Word Count: 669
Rating: G
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: Jimin’s sick and Yoongi cooks him chicken noodle soup.
Week 2 Prompt Set
This time, he insists, is totally not his fault.
Probably his immune system, but not him-him. Definitely not.
He plays in the snow for a few minutes too long and he catches a cold. Whereas the rest of the members who’d played with him – Taehyung, Jungkook, Hoseok, and Seokjin – all remains unscathed, he’s been buried three blankets under in bed a day later.
Jimin doesn’t know if he prefers the comfortable warmth of his soft bed or the cold, unforgiving wooden floor of the dance studio. (At least in the studios he can feel a little bit more useful.)
Either way, he still can’t help the whine that bubbles in his throat as his group members file out the apartment one by one for daily practice where he hangs hopelessly by the door, waving them goodbye. He hears Seokjin remind him to at least get something warm to eat before the group disappears around the bend, the elevator sounding in the quiet of the dim corridor.
He’s surprised to hear noises coming from the kitchen when he retreats back inside.
“Yoongi hyung?”
Yoongi has his back turned to him, his muscles working underneath the thin cloth of his white shirt, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. The bear-designed bedroom slippers on the soles of his feet confirm Jimin’s suspicion, “Hyung, you aren’t going to practice with them?”
He hears a mere hum as a reply, typical Yoongi, and when he approaches the older he sees the water in the pot slowly coming to a boil, a pack of uncooked pasta and a couple of vegetables sitting on the counter top beside where Yoongi’s chopping a carrot into cubes efficiently.
“Nope, I’m on Jimin-duty today,” Jimin blushes at the idea; half embarrassed that, as a Completely Capable (But Not Entirely Responsible) Adult, he still has somebody taking care of him, and half fond that Yoongi has decided to stay with him and cook him food. “Besides, Jin hyung will have my head if I don’t make sure you get to eat something.”
Jimin snorts and moves to stand behind Yoongi, resting his cheek against the jut of Yoongi’s shoulder blade. Wraps his arms around his waist loosely and hums with his eyes closed.
Yoongi pops a piece of carrot into his mouth later.
He laughs when Jimin sounds a noise of protest, even when he plants a small kiss on the tip of his nose.
“The soup will be finished in a while, go and bundle yourself up in blankets, yeah?” Jimin doesn’t move, and Yoongi doesn’t insist.
*
A bowl of chicken noodle soup and three hours of cuddling under fluffy blankets later, Jimin wakes up with the slow rustling of the blankets beside him when Yoongi curls in further into him and tightens the arm around his waist. Yoongi’s raspy voice is above every noise.
“Feeling better?”
“Tons,” Jimin’s still feeling a little buzzed and heavy, but Yoongi’s soft lips pressed against his forehead sobers him up. “Thanks to hyung.”
“’Course,” Yoongi mumbles, trailing butterfly kisses down the bridge of Jimin’s nose, and grins, “What would you do without me, Park Jimin?”
“Die, probably,” Jimin retorts quickly, bursting into a fit of giggles as Yoongi echoes with a “damn right, you’d be.”
They fall back to sleep sometime after.
Well, Yoongi does.
Jimin ends up watching him sleep with his palm cupped around the swell of the other’s cheek, memorizing the lines and curves of his face with the pad of his thumb, for an hour more. An hour well spent, he thinks.
When Yoongi comes to later, he wakes with Jimin’s face pressed into the crook of his neck. Lips parted halfway through an “I love you” whispered into his collarbone.
“I love you, too.” He says when he runs his fingers down Jimin’s hair, planting his palm against the back of his neck when he pulls him closer. Breathes in the homely scent of Jimin.
Word Count: 927
Rating: G
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: Jimin befriends a star when he’s seven.
Week 2 Prompt Set
Jimin befriends a star when he’s seven.
Back in Busan, where the wind carried the cool breeze of the autumn sea and the refreshing scent of the dewy leaves.
It’s almost eleven, two hours definitely way past his bedtime. But Jimin, seven-year-old Jimin, has his elbows propped on his windowsill with his chin resting on his tiny fists as he looks up towards the evening sky. Bright yellow stars blinking in the distance. The gentle air kisses his cheeks pink, and a tiny smile stretches on his lips.
*
Yesterday, when he had been playing with their dog Kkomkkomie outside, he’d seen it.
The hot flash of yellow light from the sky overhead, a quickly burning sphere, rolling down the sky as if tossed by an angel. Curiosity piqued, he’d stared at it as Kkomkkomie bit at his ankle playfully. His eyes followed where it had landed, surprisingly someplace close. Just across their yard.
A faint yellow glow behind the thick foliage, approaching closer and closer. Kkomkkomie’s ears twitching to the sound of the quiet crunch of leaves.
And then Jimin saw it – him. The star.
A bright, glowing thing. Just as short as he was, but possibly the brightest creature he’d ever seen that he had to cup his hand above his eyes, block out as much of the light as he could.
“Hello?”
When it spoke it had broken the spell of silence that fell upon them. Kkomkkomie yapped at the figure once, twice, then sprinted across the short distance to nip at the other’s ankle the same way he’d done to Jimin. Unthreatened, wanting attention.
Jimin drew closer.
“Hello?” The star tried once more, lips forming the unfamiliar words with slight difficulty. Even Jimin, who couldn’t look directly into his face without squinting, saw the way his brows quirked and nose scrunched in frustration, “I’m star. Yoongi. Yoongi star.”
Jimin nodded, giggled a little at the way the star spoke in such a weird manner. But of course, Jimin understood. Stars, after all, couldn’t speak perfect human language, could they?
“Hi, Yoongi star –” Jimin started, but Yoongi cut him off with a grunt, a soft pout of his lips.
“No, just Yoongi.” Yoongi mumbled, staring at Jimin with just as much awe as Jimin looked at him. “Name is Yoongi.”
“Oh,” Jimin grinned, “OK, Yoongi. My name is Jimin. And that is my dog Kkomkkomie. Why are you here?”
Yoongi looked down at his feet, as if only noticing the dog running around him in circles for the first time. He bent down, reaching to pat the dog’s head with a clumsy hand. Kkomkkomie, Jimin thought, looked pleased nonetheless.
“Stupid friends, pranked Yoongi.” Yoongi sounded like he was whining, and Jimin didn’t think stars could whine so it made him laugh a little. Which made Yoongi look up at him, and Jimin blushed under his stare, embarrassed that he’d been caught laughing.
“Sorry,” Jimin crouched down, reaching out to pet Kkomkkomie as well. “Can you go back?”
“Sure can,” Yoongi nodded, tilting his head as he watched Kkomkkomie lie down and roll on his back, wagging his tiny paws at his direction, “but lazy. Tiring. The way back home.”
“Is it?” Jimin hummed, and then Yoongi’s glow dimmed a little. When he looked at Yoongi, the star looked a little shy. Lips pursed in another pout.
“Yoongi too bright? Sorry.”
There was another moment of silence between them. Yoongi seemed to be interested in Kkomkkomie, which both the dog and Jimin enjoyed. Jimin didn’t really want his new star friend to leave so soon.
When Yoongi finally stood though, brushing his hand against his thigh, Jimin sprung back up quickly, stumbling with his words, “A-ah, Yoongi, are you leaving?”
“Yeah, have to.” Yoongi looked up, pointed at a cluster of blinking stars, “Calling Yoongi. For Yoongi to go home.”
“O-OK,” Jimin whispered, nodded more to himself than to Yoongi, “OK, take care going back home, Yoongi.”
Yoongi stood there while Jimin watched him with his breath caught in his throat as Yoongi started glowing brightly once more. The ends of his wispy blond hair sparkling, fingertips fading into stardusts.
“Jimin,” Yoongi said, voice wavering as he lost more and more of his figure, in his belly a sphere of flickering white fire. Jimin could only make out his eyes in the illuminated fog, “Yoongi visit tomorrow again, OK? To see Kkomkkomie and Jimin. OK?”
“OK,” Jimin nodded, “OK. I’ll wait for you.”
“OK. Don’t be sad, Jimin.”
Yoongi said. He took Jimin’s hands by the wrists and pressed his palms over his eyes, “Yoongi come back.”
Then, another burst of light behind Jimin’s eyelids. The comfortable warmth of Yoongi’s fingers around his wrists gone. The silence of the night. The quiet laughter of stars.
*
Jimin sees him before he hears him.
The flash. The rolling down from the sky, this time more graceful than the last.
Jimin giggles into his fist, and then Yoongi appears beside his window, grinning with his hair standing up because of the fall.
“Hi Jimin.”
“Hi Yoongi,” Jimin chirps back, then hushes down when he hears his father snore in the next room. He laughs when Yoongi throws him a confused look.
He presses a finger against his lips and tells Yoongi to wait outside.
“I’ll go get Kkomkkomie. Wait for me, OK?”
“Yoongi waits for Jimin.” Yoongi nods, still grinning, the last of the crystal star bits in his skin fading into a faint yellow glow.
Word Count: 1,234
Rating: T
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: Being loved by an artist, Jimin learns, means that you’ll always find yourselves in places you didn’t think you would.
Week 2 | Prompt Set
There’s a feeling that blooms inside Jimin’s chest whenever he sees Yoongi like this.
It starts in the place where his heart beats quietly a rhythmic sound that he hears like gentle waves in his ears when it’s too quiet in the room. Spreads like wild forest fire across his chest, warms him up like Yoongi’s palm when it presses against his wrist. It’s a feeling that drips from his fingertips when he reaches out to slide them across Yoongi’s cheek, when he presses his lips against Yoongi’s pair softly, smiles into it. It’s a feeling that he can’t put a name to, but doesn’t need to. Not when Yoongi wordlessly leans into him, eyelids fluttering close as he wraps an arm around Jimin’s waist to pull him closer.
“You got paint on your cheek,” Jimin mumbles into the tiny space between them when Yoongi pulls back and draws his gaze to Jimin with amused curiosity twinkling in his eyes.
“Right,” Yoongi grins, lifts a hand and swipes his brush across Jimin’s nose. Laughs when red smears on the tip and leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of Jimin’s lips. “You got paint on your nose, too.”
They met in an art exhibit; one that Jimin was at only to support Taehyung, his best friend who majored in art, and not that he did art himself. It’s not like he could’ve, if Jimin was worse at anything than cooking, it would be trying to draw a straight line across a smooth surface — a skill that, presumably, most artists must have.
After visiting Taehyung’s corner — after Taehyung had cried ‘Chimchim, you made it!’ like he hadn’t expected him at all (which is unlikely, because he had bombed Jimin’s phone with emojis one after the other, messages containing “You have to come!” and “Best bros duties, Jiminie” filling his inbox within an hour of earlier this morning), and had introduced him to almost everyone he knew who stopped by his corner, Jimin slinked away with the excuse of seeing the rest of what the exhibit had to offer.
Taehyung had allowed him with a pout, though this quickly turned into his signature rectangular grin and him waving Jimin off rather enthusiastically when somebody called his name out — Jungkook, Jimin realised by the way his best friend’s eyes lit up at the boy’s crooked smile, and, surprisingly, his good memory not failing him when he’d noticed the tiny mole underneath the boy’s lips, something that Taehyung may or may have not gushed about for an entire hour a week earlier.
Jimin, with less artistic prowess than ideal, still did enjoy looking at pieces of artworks. He knew how to appreciate, which was why he’d end up observing the same painting for minutes, until someone had cleared his throat beside him, startling him a little.
“Sorry,” the stranger said, smiling a little cheekily as he glanced at Jimin, “Sorry, I was just wondering, you’ve kinda been looking at this thing for a while now. How is it?”
“Oh, it’s — nothing, it just caught my eye, s’all,” Jimin started, looking back up at the painting. It’s abstract mostly, reds and oranges splattered across the canvas, thick blobs of paint in the colours blue and green dabbed onto the centre — various colours smudging and mixing into each other, and underneath all the colours were flowers drawn in thick, unsteady lines using charcoal. It was simple at best, but it tugged at Jimin’s heartstrings the moment he laid eyes on it. “It’s simple, but I really like it. Is that weird?”
The man was silent and Jimin could feel the tips of his ears heat up, thinking that he had been weird, and was about to apologise when he’d heard it (the beginning of everything).
A soft laughter flowing from the other’s open mouth into his ears, growing flowers in his stomach.
“No, it’s not weird at all. As long as asking you out for a cup of coffee isn’t?”
The man had been grinning, pink gums and white teeth, when Jimin found his eyes on him.
“No, no it isn’t.”
They’d ended up getting coffee after that.
And Jimin had blushed profusely when he’d learnt that the man’s name was Min Yoongi. The same artist who’d painted the artwork he’d stared at.
I just noticed you, Yoongi had whispered into the buzzing noise of the café over his mug of coffee, you’ve been staring at it for, like, five minutes.
I’m sorry I —
Don’t be, really. That just meant I’d been staring at you for that long as well. I should be the one who’s sorry.
Being loved by an artist, Jimin learns, means that you’ll always find yourselves in places you didn’t think you would.
In between pages of worn-out notebooks, at the back of somebody’s hand, along each breathe of the wind.
He’s sprawled over Yoongi’s lap, head cushioned on his thigh and face buried in his stomach. He can hear the telltale signs of Yoongi in one of his artistic mood frenzies, pencil scratching against paper almost frantically, soft grunts falling off his lover’s lips that reaches him, the sounds tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Why do you always draw me?”
“I don’t.”
Jimin sits up and looks at the pad in Yoongi’s hands pointedly, seeing the curves of his face taking shape on the paper. He’s wearing a smug grin when he glances at Yoongi.
“Okay, fine,” Yoongi groans, drops the paper and pencil on his lap, and curves into Jimin, hiding his face into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder, “I draw you a lot. Just because.”
Jimin plays with the hem of the flimsy white shirt Yoongi’s got on, giggles softly when Yoongi’s lips brush against the sensitive spot at the base of his neck. He doesn’t push him away. “Just because what.”
“Because I love you,” Yoongi murmurs, plants kisses up his neck and jaw. Meets Jimin’s gaze in a while, mouth curving into a soft grin. “Because I’ve been told that, as an artist, I should always follow my heart. And following my heart always leads to you. Always you.”
Jimin’s heart swells with so much love and Yoongi’s just smiling at him like he’s the brightest thing he’s ever seen. He’s laughing when he presses his mouth against Yoongi’s that it’s easy to miss the way his heart whispers I love you into the small distance between them.
Jimin finds Yoongi’s hand and intertwines their fingers.
There may be no words in the world to describe how Yoongi makes him feels.
And he may not have any other way to show him this — unlike Yoongi who’s drawn him galaxies and gardens and oceans — but he still has his voice, his mouth, and his breath.
And he’s decided, until the last of it, he’ll make sure Yoongi knows the way he does.
I love you. He pants later at night when Yoongi’s hovering above him, his lips trailing hotly down his chest, his stomach, his thighs.
I love you, I love you so much.
Yoongi looks up at him then, beautiful even with his matted hair sticking against his damp forehead, beads of sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbones. He smiles, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of Jimin’s thighs when he leans up, pressing a kiss against Jimin’s parted mouth.
Word Count: 1,322
Rating: PG
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: I love you so much, I’m sorry I doubted you.
Week 1 | Prompt Set
Yoongi shouldn’t feel this way.
He knows it’s been bound to happen sooner or later, especially since he’s been getting more and more recognition lately. Rising to the top of various music charts and even winning a couple of awards so early into his career. And Yoongi’s glad, he’s ecstatic for him, really. The both of them have been waiting for this in what felt like a lifetime and it’s finally here, finally within his grasp.
Yoongi’s spent countless days and nights up for the boy who’d worriedly chew on his lip until he drew out blood. ‘What if I don’t make it, hyung?’ or ‘what if they don’t like me at all?’. Yoongi had to reassure him countless times.
Don’t be silly, you’re wonderful. You’re perfect. Who wouldn’t like you?
But he just can’t help the way his heart sinks to his stomach when he sees him talk about it on the television. The shy lilt of his voice, the Busan accent he’s never really learned how to hide perfectly that it still slips in between words, the softness that he carries within his voice.
Yoongi used to call him angel because of that. Still does.
But he can’t feel the same way about it now. Not now, not since he has to write a fucking article about him and his ideal type.
It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, the way he has to watch him look at the camera all pretty and pretend to be someone he’s not to be. (Granted, he doesn’t fake his personality that much on air. He’s always been adorable, always been so fucking likeable that Yoongi had to always be on guard for anyone who might take him away.)
He hates it, how he has to make up things that the media eats up. Hates how he’s had to shed the layer of baby fat around his stomach, lose some of it that stubbornly clung to his cheeks. Hates how, when they see each other now, he always, always has lost something.
The first week, the chubbiness of his stomach.
The first month, the chirp in his voice.
The first year, the light in his eyes.
It has taken so much, so much of what his angel used to be.
Though now that he’s finally slowly making it, he’s regained the bounce in his steps, the brightness of his smile. Yoongi sees it when he opens the TV and his face is what greets him. Yoongi knows it’s real, he’s always known what’s real and what’s not.
That’s the thing.
When he speaks about his ideal type, Yoongi knows it’s real.
The pen in his hand feels heavy, the camera around his neck weighing him down like an anchor. He doesn’t want to do this at all. He doesn’t want to, but he has to. And for the first time in five years since they’ve been together, Yoongi thinks he can’t understand it this time.
“Hyung, when I get big, would you still be with me?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because it’ll be hard. We won’t be able to go on dates like normal anymore, we probably won’t get to see each other for a long period of time. Wouldn’t that be unfair to you?”
“When you love someone as much as I love you, it would’t matter at all.”
He comes home when Yoongi least expects it.
Today has been particularly hard on Yoongi. He had to write for a few more journals and the exhaustion had settled deep within his bones that he’d fallen asleep the moment he’d stepped into his cramped apartment and dropped face first onto his bed.
When he blinks his eyes open, the room is dark and he’s still wearing the clothes he’d gone to work in.
He startles when a voice speaks from beside him. Soft, lilting, and familiar.
“Hyung,” Yoongi belatedly notices that there’s an arm slung over his waist and a cheek pressed against his chest, hair brushing against his jaw. “Were you so tired that you had to fall asleep still wearing your shoes? I remember telling you not to overwork yourself too much.”
Yoongi shouldn’t feel this way.
Knows the younger probably went to him because he felt homesick. He’d said to Yoongi one time, “Hyung, I feel home when I’m with you.” And maybe, with the busyness of his schedule, he’d just needed a touch of home.
“Jimin,” he rasps out, and immediately regrets the word before he’s said them, “why are you here?”
Yoongi shouldn’t feel this way, but he can’t help the way his voice bites.
The boy beside him stills, arm tensing around Yoongi’s waist.
“Hyung?” he pulls away, and Yoongi wants to cry, wants to take it all back because he needs to feel him so much, too badly. But the word’s been said and he’s looking at him like he’d just called him a liar. “What?”
“I’m asking why you’re here. Don’t you have, I don’t know, some schedule to be at?”
“Hyung, you know I…” He starts, pauses after a while and catches his bottom lip in between his teeth. Yoongi wants to do nothing but to pull it out and kiss him and hug him to his chest. “…Are you mad at me? About something?”
“No,” Yoongi’s immediate reply makes Jimin’s eyes widen, almost as if suddenly realizing something. Jimin’s always been a smart one.
“Is this… is this about the ideal type? You know they were gonna ask that, they always do, but listen — ”
“Jimin, I said no, you don’t have to explain,” Yoongi starts, pushes Jimin away and sees hurt flash across Jimin’s eyes. Almost wish he hasn’t. Though Jimin’s persistent and his little fingers wrap around Yoongi’s wrist to make him stay.
“No, listen,” Jimin says, voice firm and and sure. His eyes search Yoongi’s face and Yoongi just wants to disappear, “The things I said, they’re true. You heard what I said, didn’t you? You know —”
“Fuck, Jimin, if this is your way of telling me you’ve found somebody who’s better then just — ”
“They’re all you!” Jimin yells over Yoongi’s voice, cutting him off effectively. When Yoongi looks at him in surprise, he continues in a much softer voice, and he looks like all he wants to do is to curl in Yoongi’s arms, “I said, I said I wanted someone with pretty eyes, pale skin and soft hair. I said, I wanted someone with a nice voice and someone who knows how to take care of other people. I even said I wanted someone with pretty legs, but hyung, I was just talking about you.”
“You know, you know I was telling the truth, right? You always know,” Jimin whispers, fingers loosening around Yoongi’s wrist, “So please believe me. I would never want anybody else but you.”
Yoongi knows he’s fucked up. He’s fucked up and made Jimin upset over a simple misunderstanding that he hasn’t even had the mind to clear up with Jimin and it’s fucking stupid and he feels fucking stupid he doesn’t even deserve Jimin right now.
But he wraps his arms around Jimin’s shoulders, who tense for a second before completely melting into Yoongi’s arms and burying his face into the crook of his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi mouths into his hair, chest constricting with something akin guilt, “I’m sorry. I just. I missed you so much and I thought you’d change your mind and — I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, hyung,” Jimin mumbles, his lips pressing against Yoongi’s pulse, “we knew it wouldn’t be easy. But I’d always choose you over easy.”
“I’ll do better,” Yoongi promises, smooths his palm down Jimin’s spine, and promises, “I’ll do better, I promise.”
I love you.
— I love you so much, I’m sorry I doubted you.
It’s okay.
— It’s okay, I know you were only scared. You don’t have to be.
Word Count: 1,062
Rating: PG
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: Yoongi is left with their daughter and Jimin worries.
Week 1 | Prompt Set
“Her diapers are in the fourth drawer, okay? Though you can find more at the back of the closet in our room,” Jimin reminds as he pulls his luggage down the hall, Yoongi following him with Jiyoon in his arms. The baby has her hands in Yoongi’s hair, giggling as she tugs on strands of his hair, her drool dripping down her chin, “And her formula’s in the leftmost cupboard in the kitchen, extra baby bottles are also there, and oh! Her clothes, if she runs out of fresh clothes and you can’t make the washing machine work, just give mom a call, she can do them — or wait, no, actually don’t call mom, call me. You can call me if you need something, okay? I swear, I’ll get the first ticket back home and it’ll be fine, okay? I know —”
“Jimin, sweetheart,” Yoongi cuts off Jimin’s rambling with a hand to his cheek, cupping the younger’s face gently with an amused smile, not bothering to hide the way he’s extremely entertained by his husband. “I’ll be fine, I swear. We’ll be fine. You don’t think I can take care of Jiyoon?”
“No!” Jimin exclaims immediately, holding a hand to his chest in the most dramatic way that Yoongi almost rolls his eyes at him, “No, Jiyoon adores you so much,” the baby recognizes her name being spoken and turns to look at Jimin, gurgling happily as she reaches her hands towards him that Yoongi has to take his hand off Jimin’s cheek to stop her from leaning forward too much, “but it’s just. Just, call me when, if, something happens, okay?”
“Okay,” Yoongi nods, leaning forward to press a kiss against Jimin’s mouth and lets Jimin do the same to their daughter. Jimin lifts Jiyoon’s bib and dabs it against her chin to wipe off her drool, “But honest. We’ll be fine. If something goes wrong, I can always call one of the in-laws or my mom. So it’s fine, enjoy your trip with Taehyung, okay? You need — deserve — this, okay? I know you’ve been planning it for a long time, so don’t worry about us okay? Jiyoon’s not fussy, anyway. Isn’t that right, baby girl?”
Yoongi turns to Jiyoon and blows a raspberry on her cheek, earning him a giggle from her and a soft laugh from Jimin.
“Okay,” Jimin says, seemingly less hesitant now than how he’d been earlier. He’s still chewing on his lip, a thing he does when he’s nervous or unsure, but Yoongi reaches over to open the door and nudges him forward before he can change his mind and worry over nothing again, reminding him that Taehyung’s waiting for him in the lot.
“Take care, okay? Have fun, baby,” Yoongi kisses Jimin one last time and watches him walk away from them, Jiyoon still unaware that she won’t be seeing one of her fathers for a couple of days.
Yoongi feels slightly off as soon as they enter their apartment and Jimin’s not around doing god knows what he does when he’s home, but it’s a very noticeable difference that Yoongi almost turns around and calls him back to tell him they can’t be without him.
He takes one look at Jiyoon, at her big round eyes and crooked grin, and thinks no, he can use this time to bond with his daughter more. He lifts a hand and taps on her cute little button nose, grinning when she chases after it.
“We’re gonna be okay without appa, aren’t we? We won’t cry at night without appa, won’t we?” Yoongi asks and Jiyoon mumbles unintelligibly, smacking her lips together that her drool bubbles.
“Okay, maybe our little Jiyoonie won’t, but daddy will. Don’t tell appa that though.” Yoongi singsongs, heading back into their room with the intentions of napping.
“Hyung!” Jimin’s voice chirps from the speaker of his phone, and Yoongi immediately smiles at the sight of his husband materializing on the screen.
He’s grinning widely, already looking a little tan than he’d been before he left. He looks golden, and if there’s one thing that Yoongi loves about Jimin, it’s that he shines so beautifully under the sun, his skin glittering like gold and eyes sparkling like the ocean.
“You look good,” Yoongi muses softly, then says, “Wait, before anything else. Look.”
He flips the camera’s view on the video call and sees Jimin pause, lips curling into an adorable ‘O’, before he lets out a hushed coo, facial expression melting into one of ultimate adoration as he watches their daughter sleep soundly on Yoongi’s chest, fists curled at the sides of her head.
“See, I told you we’ll be fine,” Yoongi says, letting the camera stay on Jiyoon for a couple of seconds more before turning it to him again. “So don’t worry and just have fun, okay? You might wanna worry about who Jiyoon’s favorite father would be when you get back home though.”
Jimin snorts, rolls his eyes and looks at Yoongi with those loving eyes, a smile that knows, just knows, “Don’t be silly. You’ve always been Jiyoon’s favorite.”
“Damn right, should be,” Yoongi grins, wider when Jimin immediately scowls and says ‘language, Min Yoongi!’.
“I miss you, though,” Yoongi confesses, whispers softly as he glances at Jiyoon’s still sleeping form, a peaceful lump on his chest. “Miss you a lot.”
“I miss you too,” Jimin mumbles back, smiling softly at Yoongi. “I’ll be home before you know it though. So don’t think you can get away if I found out you’ve been sleeping too late and eating too less, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi laughs, jostling Jiyoon a little that she stirs in her sleep, and Yoongi immediately shuts up. “You know what though? I think Jiyoon’s really our kid. We’ve been napping all day and she’s still asleep like this. What a rock. You know what I wanna be in my next life? Our daughter.”
Jimin bursts into giggles, the one where he throws his body as he lets out the little squeaks that make Yoongi smile no matter what he’s doing.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Shh, language, Park Jimin.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, then, “I love you.”
“Love you too, baby.”
(Yoongi does cry a little that night. Jiyoon keeps her promise and doesn’t tell Jimin that when he gets back, though. Not that she could. But still.)
Word Count: 1,389
Rating: PG
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: Jimin just wants Yoongi’s attention.
Week 1 | Prompt Set
“Do you enjoy having yourself punched this much that you enter my clinic at least four times a week with a bruise on your face?”
Yoongi grumbled as he stood up automatically as soon as Jimin pushed past his door, basically bouncing on his feet as he flashed his widest smile at Yoongi. He didn’t bother leading Jimin where he’s supposed to sit, the boy’s been in here a hundred times now, he basically lived here if he wasn’t in his classroom.
Yoongi insisted it wasn’t okay at the beginning, when the boy had started showing up almost daily in his clinic as soon as he’d heard about the older choosing his school for his mandatory internship due for his program at uni.
Ethically, it really wasn’t okay. Even if they were childhood friends, even if they’ve practically grew up with each other, through scraped bruises and sticky ice-cream fingers, ugly haircuts and embarrassing crushes.
This was work, they were in school, for heaven’s sake. The brat’s usually good at listening to Yoongi, always wanting to please and make his hyung praise him for being good.
(Yoongi vaguely remembered a five-year-old Jimin running after him just before he left for school, waving a paper in his hand. He’d tripped in his hurry, Yoongi had almost dropped his bag and ran towards the boy but Jimin had pushed himself off the ground, grinning through his tears as he thrusted the paper into Yoongi’s chest when he finally reached him.
“Hyung! Hyung, look. I draw you and Jiminie, see!”
The paper turned out to be his drawing. Wobbly stick figures drawn in oranges and green and covered with blue and pink hearts. Underneath each figure were labeled ‘Nyoon-gi-heong’ and ‘Jim-ni’.
“This is for me, Jiminie?” Yoongi asks, clutching the drawing against his chest.
Jimin nods his head proudly, eyes crinkling into little slits.
“Yeah! For good luck, hyung! Eomma says you start Big Boy school today! Good luck, hyung! This is Jiminie with you, okay? Don’t forget Jiminie!”
“I won’t, Jiminie,” Yoongi says, takes Jimin’s little hands and brushes the dirt off his palms. Gives them a little squeeze and returns Jimin’s smile, “I won’t.”)
But boy, was the kid stubborn as fuck when he’d wanted to do the opposite.
“I didn’t get punched this time, hyung!”
“Semantics, idiot,” Yoongi mumbled as he poured alcohol onto a cotton ball, nose scrunching up in that unguarded way he allowed himself to when he’s around Jimin. He turned and found Jimin already sitting in one of the chairs that lined the wall, looking at him with that same smile he wore when he wanted something from Yoongi. “What?”
“Nothing, hyung,” Jimin almost sang, but grimaced as soon as he saw what Yoongi had in his hand. He whined, hands resting on the edge of his seat in between his legs and leaned away from Yoongi, “do we have to really do this? Can’t you just kiss it better? I think it’ll heal faster that way, hyung!”
“Kiss it better, my ass,” Yoongi flicked Jimin’s forehead before curling a hand around his nape to pull him closer, fingers brushing his fringe away before lightly dabbing alcohol on the cut at his temple. Even if his words were harsh, he made sure to be as gentle as he could, knowing that Jimin hated the sting as much as he loved getting himself into trouble, “How’d you even get this cut this time, idiot?”
“Is this the way you should be treating your patients? I’m hurt, hyung, hurt!” Jimin continued to whine underneath him, flinching when the alcohol first touched his cut. He then beamed, a complete 180 degree change from the affronted expression he sported not long ago, “I climbed a tree and saved this cute little kitty! I haven’t seen it before, so I gave it a name. I called it Yoonmin! I can bring it sometime over here? I think it’s stray, hyung. You have to see it, it was so cute and little.”
“No thanks, I already have you making a big fuss in my clinic as it is,” Yoongi muttered, though he knew Jimin would definitely bring it over sometime soon — the kid was just like that. He blew lightly at the cut before moving to put a bandaid over it.
“Please, for your sake and my sake, for the world’s sake, stop getting yourself in trouble,” Yoongi said as soon as he finished, pulling away from Jimin. He gave Jimin a look, a look that would have worked and scared the shit out of other people — but who was he kidding, this was Jimin, the kid who found whatever he did adorable and who was the only one to ever dare to wake Yoongi up on a Sunday morning. (Twice, it had been because of cute photos of cats he found on the internet. Yoongi didn’t regret blocking Jimin’s number for that day.)
“Mm, but how else are you gonna notice me?” The kid had the guts to pout, fingers reaching to curl around Yoongi’s coat. He looked at Yoongi with those playful, puppy eyes and Yoongi very nearly scoffed. He didn’t push Jimin’s hands away, though.
“I notice you just fine.”
“Not here! There are lots of pretty-looking noonas here and what if they steal you away from me, hyung? Who’d play Mario Cart with me on weekends? You’d be out going on dates and stuff with other people who’s not me,” Jimin complained, tugging on Yoongi’s coat and Yoongi had to bite the insides of his cheeks to stop himself from laughing. God, the kid was impossible.
“Do you even hear yourself, Park Jimin? I already have my hands full with you, I’m fine with that, thanks,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, lifting a finger and pressing the tip against Jimin’s forehead, pushing at it lightly.
“Really, hyung? Promise?”
“Yes,” Yoongi let a smile slip on his lips, before tugging it into a playful scowl, “now go. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
Just as he said it, the bell rang, a loud trill that made Jimin look up and huff. He removed his hands from Yoongi’s coat and stood up slowly, a full pout blooming on his lips.
“‘Kay, fine, I’m gonna go now.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“Hyung!”
“Yah, Jiminie, stop getting yourself hurt, okay?”
“Really, Park Jimin, stop getting yourself hurt because of me, you’re already ugly as it is,” Yoongi says later, coat draped on one arm. Jimin’s hand in his. They’re walking the long way home through less crowded streets, school having ended an hour ago, but Jimin had decided to wait for Yoongi to finish his shift.
“Hyung,” Jimin groans, tightening his hold on Yoongi’s hand. He squeezes against Yoongi’s side, leaning his cheek against Yoongi’s shoulder and looking up at him, “it still hurts you know? It’s because you haven’t kissed it! What a meanie.”
“Me? A meanie?” Yoongi deadpans, glancing at Jimin with amusement dancing in his eyes. The younger just pouts, nods his head and tilts his chin higher.
“Kiss.”
“Yah, Park Jimin.” Yoongi says softly, though he decides that humouring Jimin just for once would be fine. (Who’s he kidding, really.) So he leans down, presses a kiss against the cut he’d cleaned and treated for Jimin earlier. Laughs when Jimin lets out a soft whine, a noise that escapes his nose and is god-awfully adorable. Yoongi decides, just this one time (and the following hundred, thousand times), to humor Jimin, and presses his lips against Jimin’s awaiting one. Feels Jimin smile against him.
When he pulls back, Jimin’s glowing, beaming at him.
“Okay, I feel definitely better now. Ah! But hyung, you can’t do that to anybody else, okay? It’s a super special Jimin-only treatment!”
“Of course,” Yoongi snorts, bursts into a hearty laughter at Jimin’s words, “Of course. It’s Jimin’s only.”
So. Maybe it isn’t okay in school. God knows how much Yoongi has to hold himself back some days Jimin enters his clinic looking like a mess, how he just wants to pull him flush against his chest and kiss him senseless like he does when they’re home. But they’re not in school now. And, well.
Wherever they go, really, Yoongi’s Jimin’s. And Jimin’s always, always Yoongi’s.
Word Count: 1,420
Rating: PG
Submitted by: florations (ao3)
Summary: You don’t have to give me flowers to let me know you love me.
Week 1 | Prompt Set
How does it feel?
Knowing you’ve found the one made for you, with you?
The other half of your soul, the one who’s been sewn into you only to be torn apart just for you to find in your waking life on Earth?
How does it feel?
To have a hand to hold at day, to have something your fingertips can trace at night?
The mark that burns into their skin, your mark, the one that lets the world know you’ve found yours, the one that’s truly only yours?
Jimin wouldn’t know. Nothing’s ever been his for him to know.
Jimin can hear him breathe softly into the quiet of the night. Can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulder under the pale moonlight streaming into their room through the open window. He watches him glitter under the moon, the ends of his hair catching fire, framing his head like a halo. More stars than skin. The blanket pools around his waist leaving his shoulder bare.
He’s always had this habit of going to sleep without his shirt on, something Jimin’s always found adorable. He’s never complained, why would he? He could feel him most then. Could plant his palm against the curve of his shoulder and feel the heat of him seep through his skin and into Jimin’s palm. Could count each bump of his spine with his fingertips, trail kisses along it until he reaches the dip of the small of his back. Map him down with his hands, run them across the soft expanse of skin as much as he wishes.
Jimin reaches for the blanket, tugs on the hem and pulls it up until it covers his shoulder. He leans forward, feels cool skin against his lips. He stirs slightly underneath him, lets out a soft moan that puffs out of his parted lips, though he doesn’t wake. Jimin pulls away, leaves his fingers clutched around the blanket. He rests his cheek against his own pillow, puts a short distance between them that he could smell his scent clearly — vanilla and strong coffee, so distinctly him. His eyes trail down, down to the center of his back, the skin bracketed by the jut of his shoulder blades.
He slowly unclasps his fingers. Hesitant.
He’s done it a hundred, thousand times. Two years down the road and he can only trace his fingertips against it so much until he’s known each knot, each twist and curl of it. The raised skin feeling like braille under the pads of his fingers. A language he doesn’t know. It’s a feeling that’s never going to stop being unfamiliar. (A feeling that’s never going to be his.)
He lifts his fingers. Slowly, gently, sweeps them down the swell of his shoulder to the mark that glares at him so dauntingly on the center of his back.
A tattoo of a flower the size of his fist.
It’s yellow. Thin, smooth petals burst from its center and spread out. It looks so real, so alive that Jimin might as well feel it breathe underneath his fingertips. Its stem trails down his spine, and another type of flower scatter sparsely at its side. Orange and pink, with thicker and fewer petals, but smooth and beautiful nonetheless. Chrysanthemums and Alstroemeria.
The whole arrangement covers almost half his back, the ends of stems twisting into one another at the back of his waist.
Beautiful.
Jimin lets his fingers drag across the tattoo, it’s so beautiful, so so beautiful like the man that sleeps beside him, brushes his thumb down his spine and feels the stem along with it.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Whispers, really. Fingertips ghosting over the mark. Over and over and over again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you flowers.”
Over and over and over again.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t the one who gave you flowers,” Jimin feels him breathing under his fingers. Feels his warmth radiating under his palm, he’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s not mine, not mine truly. “I’m sorry.”
He tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes. The quick beating of his heart, the lump in his throat, the hair standing at the back of his neck the ugly feeling prickling his skin. It’s a feeling that quakes under his skin, makes itself known to Jimin with the way it twists and makes his stomach roil.
Not yours. Not yours not yours never will be yours.
“Jimin-ah.” A voice breaks through his thoughts, low and soft and comforting. A deep rumble that comes from within his chest and reaches out to Jimin, wraps him around the beautiful sound of it.
The body beside him shifts, the tattoo disappearing from his blurry sight. The face of the man he loves so much blooming into view.
“Jiminie,” he whispers, as he would a prayer. He lifts his hand and cups Jimin’s cheek, warms him up and calms the storm in his chest, in his stomach. How could he, how could he when he’s not meant to do this but he does, he calms Jimin the best and it’s unfair. It’s not fair. “baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, I’m still sorry you’re with me when you should be with them and I’m sorry, Yoongi,” Jimin cracks open underneath his sincere gaze and Yoongi wipes the tears streaking down his face with his thumb. Kisses them away gently, tenderly, that Jimin’s soul weeps inside of him.
“Baby, Jimin,” Yoongi says, voice muffled as he presses kisses against Jimin’s forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, mouth, everywhere his lips can touch. The way he does when he knows Jimin’s down, the way he does to let Jimin know he loves him. Loves him so much it shouldn’t be possible.
“I don’t care about that, please. I’ve told you a hundred times, and I’ll tell you once again, God knows, God knows how much I don’t care about that. I chose you. I chose you and I have never, not once, regretted my decision.” He says against Jimin’s lips, and Jimin drinks his words in like water, lets his words fill him in and paint his insides beautifully. “Listen, baby. I chose you, in this world where the ones who we’re supposed to love is written in the stars, I went against that and chose you. And I’m happy. I’m happy and in love with you. You’re the only one that matters. I don’t care about the flowers, you’re enough, baby. You will always be enough.”
Jimin doesn’t know how it’s possible. He thinks of his unblemished body and thinks of the flower that has bloomed so wonderfully on Yoongi’s back and he thinks, he thinks this is not mine. This body, this love, this man is not mine. I have stolen him from the stars and they will ask for retribution. He thinks, this is not mine, and his heart aches in his chest.
But Yoongi cradles him against his chest. Gathers him, broken soul and its thousand of pieces, into his arms and takes him all in.
This man is not mine, but I am all of his.
He thinks.
It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay the heavens and the stars can unravel me, rip my skin from my bones, they can pick me apart and turn me into dusts but in this lifetime, in this lifetime, this man is mine. Even if his soul’s intertwined with another. I’ll be selfish, Just in this lifetime. Pour all the love I have meant for somebody else into this man and make him mine, even if in just this lifetime.
“You don’t have to give me flowers to let me know you love me, Jimin-ah,” Yoongi sings to him a soft lullaby, when he’s wound his arms around Jimin’s shivering shoulders, Jimin’s nose buried into his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin breathes softly before the last of his consciousness trickles out, sleep weighing him down in Yoongi’s embrace, “I love you so much to let you go, Yoongi. I love you so much.”
“I know, baby,” Yoongi says, finally, mouth pressed into Jimin’s head, “I know. I love you so much.”
This lifetime, just this lifetime, Jimin decides he will be selfish. He prays that the stars would understand him, would have mercy on him and his soul. But even if they wouldn’t, he’d let himself love, love and love and love until he’s emptied it all into Yoongi before they turn him into dusts.
