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moonlightbliss · 14 days

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I promise to god if that man looked at me like this?

FOLDED IMMEDIATELY!

Let me take you through my mid for a moment:

Yoongi doesn’t argue.

He simply doesn’t have the energy to waste on something little and petty like that.

Unless it’s something relationship changing, he’s not going to dwell on it. He prefers to squash the little stuff in favor of peace and solitude.

But that doesn’t mean you can talk crazy to him.

“You know what, fuck the dinner! I don’t care anymore, you can starve for all I care!” Yoongi has been coming home late for three days now, often taking his work home with him. You came into his home studio to ask him what he wanted you to make for dinner, but you were only met with short answers. “Like I said babe, make whatever you want. I’m gonna eat it regardless, just lemme finish this.”

Yoongi was knee deep in producing something or another for some artist in the industry. His work was superb, but he often threw himself into it, often neglecting eating or sleeping for hours at a time. You just wanted to sit down and have a nice meal with your boyfriend, is that too much to ask? “I’m asking you because I want to make something you’d eat now, not after I go to bed.” You spat, eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m still gonna eat regardless, what does it matter the time?” Yoongi replies, his voice cool. You can’t see his expression, for his back is turned to you, but you just know that furrow that appears when he’s focused on two things at once is present between his brows.

You storm over beside his desk, forfeiting your position in the doorway a few seconds prior. “I know you eat Yoongi, but it’s timing that matters! You can’t keep neglecting your needs for some stupid beat that will still be here tomorrow!” You holler, your frustration getting the better of you. His eyebrows raised at the mention of his name. You kept going, “Y’know, why is it you keep bringing this shit home anyway? Are you too busy at work doing something else than get this done? Or someone? Am I not enough for you anymore Yoongi? Is that it?” You seethe.

Yoongi’s head whipped up and over to you so fast you hardly saw it happen. His chair was turned around now, parallel to you standing beside his desk.“What did you say? Say it again.” He says, his voice dangerously low. He was looking at you, daring you to make your assumption again. You were taken aback, almost tripping over his chair due to the sheer closeness of him. But stupidly, you did not yield. “Are you sleeping with another girl! Is that why you seemingly never have anytime for me anymore?” You hiss. His brows raise further, pinching at the top of his forehead to make wrinkles in his skin. He looks positively bewildered, speechless by your audacity.

You two stay like what feels like an eternity. Not blinking, hardly breathing. Suddenly Yoongi turns in his chair and unceremoniously closes his laptop. He’s up and out to his chair a moment later, and approaching you. Cornering you onto the couch that sits besides his desk. “You think…I would cheat on you? Over something as petty as dinner?” His voice is still that same tone, and you suddenly feel like prey about to get eaten whole by its predator. You’re fucked. Suddenly your knees are weak and you can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Yoongi’s eyes are slits, his brows still in that same pinch from when he was sitting down.

“I get the taking care of myself part. I get you wanted to do something nice for me. But assuming I’m cheating on you because I took home some work? I don’t know how you could think that,” Yoongi says, cool and collected. He’s cornered you so far that you’ve fell onto the couch, on your back, facing him. He climbs on top of you. Lowers his face inches from yours. “I have everything I need laying out in front of me. Why would I ever step out?” He says softly.

You’re speechless, a flush crept onto your cheeks. You can feel his breath fanning over you. He’s looking deep into your eyes, following your head movements to keep the contact going. “Answer me, hm? Why would I do that?” Yoongi leans down to press fleeting kisses into your neck. “I-I don’t know…” You say, meek and shy with your words. You feel like an idiot for ever thinking it. Here is this man, tired, hungry—still proving to you that he loves you no matter what.

“You don’t know and..?” Yoongi replies. He pulls from your neck, resting his lips onto your forehead. “I was silly for thinking it. I-I know you would never do that to me. I’m sorry honey.” Yoongi pecks your forehead, leaning back to look at you. He smiles. “I forgive you. Just—don’t do that to me again, please? I don’t know if my heart can take it.” You nod. “Can I have a kiss?” You ask, shyly looking into his eyes. “Of course my love.”

Note: I’ve never written anything this long! (At least not about yoongi lol) this was going to be short like the rest of my content, but it turned into this.

I hope you enjoy!

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moonlightbliss · 14 days

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the second time he said "i love you" | myg

→ a “the second time” drabble (read here) → series masterlist here

✰ pairing: tst!yoongi x reader ✰ warnings: fluff; menstruation, cramps, pain; allusion to namjin (a happy one!) ✰ word count: 1.9k ✰ note: i warned y'all, i am down bad for this man. i missed the tst couple again so they’re back :’) inspired by my period coming for my neck last week for absolutely no reason

—

It hurts.

It hurts so bad that it wakes you up, so insistent that you just have to close your eyes and succumb to it. Curl into a ball on your side, hold your breath, and pray that the ringing in your ears and the stabbing and dull ache just... go away. Eventually.

"Babe? Babe, I can't find my black hoodie, have you seen it?"

Yoongi, god bless him, is oblivious to your menstrual suffering. He's usually perceptive, but not when he's in a rush—you can tell he's running off to a meeting, late by the looks of it, hopping around with a half-open bag hanging off his shoulder and one sock on. You feel a fresh wave of pain assault your lower abdomen and bite the inside of your cheek.

"In the dryer," you say, hoping he interprets your quiet croak as half-awake and not halfway-to-death's-doorstep. "Put it in last night."

"Thanks. I'm sorry, I have to go—love you," he says, racing back out of the room, accompanied by a muffled thumping alternating with the slap of bare skin on tile. Despite the insistent twisting in your uterus, you snort. He's such a dork.

Him calling you babe is relatively new, as is this: waking up in his massive apartment, in his king-sized bed. Which is now also your bed, your apartment, you remind yourself, wincing as the pain grows sharper and spreads to your sides. He'd lived here first, alone, and you'd moved in later—when your lease expired, and Seokjin decided to move out with Namjoon. You smile a little, remembering how giddy Seokjin looked while picking out fabric swatches for their new couch. The timing had worked out swimmingly.

But the place doesn't feel like yours. Not yet, anyway. A month in, it’s still mostly Yoongi's effects lying around the place, his taste in furniture and flatware and bathroom towels. You have your dresser drawers, your side of the closet, and even a dedicated home office, but you still feel weirdly... confined. Temporary. Like you're staying at a hotel, and not really living here.

You let out a little sigh as the pain ripples through you, allowing yourself this small outlet now that Yoongi's gone. At the shitty but beloved place you shared with Seokjin, your electric heat pack and bulk-discounted Advil would be right there on your nightstand. But you just feel weird about leaving your personal items lying around in this room, when Yoongi so obviously goes to some lengths to keep it minimalistic. He only has museum-worthy items out in the open—a stack of books, a beloved guitar, everything in some variation of muted gray and soft neutrals. Your plug-in heat pack, on the other hand, is bright orange and ugly as hell and belongs nowhere near his model-home aesthetic. It's shoved in a drawer somewhere in your office, and right now, you can't even try to get up to look for it.

You sigh again, just as you hear the front door beeping open. An irritated grumble, footsteps rapidly approaching.

“Hey, babe, you haven't seen—“ Yoongi walks back in, rounds the end of the bed, strides over to your side and toward the walk-in closet. And then he looks at you, and he stops dead in his tracks.

You look up at him as the next cramp holds your entire pelvic area in a vise grip. "Your wallet?" you say, feigning nonchalance. You subtly pull the sheets back over yourself, hidden fingertips digging into the flesh of your abdomen like it'll help. "You're such an old man. It's on the bathroom counter."

"Babe," he says in a low voice, slowly stepping toward you. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," you respond firmly. “Why wouldn’t it be? Yoongi, I know you're late for the meeting. Go."

And then your body betrays you, sending you the worst pain you've felt this cycle in a flash of hot white—an angry ache spreading through your body, refusing to relinquish its hold—because of course it does. You close your eyes tight and curl into yourself, knees coming up to your chest.

Damn. Yoongi really won't let it go now.

He does look a little torn when you open your eyes, though, crouching down beside you but also glancing at his watch, nibbling on his lower lip. You try to shoo him away, one foot emerging from under the sheet to kick the air beside him. "Min Yoongi, if you don't leave in the next two seconds, I will drag you out of here myself. I know where your studio is.”

"The artist can wait, asshole'll probably be late anyway." He mumbles like he does when he's nervous, unsure. His eyes flit toward the doorway, then back to you. "What is it."

It's not a question, but you’re not going to be the reason he misses this meeting. You flip onto your other side to face away from him, cringing as you feel more blood seep out of you. "Seriously, dude, get out. Let me sleep."

"Babe, look at me."

You flip onto your back in defeat. He's standing up now, running a hand through his hair. Oddly quiet, not laughing or dishing out dry retorts like you expect him to. "What," you say finally, just to break the tense silence.

You've never had your period while living with Yoongi, you realize. It's been over a month since you've moved in, but your cycle's never quite been regular, so you'd avoided the hellish cramps and figuring out where to put the tampon boxes and need for pain relief until now. It's only day two. You wonder if Yoongi's ever even thought about menstruation before. If he's ever had to.

"Use your words." He looks down at you, brows knit together.

"It's just cramps, it's nothing. Seriously, you need to get out of here yesterday, your meeting—“

"What do you need?"

It's a simple question, spoken direct, unadorned. Soft. He's always been straight with you that way.

Yoongi's naturally gifted at caring for the people he loves. At caring for you. Silently bringing dinner to your desk when you're working overtime. Picking up your hair from the shower drain without a complaint. Lining up your shoes at the door the night before, so that they're ready when you inevitably run late for work the next morning.

He just wants to do something for you now, too—and he wants you to tell him how. You feel weirdly emotional, throat tightening with threatened tears. Hormones, probably.

"Um, painkillers," you mumble. You throw an arm over your face, feeling thoroughly awkward about the whole thing. "And, uh, there's an electric heat pack, too. In the bottom desk drawer, on the left?"

He runs a hand over your duvet-covered thigh, patting it gently before he sets off for your home office. You distantly hear a drawer or two slide open, slide shut. The water purifier running in the kitchen. In a minute, he's back with the requested supplies and a glass of water in his hands.

Shit, the guy's really going to make you cry now.

He gently helps you sit up. Doesn't even let you open the Advil bottle, dropping a capsule into your palm with one hand and passing you the water with the other. Crouches down again, one hand resting on your knee, and finds an outlet for your heat pack while you swallow the pill.

"Thanks," you say, meekly. The word feels nervous, foreign. You normally do thank him after he does things for you, but it doesn't usually sound like this—you like to shout it, make it playful, make it dramatic. Oh, my sweet and dashing prince, what would I ever do without you? Min Yoongi, my knight in shining armor, my hero!

The shyness, the feeling of being genuinely and deeply moved by his kindness... is new.

Now that you’ve been attended to, you expect him to pick up his bag from the floor, grab his wallet from the bathroom, and finally get going. Instead, though, he moves to sit next to you, mattress sinking beneath him. He presses the slowly warming heat pack into your belly with his right hand, pulls you into his side with his left.

Like he has nowhere else to be. Like he has all the time in the world to sit here, with you.

That does it. Suddenly, the tears start spilling. They roll down your cheeks, drip silently onto the hand splayed over your abdomen.

"Hey," he murmurs, tipping his head down to look at you. His eyes go wide, searching yours. "What is it? Does it hurt? Do you need something else?"

You shake your head, lean in closer and bury your face into the soft fabric covering his chest. "No. I just... I love you."

He stills beneath you; the hand stroking your arm comes to a stop at your elbow.

Okay, maybe now isn't the best time to say it, when you're teary and sore and bloated and feeling so gross you want to throw yourself into a vat of antiseptic. But the feeling keeps rising up in your throat, demanding to be said aloud. To make its presence known.

Seokjin always chided you growing up, saying you were too easy, too quick to form attachments and affections and feelings. But with Yoongi... you know it's not just a passing infatuation. With Yoongi, it's love. It's been love, an initial attraction solidifying into something deeper and more fundamental, an emotion that wove itself over time into the daily rhythms of your life and steadily became part of your being. Because without loving Yoongi, what would be left of you?

You pull back, wipe at your face. “Ugh, sorry, I don't know what got into—“

"I love you more."

You’re the one who said it first, but you fight not to flinch on reflex. Not that you actually find it hard to hear—in fact, it’s the opposite. It’s just that you aren’t used to hearing it. Or saying it, for that matter. You say I love you to each other in a million different, subtler ways: a touch on his shoulder, a tickle fight in bed, a cup of tea brought to a work-weary desk. Gentle kisses to cold-bitten cheeks. Playing you a song he wrote with you in mind. The damn shoes by the door.

The first time he'd said it after you started dating, maybe a few months in, you'd both laughed about it a little, and you’d felt so awkward about it you couldn’t even look him in the eye. You vaguely recall saying it back. Following it up with something like let's never say that out loud again.

Now would be, again, the second time. You're finding you like the seconds better than the firsts.

He moves to kiss you, but you retreat quickly, heels skidding against the sheets as you clap a hand over your mouth. "I haven't brushed my teeth."

"So? I don't care. You kissed me after you had that horrible garlic pasta last week.”

"Yah!" You laugh and wince a little, settling back into your pillows with the heat pack still pressed to you. "I hate you. I actually hate you. I take it back. Never disgrace me with your presence again.”

"Liar." He climbs on top of you, immune to your kicks of protest. He traps you with his arms and leans down, his fringe brushing against your forehead. And he kisses you.

It's a swift kiss, chaste and warm. And yet, the ache gives way to butterflies all the same.

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moonlightbliss · 14 days

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It just comes to my mind that maybe yoongi has a praise k- because of how he wants to be praised and hear feedback when he’s in concert x>

#yoongi #bts #bangtan #i miss yoongi

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moonlightbliss · 14 days

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Yoongi: I’d kill someone if you asked me to.

Y/n: I’m pretty sure you’d kill someone even if I didn’t ask you to.

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moonlightbliss · 17 days

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Hobi: how do people communicate with you?

Y/n: well, ideally, they don't

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moonlightbliss · 17 days

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moonlightbliss · 22 days

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Mix the colors in the palette, pick your filter / Which me do you want? / The one to change your world, I'm your filter / Overlay me in your heart / Can you feel it now? Is it still not enough?

» pairing: idol!yoongi x reader

» wc/date: 1k | December 2022

» warnings: none aside from poor bby yoongi having an identity crisis

» note: i think this is cute so i hope you do too 🥺

“FUCK!”

You were ripped from sleep (abruptly ending your dream about becoming the president and legalizing weed) by the sound of glass breaking. Your phone told you it was nearly 3 AM and the cold sheets on the side of the bed where your boyfriend was supposed to be told you the crashing and cursing were coming from him.

There probably should have been a stronger sense of urgency in the way you climbed out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen, but you were so fucking tired it was hard to think straight. The medication you took to help with your insomnia made waking up particularly difficult, especially in the middle of the night.

Yoongi stood in the middle of the kitchen. His cheeks were bright pink, and half of his dark hair was pulled into a small ponytail, the rest of the strands falling against the tops of his shoulders. Small shards of glass were scattered around him on the floor. A bottle of Hennessy sat on the kitchen table, but you chose not to linger on that.

“What the fuck are you doing, babe?” You rubbed your eyes with your fists and blinked hard in the artificial light assaulting your vision.

Yoongi only scowled.

You hated when he got like this. How were you supposed to help him if he didn’t tell you what he needed?

With a sigh, you retreated to the hallway to get a broom and dustpan from the closet. It was difficult to sweep up the shards with Yoongi still standing in the same spot, but you did your best to get the larger pieces.

Once the large shards were disposed of in the trashcan, you turned to the kitchen sink to grab a paper towel. Just a bit of water was needed to make the paper towel damp enough for your liking. Yoongi continued to stand, eyes trained on the wall, while you crouched at his feet. Slowly sweeping the damp paper towel across the floor collected the rest of the glass shards that were difficult for you to see, the tiny ones that were likely to cut into his feet. Yoongi always walked around barefoot, another thing you hated. Men’s feet were weird-looking. That was just a fact.

Satisfied with your work, you threw away the paper towel and resumed your stance in front of your boyfriend with your arms crossed against your chest and your eyelids heavy.

“Gonna tell me what’s wrong now?”

It seemed the time it took for you to finish cleaning gave Yoongi the time he needed to calm down. His was was no longer twisted with frustration, though his new expression was just as sad. He was exhausted, but you already knew that. How could he not be? A decade of being run into the ground for the sake of his art and his fans and making the company filthy rich would exhaust even the strongest people.

You definitely knew you wouldn’t be able to hang. Capitalism was a scam.

“I don’t know what the fuck they want from me,” he said with gritted teeth. You thought he was going to explain himself further, but after a few moments of silence he held out his hand.

With a sleepy smile, you pulled Yoongi against your chest and ignored the smell of alcohol that clouded your senses when he exhaled against your hair. He curled his arm around your waist and held the back of your head with his other hand. Everyone joked about Yoongi being small, but one hug from him was enough to prove that he was solid and sturdy and safe.

“Who, baby?”

“Everyone.” The softness of his whisper made your soul ache. “We go over the songs, they said it sounds too Agust D. I rewrite, rerecord, go over the songs so many fucking times. Suddenly it’s too SUGA, too BTS. They want something different than “D-2”, different than “That That” and “Girl Of My Dreams”, but then they say I’m straying too far from what fans are used to. What is the fucking album supposed to be, Y/N?”

You nuzzled your face against his collarbone and waited, knowing he didn’t expect an answer. After half a heartbeat, he was continuing.

“Is this an Agust D album or a SUGA album?” He squeezed you even tighter.

“What kind of album do you want it to be?”

It seemed like an obvious question, but Yoongi tilted his head down to look at you with wide eyes.

Fuck, he was so cute. Was it wrong of you to think he was cute while he was trembling with anger and exhaustion? Eh, it was probably fine. You’d gotten super fucked up at the “Jack in the Box” party and Yoongi had to take care of you while you puked in the bathroom. He’d said you looked cute then. You threatened to throw up on him.

“I want it to be a Yoongi album,” he said softly.

“Then make a Yoongi album. Fuck everyone else!” You pressed a quick kiss against his neck and then hopped away from him before he could swat at you for purposefully trying to tickle him with your kisses. “Well, don’t fuck everyone else. Just fuck me.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but his hands searched for you again. Grabbing your wrists, he pulled you back against his chest, crushing you so hard you could barely breathe. It was fine, though. He needed touches, skin-on-skin contact, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in all of this.

“A Yoongi album…” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “I’ve spent too much time creating for other people.”

You hummed in agreement, snaking your hands beneath his t-shirt to hold his lower back.

“It’ll fucking kick ass, Yoong. Everything you produce kicks ass. You’re a genius.”

Yoongi huffed at that, but the gummy grin gives him away. “I said that one time.”

“One time was enough. It’s out in the universe now. Plus, Genius Lab?? Excuse me, it’s right there.”

“Leave me alone,” he whined, pulling you even closer. He couldn’t let you go even if he tried.

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