wc: 900.
an: fluff so sweet it could rot your teeth.
‘Tell me you love me.’
Your voice was amused, the syllables being run over by small, tender laughs as you felt Yoongi’s warm hands holding you from behind.
‘I love you.’
Yoongi separated each syllable with small kisses on your neck, the sweet laughs you let out filling his heart.
The night was cool. Even in the middle of summer, the breeze that passed through the city streets was gentle, bringing with it a little of the memory of autumn. The sky was clear. Even in the middle of August, hundreds of luminous points shone amidst the vast nothingness in which they found themselves.
And you were happy.
In your boyfriend’s arms, you cherished that night. Feeling Yoongi’s warm touch, feeling Yoongi’s tender kisses, feeling Yoongi you could only smile, completely bathed in pure happiness.
How long has it been since you were last like this with Yoongi? Days? Weeks? No. Months. Months passed where you and Yoongi could only have casual encounters, one of you always rushing with their work, the other always wanting a break, a moment to take a deep breath, a moment to be with the one you loved most.
But now you were with Yoongi.
After so long where you could only be together in the digital world, you were back in your boyfriend’s arms, and that was all that mattered.
‘Tell me… Tell me I’m the most amazing person you’ve ever met!’
Yoongi let your words draw a small laugh from him, that heavenly melody getting lost in the dark of night in an attempt to catch your own laughs.
Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, Yoongi pressed you closer to him, wanting to be as close to you as possible, not wanting that moment, that night, to come to an end.
‘You are the most amazing person I have ever met.’
A new kiss from Yoongi on the crook of your neck, a new laugh from you.
Yoongi’s words were bathed in a cosmic magic that enchanted your ears and soothed your heart. In every syllable uttered, in every confession sung, in every feeling exposed, Yoongi allowed his voice to carry you in a gentle veil of lyrical poems that rocked you on that cool summer night.
There were only stars.
That night, in the garden of Yoongi’s house, nothing existed other than the intense moon that illuminated your romance. In ethereal tones, the moon allowed an intense shower of its glow to lend a bit of magic to the words you and Yoongi exchanged, turning each confession into an eternal promise.
‘Tell me…’ you were thoughtful for a moment as you felt Yoongi’s hands pressing you tighter against his chest – he missed you so much. ‘Tell me, hm…’
‘Hm?’
Yoongi nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck waiting for your words, sending goosebumps all over your body and stealing a small laugh from you.
‘Tell me you’re proud of me.’
A small chuckle from Yoongi accompanied a small cricket – it seemed that even nature wanted to celebrate that moment of yours.
‘I am extremely proud of you. Of everything you accomplished so far. Of everything you are and have ever been.’
Those words from Yoongi stopped in your heart. Making home inside you, those tender words enveloped your entire essence, wrapping your soul in intense tones of passionate reds and fascinating oranges.
You smiled longingly.
Yoongi missed you so much during these times. Yes, you talked to him every night, but the complicity you only shared when you were together away from any distractions was what was really missed.
The way Yoongi held you so close to him that it felt like he wanted you inside him, alongside his own essence. The way Yoongi spoke to you, as if his words were steeped in the most divine nectar shared by the gods themselves. The way Yoongi looked at you, as if you were the last ray of sunshine in a world long plunged into darkness. The way Yoongi loved you, always so sincere, always so intense.
‘Tell me you love me.’
Your voice stripped away any and all fun that had used previously, giving a slightly needier, softer air to your repeated request.
‘Again?’ Yoongi smiled and placed a small kiss on your neck.
‘Please?’
Your plea wrapped Yoongi’s heart in a tight knot of longing. Yes. You were apart for too long.
‘Even if the entire world is consumed by darkness and the entire universe is destroyed by shadows, my love for you will enlighten your entire path and future. For in me resides all the destruction of the stars that die every day to capture a fragment of our love. And I love you. Today and tomorrow. And forever I will love you. Since it is in you that my home, my soul, resides.’
You gently turned your face to look at Yoongi.
With bright eyes, face painted in the celestial colors of the moon, Yoongi looked at you in love, and you could swear that his cheeks were wanting to adopt a rosier tone after that confession.
And you kissed him.
Sealing Yoongi’s promise with your lips, you kissed Yoongi gently, caressing his lips with the longing for these moments and the melancholy of your relationship.
You were in Yoongi’s arms. And Yoongi loved you. What more could you ask for?
genre: established relationship au, friends to lovers au, idol au, variety show au; fluff, slight angst
warnings: cursing, they drink (are of age, obv), mentions of past struggles, anxiety
word count: 3.2k
author's note parts of this are inspired by or directly taken from suchwita as well as other interviews yoongi has appeared in for info. inspired by a work of @gayforddlovato in wattpad!
summary: you appear as a guest on suchwita after dating rumors of you and its host, min yoongi swoops the internet.
legend:
*...* - text edited on the final video
[...] - images/videos edited on screen
(intro of daechwita)
[into of suchwita starts playing]
*suchwita - drinking with suga*
the episode starts with the camera panning to host, min yoongi, wearing a casual all-black fit. he swiftly walks towards the table, sitting on the right chair, with a subtle knowing smile on his face as he takes his tablet, pulling it closer, getting ready to start the show.
"hello, everyone; suchwita is back." he says nonchalantly, lifting the corners of his mouth, plastering the view of his gummy smile, clapping. *long time no see!*
"ah, it's nice to be back. our guest today is very special, one of the core people that helped bts put out albums as well as d-day and other solo projects of mine. makes this episode extra special, too, right?" he adds as he adjusts his chair, implying a double entendre pertaining to you, making you smile behind the cameras. he always talks so highly of you, to everyone and about anything. he subtly shifts his gaze to you, returning the smile.
"i'm pretty sure you're all familiar with her...name: y/n. occupation: producer, singer, actress. "i've long asked for an appearance at your show, why has it taken you so long to invite me?" he reads, laughing at the description provided for you.
"i'm sincerely sorry, and please welcome, y/n." [some popular tracks you have produced plays: cool with you - new jeans, underwater - red velvet, home - bts, as well as some short clips of you in films.]
you came in with a smile, wearing a dark outfit, complementary to his, bringing a brown paper bag for your beverage.
yoongi stands, acknowledging your presence, and he claps. you take your time to wave and bow at the staff as well who were clapping upon your arrival.
[cuts to you sitting down]
"ah, welcome, welcome." yoongi politely says. you both suppress a smirk, amused to see your long-term boyfriend sit opposing you, forced to act platonic, as if it has been your first time interacting, when you know it's the complete opposite of that. as if you won't go home with each other tonight and only resorting to replying with: "thank you for having me."
just a week ago, an image of you and yoongi had circulated the internet. walking from a convenience store, arm in arm. jackets to fight off the cold and caps, a pathetic way to try and disguise your identities. whenever you were meeting somewhere, it was always the three: sunglasses, mask, and a cap. it should have been a habit by now. but it was also 2:00 am in the morning. you were finishing up some songs in the studio and was in desperate need of ingesting caffeine. you decided to walk to the nearest store, dragging yoongi with you, who at first was stubborn about it, unknowing that such a mindless act would cause years of going undercover blow up.
despite its horrid quality, netizens were quick to nitpick details, connect dots, and speculate that it was the both of you.
hybe is yet to come out with a statement regarding the issue. but, the people seem to have had their verdict, with some saying yoongi was too good for you, or that it made sense for you to date as rumors have long circulated even before the leak. the topic is yet to die down, and is even still as hot as ever. it just so happens that you were already scheduled to appear at suchwita after the dating rumors swoops the internet. the company's decision was to push it, hoping to get more engagement from the issue, gaining more attention.
the air is surprisingly filled with tension. both of you are aware that everybody in this room know what's going on between the two of you, you do work for the same company afterall. arriving together, bringing home made lunches for each other, and the blatant "hey, mind i crash at yours tonight", happens too often for it to be platonic.
for most idols who date, it's like that. often it's easier for them to just date someone inside the same company or closer due to the busy schedules and fear of getting caught. but your relationship with yoongi wasn't merely for convenience; it's way more than that.
"oh, here," you say, handing him the bag you had brought with you. he politely accepts it with both hands, slightly brushing with yours.
it's no big deal, really. you hug, and kiss, and do even more than, but you would be lying if you said it didn't make you anxious, even a little bit. the fact that this would be broadcasted for the whole internet to feast on wrecked your nerves. it will be another week of turning off comments and messages on instagram to prevent your phone from blowing off, but it's no big deal really.
the truth is, neither of you really gave a damn. hell, you've been pretty obvious for years now, and not just among the staff: appearing in the background of bangtan bombs, posting about hanging out with some of the guys, and that one time when you both hosted where fans immediately dug for interactions. you and yoongi mutually agree that maybe it's time to free yourselves a little bit. angering those who hate on you more and blessing those who have spent years trying to connect the dots, by being seen in one frame.
yoongi peeks into the bag and all of a sudden throws his head back with a chuckle. *what could it be?*
you wanted to surprise him, and it worked.
"oh, wow." he says as he reveals the drink you brought; bourbon. "see, i knew you were going to bring an alcoholic drink," he adds, which took you aback, making you laugh as well.
"it was going to be among beer, soju, whiskey-" he lists off.
"hey!" you interject, playfully smacking his arm.
"but oh wow, you know i rarely drink this thing."
you know. you had brought a drink that meant something between the two of you; the exact brand and kind.
despite hybe being a small company back then, they still held parties every now and then. you were drinking the same exact thing and had drunken confessions that night; ever since, you've strictly only been drinking it together on your anniversary.
it's those type of things that really get you. he was the one that proposed the idea, saying you should "save it" when trying to invite him to a drink, which confused you at first, but made sense in the long run. it was the little things that made you think maybe he does like you back.
"shall i make you a new york sour?" you say as you take the glasses from beside you.
you look back at him and see him holding the bottle with an expression that says "i thought this was for?" you just smirk. he thinks you ambushed him for all he knew was that you were going to bring a fancy wine of some sort, but you had a trick up your sleeve.
"guys, if you know, you know." you say, winking.
"but they don't know though?" he says, which made you feel a bit silly. *embarrassed*
"this, was it 2015? we had a, uh, a celebration, a party. and something happened that night" he explained.
"excuse me?" you asked, raising your brow. "what? no, no, not like that!" he defensively argues, making you and some staff laugh.
"what was it that happened?" you ask, both having to hold your smile, trying to keep your composure.
"if you know, you know." he retorts back, winking at the camera. *iyk,yk!*
the "explanation" only really made sense to those who knew. that it wasn't merely a party, it wasn't anything funny, but one that changed your lives.
to the regular fan it sounds confusing, weird even. but to you it sounds like the deafening music that had you up your feet the entire night; the mixed smell of strong cologne, alcohol, and sweat; and the cold breeze of the air that was freezing your brain's ability to comprehend what "how do you feel about us" meant.
but of course, if you know, you know.
[cut to your glasses being prepared]
"oh wow, so you brought a sentimental drink, y/n?" he asks, to which you nod.
you're like that. all sentimental and extremely emotional. yoongi knew that. and he always does his best to make you feel loved the way you love. sure, being given an expensive piece of jewelry is fantastic. spending a week in a foreign country, just the two of you was amazing. but simply drinking wine together on the place where you had your first date equates that.
"we also prepared these," he adds as the staff slowly place trays of food on your table.
"woah!" you exclaimed. *an array of dishes suited to y/n's taste!*
"wow, you really went all out," you say, smiling with gratitude.
"of course, it's you afterall." he says, making you feel flustered.
of course he went all out. he's like this. always does everything to spoil you, make you happy. he knew you. the most.
"if you guys didn't know, y/n is my go-to, you could say, drinking buddy."
"oh, you're making it sound like i drink often."
"don't you?" you die at his reply, lowering your head, as the room filled with laughter.
if there's anything two sleep deprived producers do to ease their stress, aside from the obvious ;), it was to drink together. and that happened as often as you would have liked.
this playful banter eased you. aside from the dating rumors, you were also one of the closest people in the industry, everybody knew that, even the fans. you were best friends close and then slowly became more than friends close.
you met him just a short while before their debut, while you were also trying your shot to become a renowned producer. it wasn't hard to form connections, given the size of the company back then. you also quickly climbed to the top and became one of the most known and trusted, mentored by great seniors such as pdogg and slow rabbit. that's also how you met yoongi.
befriending him was quite easy with your similar personalities; introverted and the love for the mundane. though, it seems the complete opposite when you're together, always laughing, exchanging banter with no one else but each other.
you liked yoongi. a lot. his dry humor that often goes unnoticed, sarcasm that people interpret as attitude sometimes, his dedication to his work, his eyes (that were chunked with black eyeliner a lot at the time), the way he listens and remembers.
[cut to you grilling meat]
"so, suga-ssi,"
"suga-ssi?" he says, surprised at the sudden formality.
"yes, why has it taken you so long to invite me in your show?" he chuckles.
"is it because i might spill something about you, hmm?" you playfully say, wiggling your brows.
"you see, army, yoongi isn't that much of a tough guy." you add.
"oh, come on. i never really claimed to be one." he defends.
"he snores so much. so much."
"let's be honest, who doesn't?"
"oh, everyone do you also snore so loudly you get woken up by your own sound?" made the room burst with laughter. *tmi!*
"please edit that out,"
time passes and you can feel your body slowly getting warmer as you work through your drinks and chow down your food as well as the questions he's been asking you.
you and yoongi talked about your jobs as producers, past albums, and future projects you will be working on. he thanks you for helping him put his album out, not only with your musicality but also emotionally—by being there as someone he can rely on.
"they most especially loved people pt. 2."
"oh, yes!"
[clips of you and yoongi performing people pt.2 live plays]
"i personally really liked people from d-2,"
"mm, you liked that song so much i couldn't not release it. everyone please say thank you, y/n, for people and people pt. 2." *thank you, y/n!*
"oh come on. it wasn't like i made the thing. i just really thought the melody was a beautiful channel to the message of the song, you know? it wasn't very upbeat, or as dark as the main track, but it creates a good contrast for the album." you trail off. yoongi just looks at you with nothing but admiration. nodding to every single thing you were saying regardless of what it was. god he was such a sucker for you, and he wasn't afraid to show it despite the huge cameras on your faces.
"well, your opinion matters to me," he says after quite some time.
"well, voice too. there are just tracks that yearn to have you sing in it."
you felt like you were knocked off your feet if only you weren't sitting down. these things he never fails to say, but to say it here, in front of all these people?
"aww. see, you guys! i'm just that of an important person in yoongi's life." you quickly teased, shooting multiple winks towards the cameras.
"of course you are." he says, adding the final blow.
he looks at you in a way that makes you feel hesitant to look back in the fear of getting sucked into the dark orbs in his eyes. you accidentally sharply inhale, sort of breaking the building weight between the two of you.
you actually weren't planning about disclosing anything about your relationship at all. just to come in to drink and talk as friends, nothing more. but there was undeniably something about how you interacted that makes it undeniable.
"we go way back, don't we?" he says after quite some time. you let out a dry laugh, unable to look at him, reminiscing the past.
"we were so young. so ambitious, too."
your breathing goes heavy. you aren't quite sure if it's the alcohol that's making you feel like this, or the fact that when you think about it, you have been through so much, together.
you were passionate about music, there's no denying that. investing your all into your music was not just to put your craft out, but also, admitantly, to earn something from it. if it weren't for the eviction notice plastered on your front door, you would have chosen to go to college. if yoongi had enough than to pick over his next meal or a bus ticket, he wouldn't have risked it all in such a young age.
pursuing your passion was a big gamble. there were times where you questioned if it was still worth it after sacrificing so much and getting so little in return or nothing at all. but oh was it so worth it. knowing how it ends, in the end, you'd choose to go through it all over again.
"you had spiky hair, and i had micro bangs." you giggle, the image popping up in your head.
"we were so immature." he chuckles, remembering the ridiculous fashion choices younger versions of you had.
"we met when we were 19, we're 33 now." you say and smile bitterly.
all of a sudden, a warm tear just pours out of your eye, taking yoongi aback. he quickly takes out a tissue from his side of the table, and instead of giving it to you, he leans forward and gently pats it on your face as you just let the tears fall one after the other.
he hands you some more as you sniffle. you look at him with slightly red eyes to see that he was looking away from you. he always does this, you knew. seeing you get all emotional makes him emotional as well. and if looking behind you with a thousand yard stare prevented the both of you from becoming a crying sniffling mess, then you allowed it.
"god, why am i like this! i'm so sorry." you tilt your head towards the director and other staff.
"what are you talking about," yoongi says, ensuring you that it was more than alright.
"oh wow, this drink's really hitting me!" you joke, smiling.
"hey, we've been friends for so long now, you should be used to it." you add, pertaining to the tears. he purses his lips and nods. "i am."
a staff hands you a bottle of water and you quickly drink its content.
"we've been friends for what, 14 years now?"
"mhm. and more than friends for 12?" yoongi says, which made you want to cry even more.
"like, as best friends?" you say, acting clueless.
"if you know, you know!" he smiles.
"oooh," you playfully squint your eyes, smiling as well. *what's the real deal?*
[cut to the final remarks]
"wow, we've been by each others' side for more than a decade now!" he excitedly says.
"we're also quite old, aren't we?" you slightly cover your mouth as if you were scared of getting heard jokingly, attempting to make the atmosphere light again.
"see, earlier you were crying and now you're saying nonsense like that." he rebutts. *tmi yet again!*
"happy tears, happy tears,"
"for our final question, q: what should we expect from y/n?"
you excitedly talk about an album that you will be releasing a month from now, letting viewers know of which artists to look forward to in your collaborations.
"should we be expecting anything prod. suga or ft. suga?"
"that's yours to discover," you remark, adding a final wink.
"and lastly, anything you want to say to our dear viewers?"
"dear viewers, please continue to support our individual projects as well as us together," yoongi smiled at the latter part of your message implying a double entendre, pertaining to both your collaborations and relationship.
"also so that i can come back here more often!" you smile.
you guys wrap up by thanking him for inviting you and giving your thanks to the staff who were there to help and the show ends.
[end]
a few weeks after that suchwita episode, hybe releases a statement confirming the dating rumors.
twitter blew up the moment that episode was released with fans celebrating the patterns they've seen in your music for the past years, as well as the theories that have long been circulating, finally confirmed through hybe's statement and that episode.
@jinshoulders667: see, we knew it!
@iloveminsugaaaaa: "he snores so much" hmm probably woken next to him to have known 🤔
Summary: After too many words said in the heat of the moment, Yoongi wakes up without next to him and fearing the worst. He just hopes it’s not too late to fix things…
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, swearing, mentions of relationship insecurities
A/N: This was a request that someone sent me months ago, and has just been sitting in my drafts because life was kicking my ass, but I’ve finally had the time and motivation to finish it, so yay!🎉 I hope y’all like it!
Masterlist Ko-fi
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You didn’t understand how it got to this point. One minute you were both just talking, and then suddenly words were being flung back and forth across the room like daggers.
You were both too tired, you knew that, a distracted, dismissive reply cutting into flesh when it normally would’ve been just brushed off and addressed later when you were both less stressed and thinking more clearly.
But that hadn’t happened tonight. Instead, you had both snapped, and suddenly weeks worth of tiny nagging thoughts, frustrations, and what had seemed like insignificant moments but had been eating away at the both of you, everything was poured out onto the floor and you both were demanding the other take blame for them.
When you felt yourself hitting a breaking point, you had shut down and gone to bed, with Yoongi following a while after, feeling the bed dip under his weight but giving no acknowledgement, just curling closer to the edge of the bed to be as far away from him as possible. You knew you could’ve gone to sleep in the guest room, but in your moment of stubbornness, you didn’t want to let him seemingly ‘win’ by driving you out of your bed.
You kept your eyes firmly closed and tried to force yourself to sleep, to just forget everything that had happened for the moment and deal with it in the morning, but you couldn’t. Your mind was a jumbled mess of emotions, and you were far too aware of every little noise and stirring in the room, even the rustle of the sheets seeming loud in the silence that was broken only by the labored beats of your heart.
You felt Yoongi turn over on his side of the bed, his breathing far more even paced than your own, which only added to your upset.
How could he sleep after everything that he’d said? How could he ignore the weight in the air that was pressing in on you, crushing your chest, making it increasingly impossible for you to draw a proper breath, slowly suffocating you in silence.
You felt the familiar sting of tears beginning to form in the corners of your eyes, and given your years of experience with panic attacks and anxiety, you knew exactly what was happening, but you kept quiet, not wanting him to catch you in a moment of vulnerability, of knowing you were crying.
You didn’t know how long you managed to keep the rising wave of emotion at bay, but when you glanced at the time on your phone it read 2am.
Making sure Yoongi was sound asleep before you moved, you quietly slipped out of bed and crept to the hall, thanking God that you had insisted on your shared apartment having extra rooms. You had claimed it was in case you had overnight guests, but you knew yourself well enough to know that if your anxiety issues got bad again, having extra rooms or spaces for you to be alone when you needed it would be vital.
It had been so long since you’d had a bad spell like this, but the routine was still there like muscle memory as you slipped into the guest room at the end of the hall; turning the fan and AC to the exact speed and temperature to create white noise but not be freezing, finding your favorite sad songs playlist and playing it at a very low volume, and pulling the covers up around you like a cocoon as you climbed into bed, praying that you could just fall asleep and not think for a few hours...
Around 3am, Yoongi rolled over, reaching for you out of habit but finding only cold sheets on your side of the bed.
His eyes snapped open in confusion, glancing around the room for any sign of you before memories of the night came crashing back over him.
The fight, the things you’d both said, the hurt and defeated look in your eyes as you’d walked away.
She left.
The words echoed in his mind like a slamming door, hard and final. His heart was thundering in his chest as he shot out of bed, phone gripped tight in his shaking hands, trying to call you.
He knew he said some shitty things earlier, and it had gotten really out of hand, but he couldn’t let it end this way.
He cursed himself internally, his words replaying in his head like a record. He’d known how much those things would hurt you, and yet he said them anyway. And then he let it be unresolved. He just gave up and let you walk away, all because of his stupid stubborn pride.
As soon as he stepped out in the hall, he could hear the music playing from the spare bedroom, a wave of relief washing over him as he turned on his heel towards the sound.
He didn’t even think twice before heading for the door. He didn’t care if you were mad, if you didn’t want to talk to him, he had to make this right. He couldn’t lose you, not like this.
You still weren’t asleep yet when you heard the door open, but you pretended anyway, not having the energy or heart to continue any sort of argument with Yoongi right now.
As soon as his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, and sees the way you were curled up, the guilt washes over him again.
He knew you weren’t actually asleep, you’re on your side, not on your stomach with one leg hitched up in the way that always poked him in the back when he rolled over during the night to hold you.
His first instinct is to climb into bed and wrap himself around you, to hold you tight enough to make his heart stop hurting as he apologized for everything, but stops himself. He's known you for long enough to know that physical contact is really not something you're comfortable with when you're fighting.
So instead, he padded quietly around to the other side of the bed, where you were facing the wall, and simply sat down on the floor near your head, almost at eye level, if only you would open your eyes and look at him.
“Y/n…” He spoke softly, waiting for any sign of acknowledgement, but all he was met with was silence. “...I know you’re awake…”
You remained motionless, a convincing portrayal of sleep to anyone who didn’t know you.
He sighed. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have said any of those things to you earlier, I’m sorry… I feel awful for letting things get out of hand the way they did. Please let me fix this, I’m so, so sorry…”
Still nothing.
“Can you at least open your eyes and look at me, so I know you’re okay?” He asked quietly.
“Please, you can be mad at me, I don’t blame you, but… I can't sleep without you, it feels wrong… I love you…”
After what felt like hours, you finally peeked your eyes open, just a fraction.
“Go back to bed, Yoong. We can talk in the morning, but right now… I just need space…” You said tiredly, closing your eyes again, shutting him out of that little glimpse inside your world.
His breath caught in his throat as he stared at you, the ache in his chest growing in intensity, like someone had punched him. The painful sense of finality in your words, the thought of being exiled away from you when things were this fractured and broken, Yoongi couldn't take it. It would’ve been better if you just yelled at him, called him an asshole, anything, not this quiet and frozen silence.
He knew things were bad, he knew you were hurt and upset, and rightfully so, but this… this felt like you were giving up, on the fight, on your relationship, on him… It felt like something dying.
“N-no…”
He wasn’t even fully aware of what he was doing, his body moving on autopilot as he climbed into the bed, your back to his chest as he wrapped himself around you so tight his arms hurt, holding onto you like a lifeline, as if he is afraid you'll literally run away if he didn't.
“Please, no…” He pleaded, burying his face in your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please…”
You could feel him shaking, the first few tears that hit the back of your neck making your eyes sting instantly with tears as well. You hated when he cried, each ragged hitch of his breath like a knife to your chest.
You crumpled into his embrace, holding his hands in your own, crushing them to your chest to feel him closer.
“I’m sorry too…” You whispered weakly.
The two of you just lay there together for several minutes, letting all the tension and built up emotions that you’d been holding back pour out, just holding onto each other tightly.
Eventually, the wave passed and your breathing evened out, the two of you staying pressed together as the silence fell over you again, though this time it was much less heavy.
“I’m sorry, I didn't mean anything that I said…” He mumbled softly, voice still shaky from crying. “I was just… Things have just been so hard with the comeback-”
“I know, I know.” You comforted him gently, squeezing his hand that was resting on your hip. “I just… I don’t know how to make things better for you.”
“You don’t have to, just you existing makes things better for me.” He responded, burying his face in your hair as he spoke, savoring your familiar scent.
“But how am I supposed to feel when I see you come home so worn down and exhausted?” You argued. “Last week when I came home after my fight with my boss-”
“You had a fight with your boss?” He lifted his head, meeting your eyes with concern.
“Not a big one…” You said quietly. “He tried to blame me for something that went wrong on project, and I knew it wasn’t my fault, and it just escalated-”
“-When did this happen?” He interjected again, his eyes darkening at the thought of anyone giving you a hard time.
“Last week…” You answered, glancing down.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it wasn’t a big deal, I handled it, and you’d just got back from Jakarta and were tired-”
“I don’t give a damn about how tired I was, if something happens I want you to tell me.” He said
“Yoongi, you were practically passed out on the couch.” You argued. “If it had been something serious, I would’ve told you.”
He sighed, leaning his forehead against your back. “I just don’t like the thought of keeping things to yourself for my sake…” He said softly. “I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to be there for you.”
“I know, I just… I worry about you, I don’t wanna make your life more heavy.”
“Baby, the last thing you could do is make my life heavy.” He replied, nuzzling against your shoulder. “You bring so much light and joy into my world, even on our worst days, don’t ever doubt that.”
His gentle words made your eyes prick with tears again. “...I’m sorry.” You whispered.
He shushed you softly. “It’s okay, I get it, but please don’t shut me out, not when you’re hurting.”
You nodded softly. “Same goes for you…”
He hummed in agreement, kissing down your shoulder as he held you tightly, reverently, each tiny touch an apology and a promise. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” You whispered, melting into his hold.
You leaned further into his touch, head falling back against his shoulder to give better access to your neck as, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, trying to hold onto him in some way as well, the subtle heat of his breath on the back of your neck stirring up a different flurry of emotions in the pit of your stomach, awakening a deeper need, to feel him close in every way possible.
“Yoongi…” You breathed out softly, making him tense behind you, heart pounding in his chest as he recognized the shift tone in your voice.
His touches became more insistent, gripping your hips possessively as he pressed harder against you, his lips trailing over your neck.
“Let me make you feel better,” He murmured, sucking a gentle mark on your neck."Let me love you.”
You let out a muffled sound that was very close to a whine, nodding as you pushed your hips back against his, feeling the way he was also becoming affected by the sudden change in energy, rolling your hips against him experimentally.
He groaned at the way you moved against him, helping guide your movements as he ground against you, everything about you so soft and warm and fucking perfect.
“God, I need you so bad…” He breathed, hands slipping to the waistband of your sleep shorts, hesitating for a moment in silent search of your permission, which you more than gave as you pushed them down yourself, shivering as his hands immediately began to explore the newly exposed skin.
“Fuck I’ve missed you, missed how good you feel.” He growled, hand trailing lower to caress the soft skin of your inner thighs.
“Yoongi, please.” You begged, moving against him wantonly, desperate for any bit of fraction.
“Yeah? You want me?” He questioned lowly, pushing his own pants down and freeing his already aching length. He needed you so bad, needed to have you in every way imaginable. “You sure?”
You nodded, rocking your hips back against him, allowing him to slip between your already slick folds, his tip catching at your entrance teasingly but not quite slipping in.
Yoongi felt like he had been touched with a livewire, a hiss slipping through his teeth as he tried to hold onto what little control he had. He wanted to take you slow, make you feel as loved and treasured as you were.
He let out a shuddering breath. “You’re sure?” He asked again, wanting to be absolutely certain before things got carried away.
“Mhm…” You hummed, eyes falling closed at the promise of relief, pressing your hips back more, trying to take more of him. “Please.”
He groaned softly at your response, body trembling with need and desire for you. The way you wanted him, the way you moved so sinfully perfect against him, the way you always seemed to make him lose his goddamn mind, it was almost too much to take.
He bit his lip, sinking into you slowly, feeling like his whole body was on fire with the way you felt around him.
You let out a whine as he filled you, covering your mouth to try and stifle your noises, but Yoongi was having none of that.
“Don’t.” He growled in your ear, pulling your hand away from your mouth in an almost bruising grip. “Wanna hear you, wanna know how good you feel.”
He gripped your hip tighter with his other hand, thrusting into you slow and deep, quickly finding a rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head.
“F-fuck, Yoongi…” You moaned, gripping onto his arms for dear life. You could feel him everywhere, around you, inside you. He was being so gentle with you, you could tell from the way he moved, rolling his hips into you rather than pounding into you like he usually did when he wanted to make you lose your mind. It was slow and soft, but that made it almost more intense, every little move a hundred times more potent.
“Fuck, love you so goddamn much.” He groaned, hips beginning to stutter as he got close, hand slipping between your thighs to find your clit and circling it furiously, wanting you to fall over the edge with him.
“Ah, god!” You jerked as if you’d been shocked, shaking and writhing in his hold as he pushed you closer to release.
“Come on baby, cum for me, let me have it.” He rumbled in your ear, nipping at the spot on your neck he knew was your weak point, sending you over the edge with a strangled cry of his name. He followed after you with a few more thrusts, spilling inside you with an almost pained groan from how tightly you were squeezing him.
“God, I can’t…” He shook his head, burying his face in your shoulder as he sucked in a ragged breath. “Are you okay?”
“Mhm, ‘m great…” You nodded, slightly dazed, chest heaving as you tried to catch your own breath.
He let out a weak chuckle, hugging you tightly. “Good.”
A comfortable silence fell over the both of you as you came down from your highs, nearly dozing off in his arms until you felt him shift slightly, preparing to pull out.
“stay…” You mumbled, holding onto his hip to keep him from pulling away, making his heart flutter at the sleepy yet tender gesture. “please?”
He nodded, settling back against you more comfortably, his arms looped around your waist to keep you close.
“I’ll stay.” He promised, his words meaning more than you could know, his mind wandering to the engagement ring box that was hidden in the back of his closet. He didn’t know how or when, but he knew he wanted to make you his forever. “I’ll stay.”
summary: four years after your awful break up, min yoongi's ability to casually waltz back into your life astounds you. and you don't know how to feel anymore.
genre & note: angst! fluff. smut. exes to ? au. yoongi's 4 years older than you. he's also a doctor :p this is a drabble series. i feel like i should warn you that there's the slightest bit of a love triangle here but not really tbh but you'll see that eventually. maybe it's love triangle adjacent stuff? there's no infidelity. for more, look at my drabbles & requests masterlist. :]
Taking the weekend off was the right choice. Or so you keep trying to convince yourself.
It was the first time you’d taken time off work in nearly a year.
You worked as a waitress at the local hotspot mostly frequented by tourists, locals and working professionals alike. That translates to making tips worth a week’s groceries in a single shift. Especially during the weekends. And you work nights, which is even more profitable. Drunk and tired people tipped liberally.
Sometimes you'd forgo a few buttons on your uniform to double the amount, but you try not to make it a habit.
Apart from waitressing, you also tutor overachieving high school kids, teaching academic writing. You haven’t quite figured out where else you could put your literature degree to use.
You wouldn’t admit it but you’re stuck in life.
Everyone around you seems to have plans for themselves; career, relationship, other personal goals and what not.
On the other hand, you just want to make a living and pay off your student debt. If you kept at this waitressing-tutoring thing, you’d probably pay it all off in the next four to five years.
It doesn’t sound that bad but you feel like you should want more. Dream bigger.
Although, you're liking it this way. It's comfortable.
You don’t really have much of a life outside your work.
No hobbies. No big wishes or goals. Nothing to 'work towards' apart from paying off your loan. No boyfriends.
Now that last part wasn’t due to a lack of trying or anything.
There was a phase in your life where you’d say yes to any person that asked you out. All out of pure desperation to get over your ex. You just never found your person.
Deep down, you still believe your ex was the guy for you. Perhaps the timing just wasn’t right. Is that pathetic?
You met him through your neuroscience professor, Mrs. Min, who connected you to him when you were flunking the course.
He had just graduated pre-med and was preparing for med school when you met. He tutored you for cheap.
Your study sessions turned into actual dates after only a week of meeting. And the rest was history.
You dated for a good year, then broke up because he was moving away for uni.
He insisted he didn’t want to make you do long distance and told you it’d be too hard on you. He wasn’t wrong but you could’ve at least tried. Maybe you could’ve transferred somewhere near him.
There are so many conversations you wish you could've had with him. But maybe he didn’t want you like that. Maybe he didn’t dream of a future with you. You’d rather not go down that route, so let’s stop here.
Four years have passed since then. It’s all water under the bridge. You’re good now and hope he's well too.
Sprawled out on your little couch, you lazily gaze at the Netflix window on your laptop screen, debating whether you want to start watching a two hour long series finale at midnight.
You sigh.
You’re supposed to meet new clients to tutor tomorrow and couldn’t afford to lose them.
Sulking a little, you look around the living room. It’s cozy. You think you’ve done a good job with it. Well, you and your roommate.
Speaking of roommate, you haven’t seen her in a while.
Chaerin and you always miss each other because of your odd hours. You’re almost never home at the same time, so you mainly communicate through the notepad on the fridge. You’re too awkward to text her.
While you don’t have much of a relationship with Chaerin, she’s a good roomie. Never late on any payments. Always cleans up after herself. Never bothers you or goes into your room. Never borrows bath products or food - well, she has nicer products and you can’t really cook so it makes sense.
Apart from this, all you know about her is that she’s half Japanese, hibachis fish really well, and works as a paediatric nurse.
You also think she has a boyfriend because you hear her talking over the phone sometimes.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try to befriend her but the thing you two have going right now is pretty good. And if something ain’t broken.
Finally, you decide to skip TV night all together. It might disturb Chaerin anyway.
You stretch your legs before sliding off the cushiony sofa bed.
At the exact same time, you hear the main door slam open, startling you. You plop back down on your seat.
Then you hear two voices, giggling and whispering - one undoubtedly male.
Oh!
A strange feeling takes over your body. You have goosebumps all over. But it isn’t because you were spooked by the sudden door action.
You jump up off the sofa and pause, pulling your somewhat big shirt past your skimpy little shorts. (You’re usually walking around in just a top. Just one of the advantages of co-existing with a chill woman like Chaerin.)
You want to make a break for it and disappear into your room but it’d just take too long and you’d have to go past her and her boyfriend anyway.
So you just awkwardly freeze at the spot by the sofa.
You wince when you hear some kissing and sucking sounds. Along with moans. Very deep moans.
Fuck. You pray they don’t fuck near the doorway. You’d just look like a fucking creep.
Then it hits you: you could just pretend to fall asleep on the couch?
You gather your crocheted throw, wrapping it around yourself when you hear a gasp.
Chaerin had led her male friend into the living room. On seeing you, she falters.
You look up. Your line of vision lead straight to the man.
Fuck.
“Yoongi…” Your lips barely move as you whisper the name to yourself. The name you’ve managed to avoid speaking out loud for at least two years.
Yoongi’s eyes are as sharp as you remember. His hair’s longer though. And he looks like he’s been hitting the gym. You can’t really tell because of the leather jacket.
Fuck.
“I didn’t know you’d be home!” Chaerin’s actively trying to pull her dress higher above her chest. You assume she’s trying to cover her neck up?
You avert your eyes, choosing to look down at her shoes instead.
“I just took the weekend off from the bar.” You both sound apologetic.
Chaerin smiles sheepishly, “Um. We never do anything in the communal areas.” It’s meant to sound helpful but it lands like a punch in your tummy. So they're a 'thing?'
You don’t react.
Yoongi’s been staring into your soul the entire time. His mouth’s slightly agape. And stained with pink lipstick.
You look down at their connected hands as you involuntarily fiddle with the hem of your shirt.
Oh, God, the shirt.
It’s Yoongi’s old shirt.
Ugh, fuck.
You hope he doesn’t think you’re still hung up on him or something.
Now that’d be truly embarrassing.
Maybe he won't remember it.
Honestly you'd forgotten you'd borrowed this shirt from him until this very moment. It's of such good quality that it lasted you years.
The three of you were still awkwardly stood in your living room.
“I’m gonna…” You trail off, pointing to your room.
Chaerin nods. “Of course. Have a good night, _____.”
Yoongi gulps and parts his lips like he’s about to say something but refrains.
He watches you carefully as you gather your belongings and meekly pad to your room.
Unable to help himself, he says, “Night.”
You don’t acknowledge it. He’d think you didn’t hear him but he was loud enough.
He catches a whiff of your raspberry body lotion as you slip past him.
When she hears the gentle click of your door locking, Chaerin sultrily smiles up at Yoongi, leading him into her room like she’d done many times before.
But tonight, all Yoongi could think about was his ex-girlfriend across the hall.
here's the next installment: love hangover (myg) #2
note: that solo yoongi welive has awoken a monster in me.
i thought of this scenario when i was listening to diana ross's love hangover hence the name 'love hangover.'
summary. you and yoongi have been best friends since childhood, and you pride yourselves in knowing everything about each other. well, everything except the quiet, growing warmth neither of you dare to name
pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre: childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re both so oblivious omfg), fluff, angst
word count: 5.5k
warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, kissing, lmk if i missed anything!
note: it’s my birthday :> i mentioned this in my wip update, but i’m posting this cuz i feel bad that i’m not able to get the jk fic out in time and wanted to give you guys at least something. i wrote this ages ago and only briefly edited it, so it’s probably not amazing loll. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are really appreciated!! enjoy reading my angels <3
⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback
The sun is way too hot for a Saturday. It’s one of those summer days where everything feels too bright and too loud — ice cream truck music echoing down the street, kids screaming over who’s “it” in tag, and the cicadas loud in the trees.
You sit on the curb in front of your house, legs stretched out so far that your toes are practically cooking on the asphalt. Your thighs are sticking to the concrete, and the back of your shirt is damp with sweat. You’re a little bit miserable, but not really. Because Yoongi’s next to you.
He’s got his usual half-annoyed, half-bored face on, like he can’t believe he let you talk him into running around the neighbourhood all morning.
His knees are scraped — both of them. One of them is still bleeding a little, but he doesn’t seem to care. You care more than he does. You tried to wipe it earlier with your sleeve, and he just grunted like an old man and told you to stop fussing.
Now, he’s eating a blue raspberry popsicle like it betrayed him. Slow bites. Little scowl.
You glance over at him and then back at your own red one. You’ve already got sticky syrup running down your wrist because you keep forgetting to lick the sides.
Yoongi nudges you with his shoulder. “You’re making a mess.”
“So?” You lick your wrist dramatically. “I’m still eating it.”
“That’s gross.”
“You’re gross.”
He doesn’t argue. Just takes another angry chomp out of his popsicle and kicks a pebble with the tip of his shoe.
There’s a comfortable silence for a bit. Not quiet — nothing’s ever quiet in your neighbourhood — but the kind of silence that feels like its own little bubble. Like you and Yoongi have your own world, just the two of you, sitting on the curb with sticky fingers and banged-up legs.
You glance over at him again. He’s squinting into the sun, his dark hair sticking to his forehead, a little piece of popsicle juice on his chin.
You say it without thinking.
“I’m gonna marry you when I grow up.”
Yoongi freezes.
You blink. You weren’t really planning to say that out loud. It just slipped out of your mouth. But now it’s out there, just floating between you like a bubble that’s either going to pop or land.
He turns to look at you slowly, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.
You’re not. You shrug like it’s no big deal. “I mean, you’re my best friend. You’re funny. Sometimes. And you always give me your pickle slices when we eat burgers. That’s boyfriend stuff.”
He snorts. It’s a weird, sudden little laugh, like he can’t stop it in time. “You’re so weird.”
“You’re weird too.”
“Yeah, but you’re weirder,” he says, but he’s smiling now, and there’s a faint pink blooming on his ears that you don’t notice at the time. You just smile back like you’ve won something.
“So you’re saying yes?” you press.
“I didn’t say that,” he grumbles, and looks away quickly. “You’re gonna forget, anyway. You’ll probably marry some tall idiot who plays guitar or something.”
You kick at his foot. “Nope. It’s you.”
He sighs like he’s got the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders. Then he turns to you and says, “Fine. But only if you stop stealing the last popsicle.”
You hold up your half-melted red one. “Deal.”
And he bumps your shoulder again — lighter this time — and finishes the rest of his popsicle in one bite like a monster.
You don’t know it yet, but this is the moment that will live in the back of his head forever, long after the popsicles are gone.
You just know the sun’s still too hot, the ground is still too hard, and Yoongi’s still here. Right next to you. Where he always is.
You’re laughing again.
It’s loud — too loud for the classroom, and definitely too loud for whatever dumb joke just came out of Hoseok’s mouth. It's probably not even that funny, but you’re leaning over your desk, face buried in your folded arms, shaking with laughter like it’s the greatest thing you’ve ever heard.
You’re wearing that white top again — the one with the fraying sleeves that you play with when you’re thinking. Your hair’s a little messy from gym. There’s a tiny smudge of ink on your cheekbone.
And Yoongi is staring at you.
He doesn’t mean to. His eyes just find you like they always do. Like it’s a reflex.
You throw your head back and laugh harder, and something happens in his chest. Not a big, dramatic boom or anything. It’s smaller than that. Quieter. A weird little flutter, like his ribs just skipped.
He blinks. Looks down at his notebook. It’s blank.
Focus. Come on.
The teacher’s still talking about sentence structure, and Hoseok’s still trying to make you laugh again, and you’re still glowing in that obnoxious, infuriating way that makes it impossible to think.
Yoongi grips his pencil tighter.
You’re just his best friend.
You’ve always been his best friend.
Since the popsicle days and scraped knees and pinky promises made without thinking. Since birthday parties with too much sugar and movie marathons where you fell asleep on his shoulder and drooled on his hoodie.
You’re his person. That’s it.
Right?
He sneaks another glance at you.
You’re trying to stifle your giggles now, hand covering your mouth, shoulders trembling. And Hoseok looks at you like he’s proud of himself, like he wants to make you laugh again. Yoongi wants to tell him to shut up. Wants to drag you out of this classroom, down the hall, outside, anywhere.
Away from everyone else.
Just so he can have you to himself for a little while. Just so he doesn’t have to share.
He swallows.
What the hell.
This isn’t — this isn’t how it's supposed to feel. He’s supposed to roll his eyes when you get like this, not sit here with his heart doing gymnastics over your smile. He’s supposed to find you annoying when you poke him in the ribs during class or call him "Grumpy Yoongi." But instead, he finds himself hoping you’ll do it again.
He looks down at his notebook again. Still blank.
Great.
He tries to tell himself it’s just a phase. A random glitch in the system. You’re still just you. Still loud and stubborn and kind of a disaster. Still his best friend. That hasn’t changed.
He glances at you again — now you’re doodling little stars on the corner of your worksheet, tongue poking out in concentration — and something in him quietly, undeniably shifts.
He turns back to his paper, presses the pencil down too hard, and curses under his breath.
Because he knows.
Even if he doesn’t want to know yet.
Middle school parties are always weird.
Too many kids crammed into someone’s basement, bad pop music echoing off the walls, the lights dimmed just enough to feel scandalous. Someone's older sibling is “supervising” from upstairs but mostly just stealing snacks and pretending they don’t hear anything.
You’re sitting on the floor with a half-melted cupcake in your lap and Yoongi next to you, shoulder grazing yours every few minutes.
There are about ten of you in the circle. Everyone’s either trying to act too cool or trying too hard. You’re somewhere in between — buzzed on sugar and nerves, pretending you don’t feel weird sitting this close to your best friend.
Truth or Dare starts like it always does: harmless. Embarrassing questions. Dares to do a cartwheel or chug a Capri Sun in under ten seconds. You're mostly laughing, swatting at people’s arms when they try to rope you in.
Until Ari — a classmate of yours — grins at you like she’s plotting something.
“Your turn,” she says, eyes flicking to Yoongi. “Truth or dare?”
You toy with the edge of your sleeve. “Dare.”
Her grin widens.
“I dare you to kiss Yoongi.”
There’s a chorus of gasps and dramatic “ooooh”s. The kid next to him starts laughing. Someone else claps like this is the best thing they’ve seen all night.
Your face burns instantly.
You glance at Yoongi. He’s frozen. Stiff. His hands still on his knees, his mouth slightly open like he was mid-breath when the dare landed.
You laugh it off. “Wow. Okay. Real original.”
“Come on,” Ari says, nudging you. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, it’s just a dare,” someone adds. “It’s not like you guys haven’t known each other since diapers.”
That doesn’t help. If anything, it makes your stomach twist harder.
You look at Yoongi again. He meets your eyes this time, and something flickers.
His expression isn’t teasing. He’s not rolling his eyes or laughing with everyone else. He looks nervous. Careful.
He clears his throat. “Only if you’re okay with it.”
You try to sound casual. “It’s fine. Let’s just get it over with.”
But you can’t stop your heart from racing.
You both shift toward each other, awkwardly, slowly, like two magnets confused about which way they're supposed to go. He’s so close now you can see the way his lashes touch his cheeks, the tiny mole just above his lip, the uncertain way he tilts his head.
Someone counts down, loud and obnoxious. “Three! Two! One!”
You kiss him.
It’s not long. It’s not deep. It’s just a press of lips — barely there, barely breathing.
But it’s soft.
Way softer than you expect.
Yoongi doesn’t move. Doesn’t push forward. Doesn’t pull back. He’s just… there. Warm. Still. His lips are chapped but gentle, and his breath stutters against yours for a half-second before you both pull away like the floor’s about to collapse.
The room explodes. Cheering. Laughing. Someone yells, “They’re in love!”
You grab the cupcake from your lap and toss it at them.
Yoongi stares at the floor. He scratches the back of his neck and mutters something you don’t catch. His ears are red.
You force out a laugh. “You guys are ridiculous.”
But your voice cracks on the end.
He doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of the game. You pretend not to notice, but you do. You notice everything — how quiet he gets, how he taps his fingers against his knee, how he shifts away from you just a little when someone else sits down on his other side.
And you tell yourself it was nothing.
Just a stupid dare.
Just a game.
You’re lying on your stomach on Yoongi’s bed, chin propped on your hands, staring at your phone like it’s a live grenade. The text is typed out already. It’s stupidly short. Two sentences. Fourteen words. You’ve reread it twenty-seven times.
Yoongi’s next to you, sitting cross-legged with his back against the wall. He’s flipping through the songs on your playlist like it’s the most boring job on earth. His thumb pauses on a song you like and skips it.
You glare at him. “Hey. I like that one.”
“Yeah, and I’ve heard it a million times. Get a new personality.”
You kick at his leg. He dodges without looking.
The light in his room is warm, and the windows are cracked open just enough to let in that late-afternoon breeze. You’re both still in your school uniforms, slightly wrinkled from the day. His tie’s loose. Your shoes are off. It feels normal. Comfortable.
But it doesn’t feel easy anymore.
Your phone screen dims. You tap it back on and sigh, loud and dramatic.
“I think I’m gonna send it.”
Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Send what?”
You roll onto your side so you can face him, and your heart kicks like it’s trying to climb out of your chest. “The text. To— uh— Taehyung.”
Now he looks at you. Blankly. Like you just said something in a different language. “Taehyung?”
“Yeah. From science.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes shifts. Slight. Quick. Like a flicker of static.
“You like Taehyung?” he says flatly.
You nod, even though your stomach doesn’t. “I think so. He’s funny. And he smells nice.”
Yoongi snorts. “You’re so shallow.”
“I never said I wasn’t,” you shoot back, but it’s softer than it should be. You’re trying to keep it light. Playful. Like this doesn’t feel wrong already.
There’s a pause.
Then he shrugs and holds out his hand. “Let me see the text.”
You hand it over without meeting his eyes.
He reads it silently. It’s short, awkward, obviously written by someone pretending not to care too much.
hey, i was wondering if you maybe wanna hang out sometime? no pressure lol
He raises an eyebrow. “You used lol. That’s tragic.”
“I panicked!”
“You sound like a robot. A sad, nervous robot.”
You grab a pillow and smack him with it. “Then fix it, genius!”
He laughs — really laughs — and wrestles the pillow away from you like it’s a life-or-death situation. His fingers brush yours in the process.
You still.
It’s barely a touch. Just a moment. But your body reacts like it always does now; your stomach flips; your face burns. And then the guilt rushes in.
You asked him to help you text another guy.
He doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. He’s busy editing your message, adding a line about how you liked Taehyung’s project on sustainable energy (you did not). Then he adds a smiley face. The old-school kind, with a colon and a parenthesis.
“There. Now you sound like a dork, but at least a sincere one.”
You take the phone back and read it.
hey, i liked your science project btw. wanna hang out sometime? :)
Your thumb hovers over the send button.
You glance at Yoongi.
He’s staring at the ceiling now, one leg bouncing absentmindedly. He looks bored. Normal. Like this doesn’t matter.
You hit send.
It feels like swallowing a rock.
You don’t see him at first.
You’re on the couch, curled into Taehyung like you belong there — knees tucked between his, hand lazily draped over his arm, head thrown back in that kind of laugh you don’t fake. The kind that starts in your chest and takes over your whole body.
Taehyung’s saying something low in your ear, his voice too soft for anyone else to catch. You lean in, partially to hear him better, partially to get closer to him.
Yoongi walks into it like a punch.
He hadn’t planned anything dramatic. He’s holding a plastic bag with snacks — some random things he knows you like — intending to drop by like always. Just show up, sit too close, talk about nothing until the day disappears.
But you’re already laughing. And it’s not at something he said.
He stops halfway into the room.
You still haven’t noticed him.
Taehyung sees first. He looks up and gives a casual, almost smug nod. “Yo, what’s up?”
You turn your head fast, like you’re caught doing something wrong. But your smile doesn't fade. “Hey! You didn’t text me you were coming.”
“I did,” Yoongi says. “Like ten minutes ago.”
You blink. “Oh. Sorry.”
You shift slightly, pulling your legs back, not completely — but just enough that you can pat the spot beside you like nothing’s weird. “Come sit.”
He does. He sits. Of course he does.
He drops the bag on the table and slides into the open space next to you, but it feels exactly like what it is — too late.
The three of you make some awkward, half-hearted small talk. Taehyung says something dumb about your chemistry class and you laugh again — less wild this time, but still bright.
Yoongi forces a smile. It stretches across his face too tight. “Didn’t know this was a thing now.”
“What?” you ask, but your voice has that careful edge to it. You know what he means.
He shrugs, cool and neutral. “You and Taehyung.”
Taehyung answers for you. “It’s not, like, official-official. Yet.”
You laugh under your breath, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, not looking at Yoongi when you say, “We’re just seeing where it goes.”
Right.
Cool.
Yoongi leans back against the couch and nods like that makes perfect sense. Like it doesn’t feel like someone just hit the mute button on the world around him.
You look happy. And not in a fake, putting-on-a-show kind of way. You’re relaxed. Glowing, even. And Taehyung? He’s just there. Confident. Comfortable. Sitting way too close.
Yoongi swallows it all.
The way your fingers had been resting on Taehyung’s arm like it was nothing. The way you pulled your legs back but didn’t move farther away. The way his name sounds too easy coming out of your mouth.
He laughs dryly at something Taehyung says — he doesn’t even hear what it is.
And he stays. Of course he stays.
Because he’s your best friend.
That’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been.
And if it hurts, if it feels like the room is spinning just slightly off-axis — well.
You don’t need to know that part.
You don’t cry right away.
At first, you just laugh. Too loud. Too sharp. The kind of laugh that feels like it has nowhere else to go.
You sit on the edge of your bed, phone still in your hand, screen black now. The last text from Taehyung stares back at you in your head, branded there like it wants to stay.
“I just don’t think this is working anymore.”
No call. No warning. Just a half-hearted paragraph and a stupid, passive “sorry.”
You set your phone down on your nightstand. It slides a little and stops.
You stare at the wall across from you. It’s the one with the old polaroids and dumb notes and a drawing Yoongi made of you in sixth grade that looks like a potato with hair. You don’t blink. You barely breathe.
The first tear slides out before you even notice it. Just leaks out. Quiet. Like your body knew before your brain caught up.
And then you’re crying.
Not pretty, dramatic crying — the ugly, silent kind where your chest hurts more than your heart and you can’t quite breathe right. Your hands shake. You press your face into the pillow to muffle the sound, and it doesn’t help. You feel like you’re sinking through the bed.
It wasn’t even a long relationship. A few months. A few kisses. Some hand-holding and shared playlists and awkward texts. But Taehyung made you feel seen. Liked. Wanted.
Now you just feel disposable.
There’s a knock on your door, the sound a bit hesitant.
You don’t answer.
It creaks open anyway. You know the sound of his footsteps before he even speaks.
Yoongi.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands in the doorway, taking you in — all curled up and messy and miserable. Then he crosses the room, slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you.
“Your mom said you weren’t feeling good,” he says softly.
You turn your head, just enough to look at him. Your eyes are puffy. You’re not even trying to hide it.
His brows draw together instantly. “What happened?”
You open your mouth, and it takes two tries before anything comes out.
“Taehyung dumped me,” you mumble.
It sounds small. Childish. Not even worth the weight in your throat. But the look on Yoongi’s face shifts — his whole posture softens, and before you can stop him, he’s sitting beside you.
He doesn’t ask for permission, just reaches out and pulls you into his arms.
You fall into him without hesitation.
It’s warm there — his hoodie smells like detergent and the faintest trace of cinnamon gum. His chin rests on top of your head. His hands stay still on your back, not moving, not rushing you.
And you just let yourself cry.
Not because of Taehyung, not entirely. Not even because of the rejection. It’s all of it. The hurt, the disappointment, the slow-burning truth that you were hoping for something more than what he gave.
Yoongi holds you like he’s done this before in a dream. Like he knows exactly how to steady you without needing words. Like he feels what you feel.
But he’s quiet. Too quiet.
There’s something in the way his fingers curl into your top, in the way he presses his mouth into your hair and doesn’t move for a long time, like he’s clinging to something he’s not allowed to want.
You don’t say anything.
Neither does he.
Eventually, your breathing slows. You wipe your nose on your sleeve and shift in his arms, suddenly aware of how close he is. How good he smells. How warm he feels. And how badly you wish this was something else.
“Thanks,” you murmur, voice hoarse.
He just nods. “Yeah. Always.”
You don’t talk about it again. Not the breakup, not the way you cried into his chest.
And definitely not about how his shirt smelled like you for two days after.
You’re still his favourite person.
That hasn’t changed.
What has changed is everything else.
He still walks you home when it’s late. Still sends you memes at 2 AM. Still saves the red gummy bears for you and pretends it’s not a thing. But it’s not like it used to be — not the same easy closeness, not the same comfort.
You date people now.
Sometimes you talk about them like they’re no big deal. Other times, your eyes light up in a way that makes something twist deep in his stomach.
He listens. He nods. He laughs when he’s supposed to. But underneath all of it, something grows. Slow and impossible and heavy.
Love is a quiet thing, he’s learned. Sometimes it lives in the silences. Sometimes in the way you pass him a drink before he even asks. Sometimes in the fact that you always take the seat next to him, even when there’s room on the other side.
It’s been building in him for years.
Tonight, it almost spills.
You’re both on his bed, legs stretched out, backs against the wall. It’s late — later than you said you’d stay — but neither of you mention it. A movie plays on his laptop, mostly ignored. Some old favorite you’ve both seen a dozen times.
You’re in a hoodie that doesn’t belong to you — his, probably — and your hair’s a mess and your socks don’t match and you look like home.
He can’t remember what the movie’s about. He hasn’t looked at the screen in a while.
You say something, soft and tired, and laugh at your own joke. Your head drops lightly against his shoulder, and he freezes.
You don’t move.
And he doesn’t either.
You just stay like that — your cheek resting against him, your breath slowing, your body slowly going still. You’re warm. He can feel the shape of you through his top, the weight of your trust in the way you lean into him like it’s nothing.
It’s not nothing.
Not to him.
He looks down at you. Your lashes flutter slightly. Your lips are parted. You smell like your shampoo and something sweeter underneath. And he wants to say it.
He almost does.
The words rise in his throat like a wave, a whisper, a fragile truth he’s carried for too long
But he doesn’t say it.
Because you’re tired. Because the timing’s wrong. Because he’s afraid you’ll look at him with surprise , or worse — pity.
So he sits there, still and aching, while the credits roll and your breathing deepens.
You fall asleep on his shoulder.
And Yoongi memorises everything — how your head fits perfectly into the curve of his neck. How your fingers twitch in your sleep. How you murmur something he can’t quite catch and then go quiet again.
He thinks, If this is all I ever get… maybe it’s enough.
But he knows it’s not.
Not really.
You’re drunk.
Not sloppy or reckless, just that warm, loose kind of drunk where the room spins slightly and everything feels a little softer. Someone's phone is plugged into the speakers, playing something moody and bass-heavy. The lights are low. People you barely know are dancing in the kitchen.
You’re on the couch, legs curled up, red solo cup half-empty in your hand. And Yoongi is beside you, same as always.
Except nothing feels the same anymore.
He’s wearing black jeans and a simple, grey t-shirt, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. His knee brushes yours every time he shifts. You’ve stopped pretending not to notice.
He says something dry — some sarcastic comment about the guy doing shots off a frisbee — and you laugh too loud. You’re tipsy. You’re floating. But your heart’s not light. It’s buzzing. Loud and tense and full of every little thing you’ve been holding back.
You look at him.
Really look at him.
The way his mouth curves slightly when he talks. The way he never quite meets your eyes when you’re this close. The way he smells like laundry and something distinctly him — faint mint, skin-warm cotton, late-night comfort.
It hits you all at once.
You want to kiss him.
Not because someone dared you. Not because you're drunk and stupid. Not even because you can’t stop thinking about that first time years ago. But because you mean it. Because you’ve been meaning it for a long time.
You lean in before you can talk yourself out of it.
Soft. Slow. Hesitant.
Your hand brushes his cheek. His eyes widen — just barely — and then your mouth is on his.
And he doesn’t move.
Not at first.
For a second, he kisses you back. Long enough to make your whole body hum.
But then he pulls away.
Not roughly or dramatically. Just enough. Enough to break your heart a little.
“Hey,” he says, voice too gentle. “You’re drunk.”
You blink, confused. Hurt blooming fast behind your ribs.
“So?”
His jaw tenses. He looks away. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and wish you hadn’t.”
Your chest goes tight. “You think I didn’t mean it?”
He doesn’t answer, and that tells you everything.
You pull back slowly. You don’t say another word.
The rest of the night blurs. Someone turns the music up. You make some excuse about needing air. He drives you home without being asked, hands tense on the wheel the whole time. The silence is too loud between you.
You lean your head against the passenger window, pretending to be asleep before he can try to explain.
You don’t want to hear it.
Because you meant it.
And you thought, for a second, maybe he did too.
It’s been weird for weeks.
Not explosive. Just off.
A slow shift. A stretching silence.
You're still around. Still close enough to touch, to laugh at his jokes, to send dumb videos to in the middle of the night. But there’s something behind your smile now. Something guarded. Distant. And he knows it’s his fault.
You kissed him.
And he pulled away.
Not because he didn’t want it — fuck, he wanted it — but because you were drunk, and he was scared, and it felt too real too fast. So he froze. You backed off. And neither of you brought it up again.
But you’ve both been pulling back ever since.
He doesn’t know how to fix it.
You’re in his room now, sitting on the edge of his bed, tapping your foot, eyes on your phone but not really reading. Yoongi’s at his desk pretending to study. The silence has weight. It presses on the back of his neck.
You exhale through your nose. Not loud, but sharp. Tired.
“Do you even want me around anymore?”
The question hits him like a slap.
He turns slowly in his chair. “What?”
You glance at him. “You act like you don’t care anymore. Like I’m just— I don’t know— there.”
He sits back. His jaw tightens. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”
“Yeah?” you say. “Cool. Same.”
Something in your voice snaps.
He straightens up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You stand now, phone forgotten on the bed. Your arms are crossed. “It means I’m tired of pretending everything’s fine when it’s obviously not.”
He doesn’t answer.
“You don’t talk to me like you used to. You barely look at me.”
“I look at you all the time,” he mutters.
You laugh once, the sound sharp and bitter. “Right. When you’re not busy avoiding me.”
He hates this. He hates how defensive he feels, how all the words he wants to say get trapped behind the ones he thinks are safer.
You step closer. Not too close. Just enough for him to feel it. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to make it this awkward.”
His throat tightens. “You were drunk.”
“And you made it clear it was a mistake.”
He flinches.
“I get it now,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “It was a stupid moment. One I shouldn’t have started.”
His heart is pounding.
You look away like you’re ashamed, like you regret all of it. And maybe you do. Maybe he should’ve let you believe he didn’t feel anything, because that would be easier than this — than hearing you call it a mistake like it meant nothing.
He wants to stop you. Wants to grab your hand, say your name, rewind time.
But he just says, “Yeah. Maybe it was.”
Your mouth opens a little, but you don’t say anything. Just blink, like you’re trying not to show how much that hurt.
You grab your phone. “I should go.”
He doesn’t stop you.
You close the door behind you a little too gently, like slamming it would give away too much.
And Yoongi just sits there, staring at the space you left behind, hating every second of the silence that follows.
Because the kiss wasn’t a mistake.
But letting you believe it was? Might be the biggest one he’s ever made.
You haven’t talked since the fight.
No texts. No “are you home?” No memes.
No Yoongi.
It’s only been a few days, but it feels like weeks — like something’s gone missing in the background of your life. Like you keep reaching for something that isn’t there anymore.
You’ve reread the last texts between you two more times than you’ll admit. The tension. The things you said. The thing you didn’t say.
It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes.
Yoongi [12.36 AM]: Are your parents home?
You stare at the screen, heart suddenly in your throat. You don’t know what propels you to reply, but you do.
You [12.37 AM]: no
Less than ten minutes later, you hear the sound of pounding rain outside.
And then urgent knocking.
You open the front door.
Yoongi is standing there, soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to his forehead, hoodie clinging to him, chest rising and falling like he ran here.
You step aside without saying a word, and he walks in like he’s scared you’ll change your mind if he hesitates.
Water drips onto the floor. He’s breathing heavy. His eyes are locked on yours.
And then he starts talking.
“I didn’t mean what I said. That it was a mistake. I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared. I didn’t want to screw up what we have and I—fuck, I already did, didn’t I?”
You don’t move. You just stare. Let him unravel.
“The kiss wasn’t a mistake,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “Nothing with you has ever been a mistake.”
You open your mouth to say something, but he doesn’t let you.
“I’ve been trying to stay away because I thought maybe you were better off not knowing. But I can’t do it anymore. Not talking to you is— it's fucking unbearable.”
His eyes meet yours, and he closes the space between you in two steps, pressing his lips to yours.
It’s soaked and breathless and honest — his hands cradling your face like he’s been waiting years for this exact moment and couldn’t risk wasting another second.
You melt into it. Everything inside you aches with how much you missed him.
He pulls back, eyes searching yours, his thumb still brushing your cheek.
“I love you.”
You blink once, before grinning so wide it almost hurts.
“Took you long enough, asshole.”
He laughs, and you kiss him again.
Not because of a dare. Not because you're drunk. Not because you're trying to get over him.
But because you finally don’t have to pretend anymore.
taglist | click here to join: @thegreatdepressionme @golden-loona @kissyfacekoo @cookysstuff @whoa-jo
Yoongi hated seeing you cry. He hated to see the wetness of your cheeks and the slight puffiness of your eyes, given any situation he’d make it his right to avoid it - like when he accidentally spoke to you in a different tone, or when he was being short with you one time. But he couldn’t help the feeling he got when he heard you cry out for him as you became eager and eager for more of his touch.
Especially when he had a full view of you lose it as you grind on top of him. Rubbing your clothed throbbing pussy against his cock. You were desperate for more, the wet patch on the fabric of your panties full proof. He could tell you were on the verge of tears as you eagerly rocked against him, trying to ease the tension between your legs. Eyes shut tightly as your pussy ached for something more.
You were so needy - so good for him.
It made him go feral every-time he noticed the first tear escape your eye, and then when the rest followed along with your whiny whimpers and soft cries did he tell himself this was probably one of his favourite sights.
His hands would run up your stomach, caressing your breasts - thumb circling over your hardened nipples as you trembled with pleasure. His cock was a twitching - leaky mess too - seeing you in that state was just enough to get his cock rock hard and ready to fuck you, and when he feels your clothed pussy against him does he go even more insane.
He’d give in to your plees, fucking you just the way you like. Eyes lighting up in awe as he watches you in all your glory as he pounds you from below, your hands caressing the bare skin of his torso, working up towards his neck, playing with the silver chain hanging loosely around it.
His lips would kiss your tear stained cheeks whispering praises in your ear, a small smirk hidden on his face. He hated it but he truly couldn’t resist it.
His fingers—ones he knew were your weakness— would trail feather-light across your skin, sending chills up your spine. He’d caress your neck, tilting your head just enough so he could see your pretty face better, admiring you as you took him so well. Because he wanted to see it all, every whimper, every cry, every tear that escaped your eyes.
The way he made you act. Like a baby.
His crybaby.
The nickname he never let you forget.
He’d coo some meaningless sentence like, “hey hey, shh… I got you” caressing your wet cheek knowing damn well he thrives off of seeing you in such a state like this. His cock hits every spot inside you, making you cry out more as overstimulation consumes you with each movement against your skin.
“Yoongi… i-i”, you stutter unable to form a proper sentence. And who can blame you when his cock is pounding deep inside your wet cunt, your body collapsed on top of him as you’re unable to support yourself due to his harsh movements. He supports you by wrapping his arm around your waist, holding you close to him as he takes control.
His eyes never stray away from your face - mesmerised.
“Don’t cry, baby” he bites his lip as his thrusts continue, knocking you forward with each movement. If your eyes weren’t so blurred by your tears and the grip he has around your neck, you would be able to see the mischievous glint in his eye.
He catches your cries with a sloppy kiss. Giving you a sympathetic look as he says, “ah you’re close aren’t you baby?” As he can feel your pussy clench repeatedly. Your eyes shut tightly as you try your best to keep your composure. Even though you’re a mess already.
“Look at me”
He brings his hands towards yours, holding them as he eases you through your orgasm. He kisses your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours as he looks up at you.
When he feels you come undone around him, wetness coating his thighs - he caresses your body, shushing you as you shake and cry. His lips kissing your shoulder as you slowly unwind.
And when he’s finished with you - you near enough falling asleep, he will kiss along your skin. Praising you every way he can with words like, “You took me so well” and “I’m proud of you”. Words he knows has you weak. Running his slender fingers along your back caressing your skin, soothing you to sleep. Slowly working along towards your shoulders as he massages them until he hears the soft sound of your snores.
Yoongi is happy you convinced him to spend the day on the beach. He’s rewarded with your pretty sight, tiny red bikini. His book quickly forgotten, rather watch you pop red cherries that stain your lips. “Do you want one?” You dangle the cherry close to his lips as a small smile spreads across his face. Instead of taking it from your hand his mouth opened, using his tongue to grab the bright red cherry.
The air blows harshly against your damp skin, his eyes drop down to your taut nipples. You grow nervous under his glaze, can’t help but hide your breast with your hand. He smiled as his eyes filled with desire, “take it off” a warm blush quickly decorated your cheeks “w-what” his fingers tease the string that holds your bikini “take it off -need to see your pretty tits”.
Your eyes travel down his unbuttoned shirt to the present bulge in his shorts. With ease he lifted you up on his lap, letting you wet his dry clothes “see what you do to me” he hissed as your palm groped his thick bulge. “We can’t do this here” you try to move away but he tightens his hold, forcing you to stay in place. “No one is here” he grabbed a fist full of your hair to pull your head back. “Just you and me baby” his desire blinds him, only thinking about licking the salty water from your neck.
He smirked against your neck as you grind your sex on his bulge, you grabbed onto his shoulder as he left wet kisses down your neck. “We shouldn’t do this” you say that but you quickly push your hand in his pants grabbing his leaking cock. The irony. “Spit on it” Yoongi leans back as he stares at your lust filled eyes, the wind blows against his chest revealing his toned chest.
Your hands tremble as you pull his shorts down, watching his cock stand against his chest. Yoongi watched your worries crumble away as you spit on his cock. “So good for me” his stomach tightens as you pump his cock, thumb teasing his leaking tip. You focus on his reaction, eye scrunch in pleasure, his mouth falls open as you tighten your hand making him moan your name. “s~shit” his hand reached for the string holding your breast, needing to see your pretty tits in his face.
Your top falls, as his thumb swipes against your erotic nipple feeling the metal ring against his thumb. His precum leaks as his breaths get heavy, he’s so close. He quickly flips you over placing his hand behind your head “let me have you” a nervous thrill fills your eyes, your chest rises as he rubbed your clit through your panties. “I’m all yours” he pushed your panties to the side as his finger spread your wet lips, yoongi licks his lips as the sun kisses your glistening core. Your heart races with adrenaline, you start to regret what you’re doing. “I-I can’t” you try to close your legs but yoongi slaps your wet pussy. Send a wave of pleasure and pain.
“Please baby, I’ll be quick” before you can answer he pushed his tip in you, he sighs as your velvet walls clamp around him. “y~yoongi” you tried to push him away but he was quick to pin your hands above your head. Yoongi licks your red lips before kissing you sweetly, he moans against the kiss -sucking the cherry taste from your tongue.
Your legs lock around his waist while he delivers slow but deep strokes. Eyes roll to the back of your head as he his tip nudged against your g spot, stars cloud your vision. Yoongi pulls always -basking in the feeling of your pussy squeeze his leaking cock for all its worth “Fuck, you take me so well” his lips wrap around your sensitive bud, flicking his tongue on your pierced nipple.
His hands loosen as he sits up, you look down at where you two meet. Eyes bore on the white rings on his cock present with each thrust “see how good you make me feel” Your nails scratch his chest as you moan his name loudly, Yoongi fingers caressed your stained lips before shoving his fingers in your mouth “I can’t get enough of you”.
Private school Yoongi who doesn’t tease you, not like the other boys tease the girls in your grade. He’s too mature for that
He does enjoy seeing you squirm, though, even though he pretends like he doesn’t. You see the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye when he tugs his jacket off to play basketball, or when he nudges the inside of his cheek with his tongue in thought, at the way it affects you. He’s observant like that, unfortunately
The only teasing he indulges in is with your hair. If he sits behind you, he’s tugging on a lock of it gently, winding it around his finger idly. When you turn around to look at him, he just gives you a little half-smirk and releases it
Private school Yoongi who you thought hadn’t even noticed you and had no idea who you were for years. turns out he knew you by name for a… very, very long time
Private school Yoongi who picks your pencil up for you before you even realize it’s hit the floor. You’ve barely glanced over and he’s already grabbed it, depositing it on your desk with a relatively blank expression. Your eyes follow the way his lithe fingers look reaching onto your desk, and the side of his mouth quirks up a little bit
Private school Yoongi who always defends the way you dress at school—when the teacher is telling you it’s a “violation” to tie your white button-up shirt up, Yoongi’s scoffing in support of you while you pout slightly, rolling his eyes at the teacher.
If someone comments about the questionable (short) length of your skirt, he’s shrugging and going “I think it’s fine” in that unbothered tone
(No matter his unbothered tone, he’s still staring at your thighs in that skirt out of the corner of his eye, marveling to himself about how you’ve managed not to flash your ass to anyone so far) (and kind of wishing you would)
Private school Yoongi who’s wrapped around your finger and will give you the answers to any assignment or study guide you ask for, any of his notes, any of his work at all. All you have to do is ask, and he’s sliding it onto your desk
Private school Yoongi who wants you to sit next to him, but doesn’t ask you to sit next to him. If he sees you walking past in the cafeteria, he just glances at the seat across from him in silent invitation. If he sees you roaming the library, he just quickly moves his books out of the way to make room for you
Private school Yoongi who watches in satisfaction when you watch him—more specifically, his tongue. He drags it across his lip idly when he’s bored or thinking. It darts out to wet his lips in class, and your eyes follow every time, you can’t stop yourself. He knows what he’s doing
Private school Yoongi who helps you put your hair up for gym when you’re struggling. He scoops your hair up easily, tugging it into a ponytail and tucking away the stray strands. His fingers are gentle and firm against your scalp
Private school Yoongi who’s totally whipped and will basically follow along with anything you do. When he overhears you lying to the gym teacher about hurting your foot so you don’t have to run, he’s nodding earnestly and affirming: “yeah, I saw it,” and giving you that sleepy smirk when it works
He always just shrugs when you thank him. for anything
