of the voice, of course, it's Yoongi. His brows furrow as you try your best to keep your eyes open, trying to turn your head at the man again, blinking with difficulty. The more your tried, vision blurred, colors blending into an indistinguishable haze. The piano reflecting a ray of light falling on the worn out ivory, a mass of raven black in the middle of your gaze, and a pale face. You try to clear your visions by blinking rapidly, but the attempts to steady yourself proved futile, as your body succumbed to the overwhelming burden of exhaustion, your unconscious mind succumbing to the blurred voices you hear, but failed to actually perceive them.

“ Hyung, listen to me. Noon— ”

“ Did you really think that she was in the condition to talk to you? ”

And finally everything was a darkness. You were far lost to realise that the raven head tried his best to not actually prounce on the younger man, with anger, keening to accept that something far more dangerous could've taken place if the man to whom he laid down the responsibilities to atleast keep you safe for the time being could've not heard the other bastard. You were far too fragile in a situation like this where he knew he had to do something to make sure you were okay, atleast, but right things never came in the right time for a man like Yoongi.

But he knew that maybe it wasn't Jeongguk’s fault, entirely.

-

what exactly are your thoughts on the ever mysterious yoongi? and our softie gguk who's soft for his noo— * gets dragged away *

taglist : @whipwhoops @bex-92br @secfir @cuntessaiii

m.list

the amount of love i have for this is just.....so much <3

love signs XX (min yoongi)

rating/genre/warnings: PG, fluff, established relationship, drunk dialling, sleepy talk, words of affirmation/affection

a/n: I miss this man's face and I was in my feels cause I'm burnt out and sad so....here's a lil concert drabble for y'all

taglist: @yoonaasa (thank you for always encouraging me) @pamzn @fringe-frank @ahewlett (let me know if you wanna be tagged)(image credit to owner)

masterlist // love signs masterlist

"Jagi?"

"You."

Your voice sounded....off. A bit groggy with sleep but laced with something else too.

"Why did......why are you......" You began.

"What's wrong? It's late. Are you okay?" You asked.

"You left me again." He could practically feel the pout on the other end of the call.

"I did not leave you."

"You left me." You whine, the timbre of your voice pitching higher.

"You miss me, huh?" Yoongi teases.

"I don.....no."

"You do."

"Shut up, leaver. Abandon-er." You mumble. Yoongi chuckles, leaning against his phone.

"You're cute when you're sleepy."

"Shut up. Why did you.....have to be so far away? For so.....so long?"

"I'm sorry."

"Come back."

"I will. I'll be back soon."

"Everyone else gets......gets to.....see you and.....feel you......and touch you.......except me. Everyone.....except me......and I.......want......you....."

"Mmh."

"Don't mmh, Yoongi-ah! I MISS YOU......you fucking asshole."

"I miss you, too. I miss you all the time."

"Not more than...me. Never more than.....me."

"You wanna bet?" Yoongi asks, before continuing, "I brought your hair tie with me and it's on my wrist, even though sometimes it cuts off my blood circulation."

"I put.......your shirt.....on a pillow and I......hug it....all the time. But it's not the same. It's not you."

"I still have the receipt from the first time you bought me coffee in my wallet."

"I still have a fork from the first takeout we got."

"I made another mixtape."

"Really?.... miss you, Yoongi-ah. I miss your mandoo face and your silky hair and the stubble on your jaw when you don't shave for a couple days....I miss....the way you hum when you cook....breakfast and the mess you leave in the bathroom after you dye your hair. I miss......seeing you yell at a referee on screen. I miss.......hearing your heartbeat under my ear."

Your words made Yoongi's heart stop. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. But nothing could piece together his capsized understanding of the world.

"I......" He started but the rest of his thoughts trailed off. What could he ever say that could compare to the eloquence you possessed even half asleep and half drunk?

"Say something." Your small voice beckons from the other end. Yoongi nods. He should. He knows, he should say something. Now. Say something now.

"I don't.......I can't even think of anything to say."

"Oh."

"You know how I am." He cursed at the gods for it - can't show his feelings even to the ones he loved the most.

"Mmh.....but.....I wanna......hear it."

Hear it? You wanna hear it. God. How could you still make him so tongue tied from the other side of the world?

A moment passes. Then another. They ebb and flow into a minute, to what feels like an eternity. But Yoongi can't bring himself to say anything. And he hates himself for it.

"This was......I'm sorry....I'm sorry....."

"Hey, no, don't be sorry. I'm sorry.....I'm......"

"Yeah?"

A whole minute of silence later, you say,

"I'm gonna go."

"There's......"

"Mmh?" Yoongi sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"There's no amount of words that.....could ever do you justice. I keep trying to think of something.....maybe if I talk about how kind you are or how snarky or how much you love food and dogs and music.....maybe then I could somehow convince myself you're a real person....and not just a figment of my imagination. But you're.....you're just.....a dream come true and I.......I love, I love.....I love you."

"Jagi?"

He pushed his phone closer to his ear and Yoongi smiled to himself, as the soft sounds of you snoring emanated from the speaker.

"I love you. Get some sleep."

off we goooo~

this love | jeon jungkook

pairing ; jungkook x fem! reader.

genre ; arranged marriage, fluff, smut, lots of angst, jealous! oc | three parts

summary ; you shouldn’t feel uneasy whenever his best friend is mentioned, after all you are his wife right ? 

word count ; 2.6k 

chapter warnings ; smut (18+), fingering, dick riding, slight rough fucking, some praise, bigdick!jungkook, some dirty talks, hair grabbing, explicit language, breeding, unprotected sex (DON’T), slight cockwarming, creampies  

next chapter >

a/n ; AAAaa my first ever story is out! pls let me know ur thoughts n send some love <33 tyyy for reading i’ll publish pt 2 as soon as possible :D also i apologize for future grammatical errors / typos enjoyy 

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