you don't have to do this but I have a request for yoongi x ot6 about 'what min yoongi wants, min yoongi gets' , you really don't have to do this so you can just ignore my ask or whatever >,<
I know I don’t have to but being able to make you happy even if it’s only a lil bit is all that matters. D-do be more specific next time with your requests lovelies, I spend a lot of time wondering just what the hell im going to write and…yeah…👉🏾👈🏾 AnywAY Here you go! ˚‧*♡ॢ˃̶̤̀◡˂̶̤́♡ॢ*‧˚
Time’s kind of a concept when Yoongi dozes off, curled over Jin’s chest like a content kitten. When cracking jokes and complimenting his boy isn’t one of the options, Jin loses himself in just—just enjoying. Buzzing with tenderness. He doesn’t know when, but at one point, an hour or two after stumbling upon the darling man, he does remember the matter that had him puzzled for hours now. “Say, Yoongicchi,” it comes out softer than he intended to, sort of like a hush; rumbling whisper. Yoongi doesn’t waste time into giving him his attention, eyes slightly widened up. Curious. “What did you do?”
The man looks genuinely confused. Head tilted and eyebrows briefly furrowing as he licks at the tips of his fingertips. Remains of the sugar his strawberries left behind. Jin follows the movements and tries not to be too distracted. It’s a fail. Watching Yoongi is like going off the deep end and being fine drowning here and there. There’s a light, feathery tap of a finger on his chest, thoughtful. “What do you mean?”
“Getting our managers to give us all this—all this free time.”
It’s not that Jin doesn’t like performing, doesn’t like their heavy agenda. But, ah, see, even he gets tired sometimes. This sudden announcement had been surprising, but desperately welcome. Jin wasn’t a fool, only one person could have brung forth this change.
Said person shrugs, a little pout on his lips. “Don’t you do that all the time? Saying no to the managers and literally everyone?”
“I do it to flex on the company and remind them I own all their ass. But you asked that for, for all of us. It’s huge.”
Yoongi huffs. Would have tapped his feet on the floor hadn’t they been curled under him in something that shouldn’t be as comfortable as he made it to be. “Why wouldn’t I get my way? I’m always good, they better say yes to everything I ask them.”
It’s not haughty. Simple. The sky is up there, violets are blue kind of facts. Airy, pretty, definitely not arrogant.
Jin can’t help himself though—“Brat,”
“No,” Yoongi hisses immediately. He presses his lips together, an upset glint in the glaze of his eyes. Guilts stabs at Jin’s heart as quick as thunder does. “I’m good, hyung. I just like things done the way I feel is the best, it’s not—I’m not—“
He doesn’t finish his sentence, lets it crumble to the wind as he waves his hand, lost. Starts to retreat, away from Jin’s body, and that—that just won’t do.
Ignoring the half resistance Yoongi presented isn’t that difficult. The man melts into his arms like butter to ambient air. Presses his face into his chin and stubbornly refuses to move, little body relaxing at the pet gifted to his head. “That’s right, that’s right,” Jin whispers, soothing. “I’m sorry. You’re a good boy. So good, you always get what you want, and I’m so proud.”
Further melting. Warm hands grabbing at his shirt. “Mhm…”
“…Wanna go fishing?”
Soundless gasp. Yoongi nods vigorously, the bowl of strawberry forgotten as he fully climbs into Jin’s lap to hug him tight. So tight. Cherry summer taste and gummy bear embrace. “I was, I was thinking about it just before you arrived,” the man admits, soft breeze.
Jin ruffles his head, fondness dripping from his heart like honey. Only warmer. So far gone. “All you need to do is ask.”
And you’ll get.
Yoongi, he…he struts into appearance. Or slinks. Saunters. Just…he’s silent, purposeful, efficient and terribly adorable. Doesn’t make any noises, you’d be alone at one point; and a second later, the air would change and Yoongi would be here. Ambling quietly toward whichever blessed direction he chose. No movements wasted. Hoseok’s thumbing aimlessly at his phone when the pillows on the couch rustle by his side. Then his side’s warm, warm with the light weight of Yoongi’s head on his shoulders. The rest of his body curled on the couch, previously held between the loop he created with his arms. Hands joined together around his bent knees, he’s appeared, just like that, and Hoseok already knows his heart will ache the instant Yoongi ambles away again.
“Seokseok-ah….”
His voice’s soft. Candy soft, cloud soft. The kind of soft that mingles with you when you wake up in the morning and you feel good. Unexpectedly so. It’s cute, kind of whiny somewhere—the notes of it a kind reminder that he’s going to ask something. It’s soft, kind of whiny, Hoseok observes again; and in this instant, he could give Yoongi the world. It’s violent, surprising, and Hoseok he…he panics.
“D-don’t look at me,” he blurts out, silver quick, knocking your knee on the table quick. Surprising and painful. He’s an idiot.
Managing—ah, no…getting through the soft riddle that is Yoongi isn’t difficult for Hoseok. Easier than with any other member. Exchanging and existing together in that strange bubble of theirs is like, like going back to sleep, without a second thought, pleasantly aware that you’re safe. Hoseok’s weak. Has always been weak to Yoongi. Tries, to a fault, to not fall further; not get weaker, lest he won’t be able to refuse anything to Yoongi.
But he’s a fool. Such a fool. The little being curled under his arm, that makes hearts beat and Hoseok’s flirt with thunder, has already got him. Soul and mind and heart. Hoseok’s an idiot.
Yoongi stares. Evading his gaze is an impossible task. Hoseok rips his eyes away from his phone, reluctant, heart of leed sinking further at the sight of Yoongi’s scowl. “What’re you on? I just wanted to ask you something?”
Whiny. Oh Lord, look at this, Hoseok’s dying. And Yoongi’s whiny, touches of confusion dancing with his complaint; tugging at Hoseok’s shirt immediately, and he gets closer, and he smells so goddamn good. Hoseok’s palms are damp as fuck, he wipes them hurriedly and tries to not think of the delicate hold Yoongi has on him. So soft. Those, those gorgeous fingers of his…
He could give him the world on a silver platter. Anything. It’s a troubling thought; one that has him clearing his throat and trying hard to not get on his knees and propose right here and there. It’s a troubling thought. One that makes him say the dumbest things. “That’s why I don’t want you looking at me!”
It,
sounds wrong.
He wants—wants to take back his words the moment he blurts them out. But his heart’s beating, beating cold. Because Yoongi lets his shirt go. That little warmth of his, evaporating.
“Oh.”
Delicate whisper. Yoongi quiets down, and that, that’s just wrong. It’s not a soft silence, it’s a heavy one. Yoongi’s thinking, thinking too hard, and probably wrong—
“No—fuck, no, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to offend you baby, that’s not—“
Splutters and mixed words make for a messy panic and nothing resolved. Yoongi blinks at him, sluggish, like those too hot days leaving him exhausted and unable to talk. Unable to look at Hoseok too.
“Hmph,” disinterested hum. Fragile gaze turns carefully blank, pretty lips not quite pouting; mood shifting blue, Hoseok knows those, Yoongi’s getting upset.
Won’t look at him, even as warm hands cradle his doll-face to make him see Hoseok. See that he wasn’t trying to offend him…but Hoseok has been clumsy, lately. He presses on, dejected, still panicked. “Just…what…what was it?”
There are no spring days giggles when Hoseok strokes those soft cheeks, touch tender, careful. A vague shiver, he sees, and Yoongi’s expression closing further. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it.”
Closing in a delicate sigh and pouty, petal lips. Stubborn, now, the upset wave shying away. It may or may not have something to do with the kicked puppy gaze Hoseok has thrown his all in. He won’t say anything, still. That’s fine, Hoseok can be stubborn too.
“No, no, please tell me! I’d do anything, promise.”
Okay now—he’s just being bitter. Hoseok kind of want to cry in frustration. He doesn’t. Instead, his fingers move on their own to get lost in the pretty red chocolate waves of Yoongi’s hair. And this forehead just begging to be kissed, Hoseok showers it in as many as he can and wholly accepts the flutter of his heart as Yoongi sighs in contentment.
“You’re still on that? I told you, baby,” he mutters, knows it sounds like he’s whining too, “it was just a joke.”
His little one shrugs. Deft fingers play with Hoseok’s shirt again. Bless.
“Whatever. I wanted to—I’d like to go biking across some cities,” he starts, soft, and it gets softer, almost timid. “If you want to. You’re not obligated, I just…felt like it would be nice to go with you.”
One would have to be a monster to refuse that. Hoseok melts, cradling Yoongi’s face in his hands, heart unbearably soft. “Okay, baby, we’ll do that. Whenever you want, does that sounds good?”
Yoongi’s nod is timid. If only he knew literally no one could refuse him anything…
“Seok….I don’t, I don’t want you to feel pressured into going with me—“
Hoseok gasps. “Nonsense,” he tuts, a bewildered noise coming frown somewhere in the back of his throat and making Yoongi giggle, all darling. “If you want something from me, darling, you’ll get it.”
Always.
Namjoon wonders.
Head in the clouds, clouds of his thoughts, mindless rays he’ll forget or stumble upon for no reasons one day. He wonders. Doesn’t do so for long, never manages to, when Yoongi’s here. Light yet potent. A solid form still like a statue but softer than kittens and everything nice. He feels good, so good on Namjoon’s lap, silent spell dizzying and dreams worthy, Namjoon barely manages to catch what he said.
Iced and inky strawberry locks dance when Yoongi tilts his head on the side. His eyes are half-lidded, yet glowing with a certain energy he definitely shouldn’t possess at three in the morning. “Joon?”
“m’sorry,” Namjoon whispers, squeezes the oh so soft skin of Yoongi’s hips. His baby’s at his calmest when Namjoon touches him always. “I didn’t catch that.”
“T’s’okay,” Yoongi says. He nods, at the same time, another reassurance, he always does that. Nodding to accompany his affirmation. To say again, softly, that it really is okay. He’s darling, darling, darling. “It’s just, ah…remember that field of flowers we visited with this guy? Tall, kind of old, but so, so kind?”
His legs kick a little bit as he says that, those sleepy and precious orbs he possesses for eyes brightening further. Namjoon remembers. He does. Just takes a bit more time than he was supposed to before humming an affirmation on the milky skin of Yoongi’s shoulder. Too busy, you see, being enchanted by Yoongi’s every little gesture. “I do, baby, did something happen?”
Yoongi positively beams. Turns around, not quite smooth and a lot messy, legs spreading on every side of Namjoon’s lap with absolutely no grace. Namjoon is so, so very in love. There’s a little grin on Yoongi’s lips. This contained excitement, not full blown, adorable teeth presented kind of grin. His lips are sealed, yet bursting with excitement. “He brought it for me.”
Namjoon takes a little while proceeding the information. Stares. Blinks. Repeats the information in his head. His hands kind of just sitting there, under Yoongi’s shirt, still too. Just—“He what?”
“He brought it for me,” Yoongi repeats, beaming strong. Elegant fingers dance an adorable little cha-cha on Namjoon’s shoulders when Yoongi caresses them. Touch light, playful, amused. There’s a certain wonder in his voice. “I could t believe it. Still can’t. But the field has my name now and he told me I could do whatever I wanted with it. Wild, huh? Those kinds of things happen a lot lately…”
“What, the universe bending to your will?” Namjoon says, splutters more like, grip going slack on Yoongi’s hips. The shorter, humming little angel pinches at his shoulder. Namjoon resumes his holding, tighter, probably going to leave bruises kind of hold. The twitch of Yoongi’s lips is a sweet indication that he was satisfied. “Yoon,” Namjoon whines, dazed and still trying to wrap his mind around what he heard. “How—that’s literally the fourth time some totally random person realizes you wish. Are you some kind of witches?”
“Witches are nice,” Yoongi says. Blinks. Tilts his head on the side, lips pursed and pretty and pink. Still in a state of shock, as Namjoon is, he’s struck by the violent desire to kiss him always and leave him breathless. He’s snapped out of his ensnared trance, though, by the dreamy waves of Yoongi’s gaze. “I’d love to be a witch…”
Oh. Oh hell— “Yoongi, no.
Yoongi honest to God purrs. “Yoongi, yes.”
There’s a thing, with Jimin’s most cherished one. There’s a thing, there are many things, but ultimately it’s—its a mannerism? A way to live by? A road to travel so many people forget? Jimin doesn’t know. He just calls it a thing. Yoongi’s thing. So pure, in its simplicity. A thing colored glass life that toddlers manage and wise old men struggle with. A thing that sings like breathing yet is so arduous to grip between desperate fingers. It slips like water from an ear to another and out of them. It’s so basically Yoongi, he sometimes forgets, the older man fought his fair share of battles before claiming this air as his own. This magic. This simplicity. White clear glass so see-through you’d run through it. Yoongi has this thing. This magic.
He—he draws stick figures. He really, really sucks at drawing. The most simple design would take him hours to complete. It would dishearten many, but Yoongi, he patiently struts on his way until his stick figures are the prettiest stick figures out there. He sings like an angel, but most of the time, he’s at his happiest when it’s off kay. Grinning and beaming like a sun crowned with stars. He flirts with Namjoon when it comes to his talent with written words, with lyrics, poems. But his giggles are oh so pretty, as he reads out loud the silly mess of words and ridiculous hashtags that have no business in his arts. Yoongi’s talented, but he pushes it aside, calls it overrated and likes working hard better. Likes effort, doing his best, busting his ass off and turn talent into doing.
Yoongi doesn’t speak empty words, doesn’t go through empty actions. Yoongi has this thing, makes it seem as easy as air. It’s Yoongi, doing and enjoying. Pushing through victories after victories, and at one point—Jimin’s certain that point’s called always—everything just went his way. Predictions, wishes, musings. They just went.
They all went. Head over heels and enchanted as they were, if Yoongi wanted something, it’d be a disaster to not get it for him.
Jimin’s not ashamed to admit he’s particularly whipped. Pleasing Yoongi is the way to go. There’s, ah, like a certain force pushing him. It just has to be.
“Hyung?”
A breath soft like clouds and dreamy stardust blinks sharp eyes at the counter. They’re sharp in their fineness, their delicacy, the sheer art of them. But they’re kind, always, diamond beauty and marshmallow endearment. Yoongi blinks again, and soon the flutter of his eyelashes is turned toward the approaching figure that is Jimin’s. Lends pretty on his rosy cheeks the moment Jimin presses his fingers on his skin. To cup his face, make him look up. His skin’s warm. “It’s so strange, Minnie,” the man breathes, kitten tongue licking briefly at candy lips. Absentmindedly. While Jimin kind of just dies over there. “I’ve had the strangest cravings, worse then a pregnant woman. What’s wrong with me?”
“I’ll just get everything for you,” Jimin says, breathes low before Yoongi has the time to finish his thoughts. He strokes at the skin rapidly coloring, wonders at the softness, wants to kiss it. Lick it, bite it pretty.
Yoongi lets out the softest sigh. Shakes his head quickly, soft, tiny movement restricted by the loving hold Jimin has on him. It’s kind of uncomfortable, from over the counter. But what’s pain when there are three seconds saved to touch Yoongi? Jimin’s a gone, gone man. “It’ll take too much time to get what I want. I’ll just—“
“No,” Jimin lets his fingers wonders to the pout sitting pretty on Yoongi’s equally pretty face. Heart heavy, heavy with feelings. “There’s no such things as too much for you.”
Yoongi looks star struck. Yoongi and his thing, doing and predicting. He’s just kind of magic. For if he wants—what the hell are they supposed to do? Say no? Impossible.
The baby will have whatever he desires.
“I could have done that.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t.”
It’s been years. Taehyung still thinks about it. Always like an epiphany. A wake-up call, a reminder of who he is. Yoongi probably doesn’t remember. But Taehyung does. Taehyung still thinks about it. Like a solution knocking at his door when he’s desperate and on the edge of tears. Sliding, graceful, old mother and friend with flowing water for an embrace and an autumn’s breeze for a voice. Dawns upon him, takes its time, but is there, always. Ready to remain him he’s Taehyung. Taehyung and no one else. Taehyung who isn’t made of “I could have done that”, but is described, with startled expressions and surprised murmurings, “he did that.”
Yoongi’s a lot of things. “Could have—“ isn’t one of them. Yoongi just is. And he does his existing pretty, by your side if you’ll have him, quiet as a mouse; but the world inside his head so, so loud. Yoongi’s a mix of many threads, many actions, some he regrets; other he’s immensely proud of. But he’s here because he chose it. Because an “I could have—“ tasted bitter in the tip of his tongue. He liked the “I did it,” better, even when he crashed and burned. At least he had wished, at least he had hope, at least he went through it. Believer and courageous.
He believes in life.
(And for Taehyung…for Taehyung it’s Yoongi—)
There’s a jewel. Kind of small. Pretty tiny, actually. Dark. Soft glow. It sits lonely on the far corner of the display. Few people to none look at it, eyes glossing over it in favor of the brighter ones. Big, imposing, eye-catching. But…there’s this jewel. A wormwood liquor, bright-green color, and Yoongi’s staring at it with no little amount of fascination.
Yoongi loves Absinthe-colored delicacies. His eyes grow just a little bit bigger, the rest of his delicate expression staying carefully blank, it’s endearing, and Taehyung melts. His little one’s tiny enough for Taehyung to be able to peppers a shower of kisses on the side of his head, as he presses closer; as he wraps his arms around Yoongi’s tiny waist and relishes in his warmth. Bathes in the tender pleasure of being able to hold him this way, where everyone can see them but none will give them a second glance. Yoongi leans back in his hold. Blinks dark jewels up at him, strangely focused. Wondering. “D’you want that?” Taehyung says, asks quietly, arms tightening around him. He’s going to buy it anyway. Because Yoongi looks like he wants it, and Taehyung’s dying to make him happy. Dying to do it, and not simmer in a could have.
Yoongi shakes his head quietly. And then, then there’s a pretty smile lightening his face, suddenly. Little, shining thing in the dark lightings if the store. Just like the absinthe. He goes up, up on the tip of his toes, cranes his head backward and asks silently for a kiss.
Taehyung gives it to him. Immediately. Without missing a beat. Swoops down and takes pink petals between his lips, nurses his love-sick heart with the tenderness in which Yoongi moves his lips against his. Sighs, quiet, willing to do anything for this darling being. Yoongi’s smile widen. And his eyes, they’re shining.
“I’ve got everything I desire right here.”
Oh.
Oh.
Taehyung’s chest hurts so, so good.
Yoongi’s nibbling on chocolate when Jungkook finally finds him. Where stress and frustration had created a mini-storm in his chest, the sight of Yoongi makes it all disappear. Melts him like snow exposed to the sun. Jungkook’s body unwinds immediately, and he lets out a little noise, at ease, enchanted. His little hyung doesn’t quite see him yet. Curled in on himself, little ball of dozing man and butterflies lashes fluttering on the dusty pink of his cheekbones. He doesn’t notice Jungkook padding closer inside the room, steps light and flying him straight to where the man rests on his bed. No, no. Still stares at something only him seems to see, little baby teeth barely nipping at his sweetness of choice for the day. Yoongi doesn’t eat a whole lot but he’s the king of snacking. Could go days without proper food; yet also eat something every hour because he’s like that.
Jungkook finds him oh so endearing. But then again, doesn’t he feel like that about every little thing Yoongi does…?
“Hyung,” he says, though it sounds more like whining. Startles Yoongi as he puts one knee on the bed, then the other, before spreading Yoongi’s legs and nestle himself between them. Yoongi discards his barely eaten treat in favor of cradling his head on his stomach; doesn’t ask any questions. Only huffs out an endeared little sound, long, delicate fingers traveling in Jungkook’s dark locks. He’s warm, just like his everything, pleasantly so. Accepting, pliant and tiny under Jungkook’s weight. It makes him want to crush him. But like—in a good way. Just to have his little hyung squirming and reddening under Jungkook’s hold.
Well. He squirms. Nearly forgets why he came in here, until Yoongi traces the hidden lines of his cheekbones tenderly. “Kook?”
There’s a hint of a laugh in his inquisition. Junkook feast on the warmth it gives him, before coming to his senses. Before he smiles, stretch of lips hidden in the cotton of Yoongi’s shirt. “N’thing. Just wanted to see my angel ‘n get my faith in humanity back.”
“...Huh?” The hand treading in his hair stops, and Jungkook groans low in his throat, a barely heard whine; but Yoongi resumes his tender caresses, though he nudges a soft finger over Jungkook’s cheek. “What are you talking about again?”
Jungkook shakes his head. Drowsy. Breathy, nearly gone laughter bubbling in his throat and swallowed by the sigh of pure happiness that is being surronded by Yoongi. Thinks about this little man part-time genie full’time angel, that speaks with such yearning and childish inniocence the universe trips on its feet to grant his wishes. “N’thing...just...wish me luck. Have faith in me, and everything will be okay.”
Yoongi’s touch is so soft. His smell so ensnaring, Jungkook doesn’t resistthe call of sleep. Before everything turns blissfuly black, heavenly like Yoongi’s embrace, he hears this low melody tat is Yoongi’s voice and lovely words.
“That’s my everyday wish, silly.”