~ 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.
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.
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.
`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.
It’s not like the two of you were strangers. It was the opposite in fact. Taehyung knew you. Like, knew you knew you. At one point it had even been you who asked for Taehyung’s hand in marriage. Something about never having a chance at your own throne, what with being 13th in line and all, lit a fire under your ass and made you inherently more competitive and willing to marry into power than the rest of your siblings. But alas, you were nothing if not the youngest (and weakest) of your lineage, and had little to offer Taehyung in your patronage and he made no effort in hiding the fact when rejecting you.
“I might as well set my country on fire myself,” he snorted. “Besides, doesn’t your kind eat their husband after childbirth?”
It was an outdated and forgotten (almost) custom. You were a matriarch and the men were nothing short of disposable. It wasn’t something you’d ever thought twice of, but also, not something you had prepared to discern to the opposite sex, especially to the one you were trying to convince to hold your hand in marriage.
“It’s not like we do it for sport. It’s to ensure the bloodline...” You catch yourself. “You know what, you wouldn’t have to worry about me killing you if just don’t die.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes. There was nothing dainty about you. Despite your small stature you were bold--and he hated it. You were nothing like the dragons back home who waited for his return with gifts they made from hand, clothes to warm him all and ornaments he couldn’t wear because they were spun so heavy with gold.
No, you were of a different breed. If he could blame your heretic bloodline, he would, but not even any of the dragons he met from the east held a flame as flamboyant and rambunctious as yours.
“Or you could have Odette. Sure, she’s a little older, divorced with kids, but at least you know she’s fertile! A little poke in the right hole and she’ll pop out babies left and right. They might even be yours! That’s what this is about, isn’t it? An heir? Solidifying your bloodline to the thrown? Nothing like a little insurance policy for your wedding gift, eh? Should I wrap the baby with a bow? Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
“___,” the prince breathes.
“Okay, fine,” you shrug. “Bastard kids aren’t your thing. I get it. Illegitimate claims to the throne, plans to overthrow you, plotting, bloodshed, death, god, child support. I get it. But how about Jessi? She’s nice!”
“__, if you don’t shut up, so help me God, I’ll have the guard sew your mouth shut until it’s your turn to say ‘I do.’“
“Well I don’t. So don’t bother,” you say begrudgingly and through your teeth. You try to shove past him but since when has Taehyung been so... sturdy? You could have sworn in the last few months since you’ve seen him, you’ve grown your own three inches in height and that was before putting on the ridiculous set of heels your mother laid out. Still, Taehyung towers over you, both metaphorically and physically.
Taehyung’s kingdom lies to the west, the land of Vassallus. It’s the only kingdom in the east accessible by sea so his people are the first to receive all the goods and medicine off the ships, which in all fairness, sounds delightful on the surface, but they’re also the first to get attacked so there’s that.
You guess that’s why Taehyung here now. To find prospects of allies for Vassallus’ next war. Yes, prospects. You use the plural term, because there’s no way in hell Taehyung is shacking up with just one dragon for the rest of his life. You caught him just last night, dick deep in one of his own guardswomen. Didn’t even phase him when you accidentally dropped a bucket of ice over his head because you thought she was getting attacked by a wild animal (oops).
“I don’t think you understand the situation here.” He speaks and you have to crane your neck up to look at him he’s so close. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Well kick me back into the 16th century and call me a dog, Taehyung. The hell you mean I don’t have a choice? You’ve come to Dawn for safety, remember? You need me.” You enunciate on the last bit not because you’re bitter, but because you’re better.
“Like I’ve never done you a solid?”
“Lighting my ass on fire in gym class when I bled through my pad is not doing me a solid Taehyung. Besides, I already paid you back for that one. Without me, you would have never learned you could survive a 100 story drop out the window.”
“It is when Kim Namjoon, subject of all your frivolous affections, is the one who found the bloody pad on floor after dodgeball.”
“So you burn my pants to a crisp? The good old jacket around the waist wouldn't have done the trick?”
“What can I say,” he shrugs. “I’m innovative.”
“Are you shitting me? My ass cheeks were the lock screen of every guy’s phone for an entire semester. AND I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE TO GROW THEM YET!”
“Please, like that was actually your ass. You’re the one who had it professionally digitally altered and forwarded to every guy within a three kingdom radius so they wouldn’t see what your real ass looked like because,” he pauses because he’s a dramatic little shit. “Oh yeah, it doesn’t exist!”
“AGAIN, NO I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT A SQUAT WAS CIRCA 10th GRADE.”
“What about that time -”
“Enough!” The queen commands. You had all but forgotten who’s presence you were parading your top 10 proudest moments in, a mistake you were all but certain to make again. You knew a matriarch when you heard one.
Nora, founder of Dawn, queen of abandoned dragons, and more excitably, your mother, though you did your best to remind her that the title could be more than a little misleading when read aloud. You were her daughter. Her birth daughter. The only dragon bled from her womb and yet, the youngest of your sisters. Not to mention, the ugliest.
“We’re honored, young Prince of Vassallus,” and you chuckle because you’re sure that your mother can’t even remember his name. “That you would even consider Dawn as an ally." Because were they really? The last time Vassallus sent over a marriage proposal in the name of union and asylum, your mother sent the messenger back with a open case of swine flu and blamed it on his hygiene. The closest thing the two countries have in common are offspring that share a mutual distaste in each other. "Your presence in Dawn has certainly,” Nora pauses as she eyes the guardswoman from last night, “boosted morale.” Another burst of giggles from the back and awkward shifting on guardswoman’s end. “But I implore you. If you must marry from Dawn, choose another. I’m sure you’ll find any one of them more to your liking.” Your sisters shift in their seats. “___ is unarmed. She hasn’t even found her true form yet. She’d be of no use to you in Vassallus.”
“Exhibit A.” You point to yourself. "Ugly as can be. Tiny too! Is it really my fault I can’t transfigure into something ten times my size? Not for my lack of trying. I do try to fit in around here. Been giving it my bestest.” You hold to thumbs up and a flashy gummy smile. Taehyung swears the air just got lighter and coughs to regain his breath.
Your sisters are big, like the entire size of a Boeing 777 aircraft big. Which makes it even worse because if there are two things a dragon should be it’s big and beautiful, like a good set of tits, but you’re lacking in both departments.
“You speak out of turn my child,” she says that part motherly but the latter not so much. “Now sit.” You will yourself to resist her command but your body betrays you. Not even you are immune to the command of a matriarch.
“I implore you to reconsider,” she clears her throat which is also code for ‘let’s get this shit over with because I’m done with the formalities.’ “___ is not yet ready to be wed. There are other options.”
“None like her.”
You choke on your own spit and your sisters hold back their giggles. If Taehyung wasn’t so hellbent on making your entire childhood his own personal curated version of hell, what with tying your piggytails into knots around the merry go round and pushing you off the highest slide before cockblocking you from, oh I don’t know any other dragon ever, you’d perhaps find it endearing, heroic, heart-warming even, but nonetheless Taehyung is nothing short of Satan’s incarnate and Hell would have to freeze over twice before you ever willingly stepped foot in Vassallus.
“If your concern is of the now, then Vassallus is willing to wait. Three winters time. In the meanwhile, she will return with me to Vassallus where she will be learn the Vassallus way. There are,” the prince pauses to find the right words. “Customs that must be adhered to. Things she must learn.”
“Before I off myself the day of my wedding? Yeah, no thanks. Hard pass. Here, take Irene.” You shove Irene to the front and she makes a face at you. “She breathes two colors of fire. It’s a great party trick. Your counsel will love it.”
You hear Taehyung’s patience wear thin. “The King asks for the youngest. Makes for longer terms of agreement, don’t you think?”
“What are we dominos? And I’m last in line? I had a cheeseburger for lunch! My arteries are practically all plaque! I’m sure I’ll croak before Yeri. Look at her! She skips out on carbs for fun!”
Yeri doesn’t look up from filing her claws. “I’d rather chew off my own wings.”
“See? That’s not a no.”
“It’s implied,” she blows of the dust of her newly pointed claws, sharp enough to kill. “Besides, I’m 300 summers older than you. That’s like 3.15 x 10 ^ 9 more grains of rice consumed than you by default. I’d say my arteries are shot to shit.”
You make it through the entirely of your 12 siblings, arguing as to why she deserved an adorned life of being locked away in celibacy and iron tower before exhausting yourself. A feat in of itself because before today you had to make it a point to talk to at least four different sisters a day when you realized there were just too many of you to sit through an enjoyable Sunday dinner.
“Well,” you gulp, now rightfully ten times more nervous than you began. “So much for 750 more years of sisterhood. I guess I’ll just die.” The chair topples over as you fall back into your seat. Not even the furniture of this country has you back.
You can hear rather than see your mother’s eyes hitting the back of her head, she rolls them so hard.
“Wonderful,” Taehyung breathes out, loosing his collar shirt. He’s unphased by the rejections and subtle jabs to his ego. What does bother him, however, is the fact that in exactly three winters he has to wed the dramatic potato fried fuck currently playing dead on the floor.
You’re fresh out of options and not above begging for your life. You’re just about to change tactics because even if Taehyung was genuine in his search, which he’s not, the last thing you want is to be some prize bride used as collateral against your mother or to keep Dawn on a leash. You aren’t your mother’s favorite, that much you know and have come to terms with. Really. But she was she really going to pawn you off for the sake of getting rid of you? Were you really the most expendable?
“Three winters,” she says to the barely pubescent dragon in front of her. “I’ll give you three winters to convince __ into a civil marriage. But if you should fail -”
“I won’t,” Taehyung deadpans.
“Yes, well I suppose patience is a virtue and the king and queen have raised you to take what you want when you want without repercussions but when you fail,” your mother’s words have you at the edge of your seat. “You will return her to Dawn in one piece. Do you understand?”
“I think you have mistaken my proposal for your daughter’s hand in marriage as something I have control over.” Taehyung’s words linger in the air. “There is a war coming,” the prince reminds the people in room the reason of his visit. “And while Dawn chooses to sit on the sidelines, Vassallus will take the first hit from the west. We can’t be bothered to watch our backs and line our other borders when the humans bring swords carved to kill us.”
“Lies!” Shouts someone in the crowd, probably one of your mother’s male advisors that needed to release some testosterone to prove his existence. “Kill a dragon?” A gasp of disbelief. “That’s impossible!”
Chatter disperses among the Queen Room. It was illegal to kill a dragon. More so, it was nearly impossible. Only dragons could kill dragons.
“Tell that to my brother who has seen it,” the young prince announces. “Fought it.” He grabs something from inside that hideous royal cape he’s wearing and flings it to the floor. “Forged from one of our own. Dragon’s blood.”
The black sword doesn’t look like much. There’s nothing outstanding in it’s grip or blade. Even the tip seemed dull. Compared to the sheer thickness of a dragons scale coat, it was unremarkable at best--but if there were ever times where you doubted yourself as a dragon in your failure to shift, it has been to rest now.
A terrifying shriek emits from the sword. A pitch high enough to burst your eardrums if it weren’t for the hands that come to cover your ears and turn you into her dress as you collapse onto your knees. It’s Jisoo. It smells like Jisoo, strawberries and dew.
The room erupts in an uproar, cries barely audible over the sword’s incessant squealing. There are at least four unconscious guard dragons and a dozen more brought to their knees. Your mother flinches and looks away from the metal, her own ears bleeding.
“Make it stop! Make it stop!” You can’t quite recognize which one of your sisters cries out, but in your heart you knows it’s one of them. They’re hurting.
Irene sends an anguished long blaze to it, one white hot in flame, but the vibrating squeal does not cease. Even when it does, you can still hear reminiscence of its shrill in your ear. The earth feels off it’s axis. And it takes more than a second for you to grasp the hand of the situation.
“So we have an understanding now do we?” Taehyung returns the cursed, screaming weapon into its sheath. “I’m not here to take a bride. I’m here to take a prisoner. Vassallus will not have its borders attacked while protecting yours.”
Taehyung leaves the courtroom. He thinks he’s won. “Pack. We leave at dawn.”
-
You lied. There are three things a dragon should be: big, beautiful and a raging bitch, because that’s apparently what gets you to matriarch.
“I can’t believe mom would sell me like cattle.” You’re ranting. “And not even her favorite cattle because what am I worth, really? I can’t cook!” As if it’s a sudden realization. “Or clean!” As least not in the way that it makes that anyone would certainly approve of. “I can’t even breathe fire to keep myself warm at night. Sana still comes in my room and does it for me!”
“Sis,” Rose remarks. “I feel for you, really, I do. But if there’s one of us who would be able to get through three years in Vassallus without ripping off one of their heads and causing an all out Eastern War, I’d put my gold on you too.”
“Cheap shot, Rose,” you cry and your eyes widen because why didn’t they get it? You didn’t want to get married, least of all to Taehyung, Prince of the All Things Bad. You’re 99.99% sure he hates you still and 100% sure he’d kill you on sight if it came down to his country or your freedom. All you wanted was to stay here, in Dawn, and maybe if you weren’t ever going to be able to shift into a dragon, at least you could live out the rest of your days with the strongest of them.
“Because I’m puny? The runt? Or is it because you don’t think I’ll ever be able to shift like the rest of you?”
“She didn’t mean it like that,” your sister implores, leveling with you and wrapping her arms around your thin shoulder. No one ever said it out loud, but you were ugly. Dragons of Dawn were regarded as the strongest because of their large wings and scales that shined so bright they reflected the sky at take off. And yet, you were nearly half a century old and had yet to manifest a single scale. The closest things to protection you beared were the ten nails on your toes and fingers.
“Lisa, are you... are those tears?” You feel a wetness on your sleeve. “I’m the one betrothed so I can’t imagine as to why you’re the one crying.” You murmur under your breath. “It’s not like you didn’t have a chance to fix it.”
The spring dragon takes a quick wipe to her tears and gets up, make up still perfectly intact.
“And suddenly I’m reminded as to why I’m not bothered you’re leaving. Could have been me,” she shrugs and returns to her side of the room, far from your bratty attitude.
Sana is the first to say it. “We’ll miss you ___.”
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.”
His words mean nothing... all men do is lie and you cry anyway, unmatched foundation leaving tear tracks down your face.
“Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?” You’ve never put on make up before, let alone own a bottle of Fenty, but you were too shy to ask the MUA at Sephora if they had some more opened samples in the back because like hell were you going to pay $35 for the entire bottle. You were desperate that much was true, what with Taehyung springing on prom at the last minute because turns out he was grounded but not like grounded grounded, but you were too smart to be both broke and desperate. You just picked the sample shade one lighter and hoped no one would notice. How were you supposed to know to blend all the way down to the neck? And what was it the mean girls said? Something about flashback?
"Why did you ask me to prom if you didn’t actually want me to come with you? Better yet, why did you ask me to be your girlfriend? You’re mean Taehyung! Just like the rest of your piss for brain friends. Mean!” You’re tearing off your own gas station corsage and slinging it at him. You wish it made you feel better, but it doesn’t. You just wanted him to hurt like you were hurting.
You should have known better. Should have seen it coming. Taehyung was everything your dad told you stay away from. He was head of the art club and missed homeroom too often, but he never got in trouble for it because, we’ll he could smile he way through anything. Your guarded heart included. He literally, got along with everyone, was nice to everyone. You just happened to sit next to him one day.
“__,” he says weakly, picking up the half torn flowers from the pavement. “I... It’s not like that. I didn’t ask -”
The boy in the shiny sequin dress jacket stops himself because while he knew he was a class A jerk, he wasn’t going to kick someone while they were down. Taehyung wasn’t about to dig himself a deeper grave with the sheriff’s daughter by telling you that he didn’t actually ask you to prom... he had just briefly mentioned that his parents hadn’t grounded for selling the entire contents of their wine cellar when they found out all the proceeds were going towards the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
“Save it,” you say sniffling and grabbing the what’s left of the corsage from his hands and ripping what feels like your entire heart into pieces, what’s left of it anyway. “I don’t care. Jimin was right. You are a Gemini.”
“I don’t know what that means” he says with vehemence, “but I’ve never been to the gym in my entire life and Jimin’s an asshole so -”
"He's my best friend." You deadpan and cross you arms around your chest. He could break your heart but you wouldn't give him the power to break your carefully forged friendship with Jimin.
"And obviously in love with you so take everything he says about with me a grain a salt."
“Yeah, and you’re a Black Moon Lilith in Gemini and that alone trumps all your good traits. You’re basically 90% fickle with a dash of cunning, but I didn’t know cunning was just the elongated word of cunt.” You emphasize the last words, mostly because you’re hurt, but also because you’re angry and you’re not sure when you’ll get another chance to tell Kim Taehyung off again. “I mean... do you even like me? You haven’t even done as much as hold my hand since you’ve asked me out.”
“I just asked you out on Monday!”
“Oh come on, Taehyung,” you drag, angry and finding all the hurtful words in your vocabulary. “It’s not like you’re shy! I’ve seen your tongue down so many girls throats you’d think its the cure to lung cancer.”
“That’s different,” he winces. “And not fair.”
“Not fair?” You repeat, suddenly realizing this was all going in circles. You’ve liked Taehyung for the better of...like, forever. He was so perfect. Almost. He gets the endings of movies wrong and forgets his car keys too often, but Taehyung had a nice smile and ate all his veggies, was a little weird when it came to public speaking but who isn’t? Taehyung was every girl’s dream and... and avoided you like the plague up until you grew tits your senior year because no one wants to bone the sheriff’s daughter.
No, you were never invited to keg parties or homecomings. Not even your own best gal pals like to hang out with you in broad day light. You had to learn the status quo on your own so shave an eagle and call it bald, you about had a conniption when Taehyung sat down next to you in AP Bio.
“I like your hair clips,” he said causally. At this point, you weren't even sure he knew you existed. He sits and sports that grin you’ve been familiar with since grade school. The “I’m not in trouble you are” look. “They match your scrunchie.”
And by the end of the period you wonder how it escalated so quickly. Taehyung turned from being your lab mate to your soulmate in less than 90 minutes and you weren’t even mad about it. He was comfortable, he was warm and it was so easy to smile in front of him.
“Not fair?” You say again. “Mules are doomed to be both the genesis and the doom of their hybrid lineage because they're born sterile. That's unfair. No Taehyung this," you point back and forth between the three feet of air between you two "isn't unfair. This is the result of you doing what you do best and acting on a whim instead of examining if there’s going to be repercussions or if you'll hurt someone along the way. I was fine on my own! I had a plan and if you weren't going to be part of it, the least you could of done was to stay out of my way." You run out of air and you hate it because it gives him exactly one second to come back with a counter argument.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
And you believe him. Because Taehyung wouldn't be dumb enough to ask you to prom on purpose or mean enough to invite you just to overhear him talking about breaking up with you because "you were just too much."
"No one ever means to hurt anyone, Taehyung. Doesn't make the hurt any less," you breathe. You want to hurt him too. Why does he get to walk away unscathed? "Or the perpetrator any less guilty. You're a bad guy Taehyung,” you bite you lower lip to refrain from crying, but it comes out in sobs anyway. “And I hope someone breaks your heart."
You break away and immediately feel the lost of warmth. You didn't realize how close he was to you until he wasn't.
"You okay?" Jimin asks as you slam his passenger door shut. You don’t know how he knew to come get you. You had expected him to be on the other side of town doing God knows what at this hour, but somehow Jimin always knew.
He leaves the car in park and turns to you when you don't immediately respond.
"I’m fine," you say, going to turn on the radio. He immediately switches it off.
"Like just bombed your math test but your 6.0 GPA is still salvageable fine or ___ circa second grade with a blister on her hand doing the monkey bars fine?"
"For the the last time I beat you fair and square but I see you’re still eating my dust a decade later with that tone Park."
"Also for the last time. I let you win because you cried when the blister popped on bar three. I practically carried you on my back the rest of the way."
"Did not."
"I still have the scar on forehead where you stepped on me." He pulls back his hair and shoves said forehead in your face.
"The floor was lava." You shrug.
“Yeah, so is Kim Taehyung, but we’re not ready to talk about that are we?”
It wasn’t a secret that Jimin wasn’t fond of Taehyung. They just ran with different crowds. Always have. Where as Taehyung was president of the art club and volunteering at parks and recreations, Jimin was deciding whether or not to smoke the last ounce of weed he had in his back pocket or to sell it for profit so he could buy a an extra dessert for lunch tomorrow.
“Just as ready as you are to talk about the court summoning I found in hidden in your glove compartment.”
Jimin sends you a look and if you didn’t know him for the last decade, you’d miss the sliver of shock written on his otherwise impenetrable and cocky face. Jimin gives a low whistle.
“You could have just said no, but I see I don’t need to worry. 2021 Bitchy ___ is here to put up the walls and save the day. No need for niceties then,” he pins you with a look as he turns the ignition and does that thing boys do where they reverse the car all passively aggressively and hot. “I fucking told you so. I told you Taehyung was out for one thing and one thing only. He’s nothing but a player and -”
“I do not put up walls!” You interrupt and it catches Jimin off guard, he was ready for his Taehyung hating dissertation, to be the best friend you needed and to talk shit about your ex. Jimin was already in the drive thru line to order one of everything off the dollar menu. He was not, however, prepared for whatever the hell this was.
You’re crying, uncontrollably so, and rubbing your eyes with your palms in his seat. It’s ruining your make up but Jimin has never seen you any more beautiful. He’s never seen you so vulnerable as you hiccup to keep the sadness from escaping your very breath.
“And I’m not bitchy. I’m not sorry I don’t have mommy issues and feel the need to please everyone in her absence. I’m especially not sorry that I’m way too smart to get conned into losing my virginity because I think I’m in love. I’m not. But why can’t I be? Hmm?” And Jimin thinks it’s question for him before you continue.
“Why can’t Taehyung come to me if he’s got a problem with me? If he thought I was,” you air quote, “too much,” end air quote, “then why hang out with me?” You turn you back against the window so you can face Jimin head on, and Jimin wonders why the line is so backed up tonight of all nights. “Why even talk to me in the first place? What? Was I not what he was expecting? Am I too opinionated? Too loud? Too... god, I don’t know? Myself?”
"What?” Jimin says flabbergasted, and takes his yes off the car halted in from of him to make sure he’s hearing this right. Jimin can’t say you were the type run on emotions, but you have also never had a chance to react to such... turbulence. You’ve always been so reserved and in control, a defense mechanism he’s sure you’ve developed over time as the black sheep of the town. He knew you were dumb but he didn’t know you were dumb enough to think it was your fault that Kim Taehyung didn’t like you.
“Tell me the truth Jimin,” you deadpan. “Am I...,” and you struggle to get out the last part without crying. “Too much?”
“Yes,” he thinks. Completely, utterly, and without a doubt, you were too much.
You were too good for Taehyung. And too kind. And too pretty. In the winters, you were too warm and your cookies were too soft, your shampoo smelled too clean. You were too good at Catan... and you were...god... too perfect.
Jimin didn’t mean to fall in love with you. Just like he didn’t mean to kiss you the way he is now. Desperately and fervently, like it’s his first time kissing to put someone’s clothes on instead of off. But he doesn’t know how else to stop your thoughts from wandering. He doesn’t know how else to bring you back to the light where you belong. He didn’t want to see you cry. Jimin didn’t like it when you were hurt. But he especially didn’t like that you thought any less of yourself because of a boy.
Jimin takes it upon himself when you don’t immediately pull away and he wishes he would have just taken you home because now his plans were ruined.
There was a plan. Jimin had a plan.
You were going to go away to college and he was going to get a trade job. You’d come back to visit your dad for the holidays and Jimin would by default pick you up from the airport. He was a patient man. He had it all planned out. The two of you would skip the petty fights that came with individuals growing together and out pacing one another. It was easier that way. The two of you would just meet each other at the end. Jimin wasn’t willing to risk losing you in finding himself in these next few years.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Jimin didn’t want to rush it. He didn’t want to spook you with how much he wanted this, wanted you. Jimin knew. Whether it be ten years from now or several heartbreaks later, Jimin knew he’d accept you any way you came to him. But never in a 100 years he think you’d come like this. Broken and inconsolable in tears.
“I -” he starts to lie. “I’m high.”
“Men,” you scoff. “Men have all the audacity but none of the emotional intelligence. Jimin, your court summon is for a urine analysis so you really expect me to believe you’d shoot up and get high right before they’re about to break that beeper on your ankle? Even I know you’re not that desperate for a fix.”
He wishes you were right. You were the hardest drug he’s had and he’s wished he just stay clean because it physically hurt him to see how intangible you are right now. Even in your elaborate scheme to get another man to fall in love with you tonight, Jimin couldn’t help but want you more. You were exactly who you needed to be and he wanted nothing more than to protect that.
“I’ll ask you one more time,” you say with patience you’ve all but scraped up off the floor. “Jimin, do. you. like. me? Like, like like me?”
It wouldn’t be lie if he said no. He doesn’t just like you. Jimin is dumbfoundedly in love with you. He’s so deep in your pussy-sand without actually being in your pants that he wouldn’t know his left from his right.
Jimin debates with himself whether it’s worth the physical distance that awaits him if he denies you or if it’s worth the psychological and emotional damage that will come in confirming your suspicion. You were too good for him, that much was evident, but how was he going to make you believe that?
“___, I-”
“Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?”
“Yeah, I’d like a large order of FACTS please,” you spit out.
“Sure, a order or fries. What else can I do for you?”
“Maybe a double quarter pounder with a side of truth?”
“I’m sorry, did you say juice?”
You don’t mean to take it out on the employee behind the window. She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time when then you realize it’s HER workplace and perhaps you’re making it awkward but you were so hurt, and so confused, and you needed someone to take it out on and Jimin wasn’t helping, what with wallowing in his silence.
“$6.78 at the window.”
Jimin doesn’t know how to fix it. The entire drive back to your house and he can’t come up with the right words to say. He fucked up and he’s so so so scared to lose you.
