Jungkook in leather makes me weak.
just 180622 yoongi drinking water
he’s so cute that it hurts
I think about this A LOT!
jungkook’s bag vs the stuff inside of it reminds me a lil too much of a certain meme
the resemblance is uncanny….
[scan] MOTS ON:E postcard book
[scan] MOTS ON:E postcard book
[scan] MOTS ON:E postcard book
[scan] MOTS ON:E postcard book
#18 - AFRAID
no futuro quando tudo isso não passar de lembranças eles serão minha lembrança mais bonita e minha maior saudades
you know, TXT was supposed to be my bias group but BTS lives in my mind rent free so I guess I’m btxt biased now or smthng
request: 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 (𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴)
– if you use or save like/reblog this post –
twitter: jungkook header
twitter credit: @/FANCYYOONMIN
genre: angst, fluff
a/n: feeling angsty today :)
“Joon.” You gasped, keeling over the side of your bed. Scrambling, Namjoon lurched forward and stuck a bowl under your chin - just in time for you to vomit noisily into it. A soft groan slipped from your lips. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and he rubbed your back in soothing circles.
‘That’s the second time today.” You mumbled, falling back into bed. The nausea left almost as quickly as it had came. Namjoon placed the bowl on the floor, unfazed. He was used to your illness by now. It brought him a great deal of pain to see you so weak, so unlike your usual self, but he would never worry you with his own feelings. All that mattered was you.
Namjoon got up and poured you a glass of water. “Here.” He put one large hand behind your head and raised the glass to your lips, tilting it slowly. When you’d had enough, turning you head away from him, he set the glass back in its place.
“How do you feel today?” He asked, combing his fingers through your loose hair, which was messily flung out over the pillow. You smiled up at him.
“Mostly the same as yesterday. Doctor Choi drained some more fluid from my chest this morning.”
Namjoon frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m always in pain, Joon.” Your tone was a little harsh. His large eyes became filled with anguish. You reached out to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Don’t worry about that.” It wasn’t your curtness that had hurt him. It was knowing how much agony you were in every day, and that all he could do was sit and watch. He leant over your body, and you eyes closed as his velvet lips brushed your forehead. As always, he was careful not to allow any of his weight to touch your body. It had probably been months since you’d done anymore than kiss.
“Lie next to me.” You hooked your fingers around the collar of his shirt, your hands snaking up his neck.
“Y/N…” He gave you a disapproving look.
“Please.” You begged, “I’m cold.” You shivered for emphasis. Namjoon rolled his eyes a little, but nevertheless climbed into bed beside you. You nuzzled your head into his chest. His body felt almost hot against yours, and you really were cold. Namjoon tucked his chin over your head, and you hummed happily. “Will you sing me something? One of BTS’s songs, or yours, I don’t mind.’
“Of course, love.”
You closed your eyes and waited. His low, soothing voice soon filled the little room.
“오직 너 하나만 보여
나 오직 너 밖엔 안보여
봐 공정하지 공평하지 너한테 빼곤 다
이젠 단 하루도 너 없이는 please…”
“Jin, you came!” You sat up in bed, your face flushing with happiness. Jin was dressed in a dark tuxedo, and he held a bouquet of flowers in one hand.
“Of course, I visit you every day, silly!” He leaned over to kiss your cheek, then set to putting the flowers in water. He looked away from you as he did it, deep in thought. Your memory was so bad nowadays – the tumour in your brain was spreading at a terrifying rate – and half the time you didn’t remember who he was. Maybe today was the best day for his plan, then; you seemed to have no trouble remembering his name at all.
You perked up, your eyes widening cutely. “Yes, Jin?”
“Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
You nodded enthusiastically. “Let me put my shoes on.”
He’d already bent down before you’d moved a muscle. “Let me do it.” He took your hospital slippers from the floor and slid them onto your feet.
“Thanks, Jin.” You smiled widely. He gave you an odd, sort of wistful look, but quickly resumed a neutral expression.
“Here, I’ll help you into your chair.”
You let out a little gasp as Jin picked you up easily. He held you only for a few seconds, and then you were in your wheelchair.
The air outside was cool and breezy; you were grateful for the thick blanket Jin had wrapped around your legs before you left. As he pushed you through the hospital gardens, you marvelled at the boldness of the daffodils, forcing their way up through the stiff February soil and brimming with colour. You reached a quiet spot, besides a trickling fountain, cloaked under a vine-covered arbour. Jin stopped walking suddenly.
“Y/N, I’m going to do something, okay? Please try and remember.” You watched wide – eyed as he knelt on the path before you, his head bowed. When he looked back up again, the sheer intensity of his gaze shocked you into silence.
“Y/N. You were the light of my life, the one person I loved more than anything in the world. From the first time I saw you…you had me. I was yours before you even knew it. I would’ve done anything for you. I still will. I know that person I love is there somewhere. So… I’m asking her, will she marry me?”
You touched the crumpled note in your pocket, and peeked at the scribbled words.
Jin! The man who comes in is your boyfriend, Kim Seokjin. He wants to marry you. Say yes. You love him.
You smiled. “Yes, Seokjin. She will.”
“Yoongi, all I’m saying is that you need to prepare yourself for this – it’s not a possibility, it’s reality! There’s not going to be any miracles, not in our lifetime, anyway. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t accept
“You have to! Look, don’t try and fly home now. You know how happy the UK fans will be to see you guys. I’m not going anywhere just yet. I have months. You need to do this show.”
“No, I need to see you.” He urged.
“Yoongi, no. I don’t want you to come. ”
Yoongi hurled his phone across the room, where several fault lines rippled violently across its screen. You’d just seen the third doctor he’d arranged for, and he had told you the same thing. It was stage IV pancreatic cancer. You weren’t going to be leaving a hospital anytime soon. Alive, anyway. But you knew that. It was Yoongi who couldn’t stand the truth.
You’d debated not telling him last week, when he was already partway through the tour, but you knew how hurt he’d be if you took a turn for the worse without him even knowing of your sickness. If only you’d found out earlier, when the cancer wasn’t so developed… it wouldn’t be like this. You could still have your future with him. Marriage. Babies. Christmas with his family, Thanksgiving with yours.
Yoongi blinked back tears. He wanted to cry, no, to scream. He wanted to scream at the whole damned world for being so cruel, to scream at God for trying to take you from him.
“Yoongi-ah!” One of the stage managers poked their head through the door. She seemed to notice the broken hunk of glass and metal on the floor but chose to ignore it. “You need to get backstage, now. Move it!”
It was their last set. Yoongi had screwed up almost all his parts – forgetting the lyrics, stumbling over rap sequences he usually maneuvered with ease. He couldn’t stop the tears now, looking out at a sea of devoted fans.
“Hyung?” Namjoon gave him an odd look; he was perceptive enough to tell that Yoongi was not simply emotional from the sight of ARMY.
Yoongi began to sob, bending over at the waist. His heart literally felt as though it was breaking; his chest ached and throbbed painfully. On his side of the stage, the fans began to shout and scream his name – perhaps they thought he was fainting from exhaustion. Surrounded by so many people, the fans, his worried bandmates, all he wanted, all he needed was you.
“Where are you taking me?” You grumbled, pulling your thick blanket tighter around yourself as your boyfriend pushed your wheelchair. Today was particularly awful - you were constantly cold, not to mention the nausea from chemo.
Hoseok was in contrastingly bright spirits; he whistled tunefully as he wheeled you down the glossy halls of the treatment centre. You came to an unfamiliar room in the east wing. Besides the door was a silver plaque with the words ‘Events Hall’ inscribed into it.
You looked at Hoseok in confusion. “What’s going on?”
He grinned. “Close your eyes.”
Reluctantly, you complied, and the mysterious journey continued. You felt the chair stop, and you could hear the low buzzing of something electronic.
“You can open them now.” Hoseok whispered. Your eyelids fluttered apart, and you were suddenly submerged in darkness. You panicked a little; your vision wasn’t good these days.
“Hobi? I can’t see anything.” You called, disorientated.
“Look up.” He laughed.
You did, and then gasped. It was a swirling aurora of colour: lime green and cyan and mauve and violet and jade and turquoise. Each colour melted seamlessly into the next, curving like the rambling stretches of a river. The colours wobbled, floated above your eyes, as though you were a single star in a brilliant night sky.
“H-how?” You stuttered, staring at Hoseok in utter
disbelief. He crouched beside you and enveloped your hands in his.
“You’ve always said you wanted to go Iceland together, see the Northern Lights. I thought it would be too difficult for you to fly…so I brought them here.” He smiled lovingly, kissing your cold hands.
You swiped a lone tear from your cheek. “I love it so much. Thank you.” Your voice was thick with emotion. Hoseok kissed the away the rest of your tears, making you laugh at the ticklish sensation. Perhaps dying wasn’t so bad if he was by your side.
“Jimin, don’t cry.” You wiped his tears with both hands. It was breaking your heart to see him like this. “It doesn’t have to mean what you think.”
He gulped, mid-sob. “What do you mean?”
“They found the tumour pretty early, you know. I have a good chance of – of surviving for a long time.”
Jimin took your face in his hands, his expression so tormented that it made your chest ache. “I don’t want you to just survive, Y/N. I want to you live, with me. I wanted – I want us to grow old together.”
You covered his hand with both of yours, forcing the tears that were welling to remain in your eyes.
“I’m so sorry that I can’t give you that anymore. But… we still have now.”
“No, it’s not enough! I wanted forever, I-”
You kissed him. It was a sad, violent kiss; you could feel the panicky desperation leaching into his touch, and it scared you. Normally, your kisses were sweet and tender, like you had all the time in the world. But you didn’t anymore.
“Just shave it all off.” You held up the electric clippers.
“Your hand is shaking. Are you sure about this?” Taehyung asked, giving you a wary look. You huffed and forced the appliance into his hands then sat in front of the mirror.
You looked hideous. Your skin had a bluish pallor, your face was gaunt, and your bones seemed to be trying to escape your skin at every opportunity. Worst of all was your hair. It had almost halved in length and density since before your diagnosis, and no matter which way you laid it, the bald spots were still visible. Why did the cancer have to make you ugly before it killed you? You frowned.
Taehyung turned on the clippers, and they began a steady hum. “Ready?” He asked, standing behind you with his hands on your frail shoulders. The expression on his face was difficult to read.
You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak without wavering. This was for the best. You felt the cool metal against your scalp and closed your eyes.
“I’m done, love.”
Taehyung’s deep voice woke you; you had fallen asleep as he shaved your head. You stared back at your reflection in shock for a few moments, then began to cry.
“Oh, honey.” Taehyung dropped to your side and crushed you to his chest, patting your back as you wept.
“I look horrid,” You moaned.
“Nonsense. You’re just as beautiful as you always are.”
You sniffled, pulling away to look at his perfect face through your bleary eyes. “You don’t think I look ugly?”
Taehyung shook his head seriously. “You couldn’t if you tried.”
An idea seemed to spark in his head; he stood up suddenly and grabbed the clippers.
“What are you doing? You asked, as he turned on the machine.
“I’m going to shave my head in solidarity.”
Your eyes bulged. “Oh my God, don’t!” You reached for Taehyung’s arm, but he had already begun. You stood up to see better, and promptly clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle laughter, any despair forgotten.
A single, wide strip of bare skin had appeared right in the centre of Tae’s head, all the way down to his temples. He looked like a punk, or perhaps a cult member.
“Oh no!” You giggled. “You have to do it all now.” You stood on your tiptoes to rub the naked skin on his head. It felt funny.
“Nah, I think I can make this work.” He grinned.
You slumped against your boyfriend’s sleeping figure, prodding him with your fingers. “Oppa, wake up.” He’d gone to bed very early today; probably tired from practice. You were simply making yourself a small dinner when you began to feel ill.
Jungkook groaned noisily, turning his face away into the pillow. You ignored his protests, tugging weakly on his arm. He had to wake up; you could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness. You couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong, except for the overwhelming sensation that your lungs were being very tightly squeezed. Forcing yourself to think through the brain fog, you hooked your fingers around a long lamp cord before your body sagged backwards.
The lampshade clattered loudly once it had hit the ground, and Jungkook’s eyes flashed open at once. He took in the scene on the floor; your unconscious body, the awkward, unnatural tilt of your head to one side, the crimson blood that was trickling from your nose.
“Y/N.” He stuttered, hauling himself out of bed and scrambling to your side. Dropping his head to your chest, he listened anxiously for breath. You gave a loud, sputtering wheeze, and his eyes widened at the blood that sprayed from your lips. “God.”
With one hand, he fumbled for his cell on the nightstand.
“We need an ambulance, please!” Jungkook rushed through your address and medical history, then followed the dispatcher’s instructions on how to move you into the recovery position. He felt riddled with guilt; why hadn’t he learnt how to do this before he found himself in an emergency? He was meant to protect you, take care of you…
“I love you, angel. Can you hear me?” Jungkook ghosted your face with his fingertips, his eyes filled with tears.
8-year-old Jimin: I love you.
10-year-old Yoongi: Pathetic.