#balm to my soul made flowers grow out of my hair god bless

[babyboyoonie]

Holy shit I was stalking your blog and the taegikook yandere story through yoongis eyes would be so cool a new twist on an already amazing one shot.

Hey DARLINGS 👋 ❤️ extremely late but…I do hope you’ll enjoy. ˚₊*(ˊॢo̶̶̷̤◡ुo̴̶̷̤ˋॢ)*₊˚⁎

[disclaimer: this is!! Fiction!! appreciate it with no guilt bc this isn’t real. Let’s get it.]

Kim Taehyung stares right back at him when Yoongi opens his curtains the following morning after meeting him. Startled, wide-eyed, looking up up at a puzzled Yoongi. He was…sitting. Criss-cross. School bag by his side, hands on his knees and dedication etched in the seams of his expression. He’s even more ethereal than he was the day Yoongi met him. Thin veils of eerie, many shades of amazing in the morning haziness; Vibrant moonlight. Star-struck, too. So much, Yoongi could have forgotten that the boy had been sitting under his windows for God knows how long.

It was slightly disturbing. Jungkook watching him in his sleep all night along-kind of disturbing. “…Taehyung-ah? What are you doing here?”

“You remember my name,” the boy breathes, and there could have been all the constellations in his eyes with how bright they shined. Yoongi nods, slow, soft, thinks about re-uttering his question but eventually decides against it. Not quite certain, you see, that Taehyung would respond.

He pushes his sleep-mussed hair out of his face and pretends to miss the way Taehyung follows the movement. Waits, a couple of seconds, for something to happen. But nothing does. Taehyung stares and stares and doesn’t look like he’ll ever get bored of doing so. “Wanna go to school together?”

“I’d go with you to the end of the world,” Taehyung says after a beat. Quips sweetly, soft, eyelashes fluttering and hands digging further in the fabric of his jeans.

Yoongi chuckles like he thinks Taehyung’s joking. Excuses himself to tidy up and put on his uniform, and when he comes back, Taehyung’s still in the same position.

Adorable and utterly gone. Refuses at least a dozen of time to walk by Yoongi’s side because he says he doesn’t deserve it until Yoongi threatens to cry.

He feels, still, Taehyung’s eyes on him when he goes to meet his circle of friends.

Yoongi…

Yoongi isn’t quite sure Taehyung was joking anymore.

(Darling, darling,

doesn’t have a problem,

lying to himself,

cause his liquor’s top shelf,)

Yoongi’s getting sunshine the third time he sees him. Had spent four nights in a row hiding in a pitch dark room; managed to fool everyone into being okay, just a little project, he was feeling down. He was okay. Not really. He wasn’t sick per say but—Yoongi wasn’t feeling totally okay. Drowned himself in pitch black clothes and went out to,

try and live again,

grab the sun.

There was always an itch in the back of his neck. Burning, never cold, something irresistible and keeping him on his toes; but never enough to push him into making it go away. Just kind of exciting. New, peculiar. Somebody was watching him. Somebody.

Wasn’t everyone? Ah—

Yes, but—

Someone in particular. A few steps away from the field in the forest only Yoongi knew the secrets of. But, ah, not anymore, right? Right.

Light in its purest form. Warm and pure and sincere. All-seeing, all-enveloping. Surrounding Yoongi and piercing through his lies, balm on a pained soul and silent hot hand everywhere on his skin. Straight through the dark of him, clearing all thoughts. Yoongi falls in the field. Surrounds to the sun and counts to one hundred. Drowsy, mind finally silent, tongue free of any lies he could spew to everyone. To himself.

Yoongi’s getting sunshine all over him, his face, his heart. And near eighty-three, Yoongi sees a man. Boy. Man. Boyish figure, adoration etched on his skin the way only a man having seen the light could worship. A few feet away from Yoongi, mouth opened as in surprise; as in shock, perhaps, or something else, Yoongi doesn’t know.

Eighty-four, eighty-five. Still drowsy. Yoongi’s seen him before. The sun’s warm hands lull him to sleep before awareness could shock him into action.

(He’s safe in his bed and surrounded by sun-scented flowers when he wakes up.)

(Whispers of I love you lingering in memories vaguely lived.)

Yoongi smells the sun, the flowers, and presses at his chest. Wondering. Light as he hadn’t been in years. He’s seen this man before.

(Taehyung—)

Yoongi’s dating Jungkook.

Somewhere in the middle of lingering gazes and flushed cheeks, Jungkook confessed, and Yoongi praises the sky for this blessing because he didn’t think he would have had the guts too. Nobody was surprised when the news of their dating spread, and Yoongi will never understand why. Jungkook was—Jungkook was sweet and a total darling. Shy on the first talk and a total gossip afterwards, pranks-loving brat but too soft at heart for anyone to ever hold a grudge against him. Crazy about sports, face like an angel Jungkook who moved his jaw in such a way when he was thinking that turned Yoongi’s legs into jelly. All around perfect, but silly and crazy enough to be loved by all Jungkook. What could he find attractive enough in Yoongi to actually date him?

Dozens of candied-walks full of too-big smiles and embarrassed giggles never managed to give him an answer. Sun-warm kisses and midnight blankets-like embraces still rendered him confused. Yoongi didn’t understand, doesn’t think he one day will, but he—he loves Jungkook. It’s a certainty as solid and obvious as the sky above their heads.

Five months into dating Jungkook and never going anywhere without feeling a burning gaze on his skin whispered to him that he—

that he also loved Taehyung.

It was, he didn’t expect for it to happen. It came like a surprise, out of the blue, one breath taken and another filled with realization. Waking up from a vivid dream with a man’s arms around him and another deeply entangled in his thoughts. Yoongi felt like dying.

Jungkook knows. Of course he knows. Yoongi hasn’t wasted a second before telling him, because Jungkook deserved better. Better than a lover who had everything to be happy yet still managed to fall for someone else.

(Someone that followed his every step and every breath and was always always always here—)

Jungkook knows so much, but oh, so little at the same time. At the third picnic somewhere in a new part of the city, an innumerable number of texts and old-fashioned letters, he’s light with the best things that ever happened to Yoongi. Learns them, hears them, listen attentively. Guesses, is right, knows. Those special hugs of them that taste like eternity, every time, every single time, are marked with one of Yoongi’s best memories—unraveled, he realizes, some of them long forgotten. Jungkook caresses his cheek every time they have to say goodbye, kisses his forehead when they meet; thinks with certainty that Yoongi’s the kind of boy who has hobbies to fill up the time he isn’t working.

(He’s wrong. It’s the contrary, and Taehyung—Taehyung knows—)

Nights and nights as they lay in bed, summarizing their days in something that had become an adult, Jungkook hooks Yoongi’s thighs around his waist; whispers, drunk with love, that he adores Yoongi’s voice. The low and raspiness quality of it, how quickly he talks, before slowing suddenly. He thinks it’s endearing.

(Doesn’t know Yoongi’s just struggling to find words that are true to his over-the-cup feelings.)

Jungkook’s soft-spoken. So, so soft. When Yoongi’s not too busy wondering if Taehyung has the time to eat seeing as he spends hours stalking Yoongi—he likes to smile and let his fondness for Jungkook overflows. His pink, pink love jumping up at Jungkook’s speech. Polite and soft. He’s jeered for it by his dumb jocks he calls “friends” but Yoongi adores it. Melts and falls at his man’s feet when his satoori slips out. Jungkook knows that, this little shit, and conveniently forgets the Seoul dialect when he’s by Yoongi’s side.

Jungkook knows. Knows a lot. Not enough. Knows the light, and the ugly truth of Yoongi’s newfound feelings. Feelings for the man that shadows his every move; whose stares linger too much on a boy he knows is taken.

And so, and so. Jungkook—lately his kisses are so heart-broken, so, so desperate. Black chocolate bitter, sweetness missing and a sense of sadness taking Yoongi down down down. Jungkook kisses him like Yoongi could slip from his fingers, but he won’t, he won’t, he just wishes Jungkook knew—

Knew all about him, all those missing parts that made the other half of him belonging tightly in Taehyung’s hands.

He wishes Jungkook knew—

(It’s alarming, honestly how charming,

he can be,

fooling everyone telling how he’s having fun—)

Taehyung knows that half of Yoongi’s being’s empty. Sad. Not okay. That he is what people think he is, but not really, at the same time. They don’t see him, they don’t know him, they don’t want to.

But Taehyung does. Taehyung stares and Yoongi doesn’t tell him to stop. Taehyung grows bolder with every day that passes, gets closer to Yoongi, breathes the same air as he does but never takes what isn’t his. Whispers in Yoongi’s ear how much he wants to; fills up entire notebooks with his fantasies and the things he’d do to make Yoongi faint with his adoration. But he never acts on it. Respects the barrier between them that’s called Jungkook—and Yoongi, for that, will always be grateful.

He loves Jungkook. But he loves Taehyung, too. Because Taehyung knows.

Knows all the things that would break Yoongi. Utterly and completely. Knows that Yoongi’s already kind of bored inside, too. A star by day and the memory of younger him walking in the streets with men whispering behind him. Taehyung’s award in his body and his mind of the worst things that have ever happened to Yoongi. Dirtied his skin and soul and mind. It doesn’t take more than a week for this man to grab him for a ride or ten and be knowledgeable of the not so important (liar, terribly so,) details about him.

Yoongi wakes up at the same time as the sun. And each time, he opens his windows, and Taehyung’s here, starry-eyed and an I love you flying in the morning breeze. A timid flying kiss. Yoongi grabs it and puts it close to his heart. Cries, afterward. Does his best not to when Taehyung writes him; writes in pretty letters how utterly crazy he is about the way Yoongi stutters, searches for his words, stretches them and comes back on his sentences to construct them better.

On unknown hours, at home, sitting in the bed among pretty things, Taehyung calls him. And Yoongi’s heart grows immensely bigger the more Taehyung talks. As he uses filler words, blends them together in a way that is unique to Taehyung. Hand gestures, too, Yoongi’s sure he’s making them even though he doesn’t have the man in front of him.

Monday, Tuesday, afternoon, morning. Bitter kisses growing hotter, sadder, angrier. Jungkook doesn’t break up and Yoongi doesn’t either. Knows their relationship’s turning to dust when Jungkook fucks him behind the bleachers and they’re both aware Taehyung’s watching. Both aware that when Yoongi comes—it’s partly at the thought of the voyeur hiding in the shadows.

His feelings are there but—

Yoongi will never, ever cheat. He’d rather be killed than do something like that to Jungkook. But—but Jungkook’s eyes say it all. He doesn’t believe him. Jungkook’s sad, glowing with unshed tears eyes. Jungkook’s busted lips and body filled with bruises, remains of fights with Taehyung they both think he doesn’t know about.

At year one, month ten, when the light shines through leaves in little autumn spots, Yoongi’s on his back. On a bed of leaves. Blue and purple with love, body burning and entirely Jungkook’s; heart wavering but wanting to hold on. There’s a ring on his finger and he swears it’s going to end it all. Make his stupid, sick heart realize Jungkook’s the only one. Yoongi falls asleep. Wakes up, and knows.

Cries anyway. Cries harder when Taehyung wipes his tears away. Always so worshipful. So fucking adoring. “I’m in love with Jungkook,” Yoongi sobs, feels his heart breaks and the ring on his finger grow heavier.

The light disappears, and Taehyung’s above him. Hands on his cheek, his neck, his chest, his waist. Oh. Oh no—

“But you love me too.”

Taehyung knows. Kisses him.

(It’s Yoongi’s death.)

#yoonkook #taegi #taegikook #answered #yandere!universe