#mc:minyoongi

[the-mazed-magic-shop]

This story does a lot of things, but now it's making me smile like a fool!!! The use of words to describe their actions and their feelings is just utter excellence! Yoongi is so adorable with his pouty lips .·´¯`(>▂<)´¯`·. I just love it! You are such an amazing writer!

For your Yoongi drabbles - reader has a crush and talks about “him” constantly, but Yoongi doesn’t know it’s him until someone else spills readers secret.

this was so cute, thank you for requesting! sorry for the giant meme, but it is literally the exact vibe of this so i had to use it.

loose lips

pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication (??), fluff warnings: swearing, drinking, namjoon namjooning, unedited rating: e for everyone! there's nothing bad in here wordcount: 1k

it's bee's birthday! send me yoongi requests and/or fic recs!

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

He’s meticulous and prone to overwork and also lazy and uninspired. He’s chronically over-caffeinated and always half-asleep. He’s the first to blow off plans and the first to pout when he no longer gets invited. He’s brusque and a bit of a bastard but also pleased to be fussed over and taken care of. The kind of person who needs to be wrangled into physical affection, because he just can’t seem to verbalize his desire for it.

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but he is not, under any circumstances, prone to gossip.

Jung Hoseok, on the other hand, has no such hangups.

Which presents Yoongi with an interesting dilemma. He has to piss, but he has to pass the kitchen to get to the bathroom. And Yoongi is a lot of things and not one of them is prone to gossiping or eavesdropping, but it’s hard to push aside the intrigue of you and Hoseok speaking in hushed whispers in his own kitchen, heads pressed together like conjoined twins.

It looks like a whole lot of conspiring is going on. He refuses to pout.

“You seriously haven’t told him yet?” Hoseok says, and Yoongi can just make it out, but he’s known Hoseok long enough to register the exasperation in his voice. God knows he’s been on the receiving end of it more often than not.

You groan. Probably shoot Hoseok an exasperated look of your own that Yoongi isn’t privy to. “It’s not that easy.”

“It absolutely is that easy. How hard is it to say—”

“Can you shut up?” you whisper-shriek. “You are so annoying—”

“—Hey, I have feelings for you. Would you wanna grab coffee?”

Yoongi is pouting before he even realizes his face has contorted. Sure, he can be jealous. Someone will always be a better musician, have more money, live in a nicer apartment and drive a nicer car and wear nicer clothes. Now, though… someone out there can have you, and that thought tastes sour in his mouth.

It’d been Jimin’s idea to come to Itaewon.

At least they’re at the bar with the good whisky, because Yoongi will max out his credit cards to escape the hell in which he’s found himself. It’d been bad enough with Hoseok, but now he has to deal with it from Taehyung and Jimin, too.

Do you think she’ll ever tell him? This is getting painful.

I don’t know. Hey, are you going to eat the rest of your fries?

Are you fucking serious? Of course I am, I bought them for me—

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, because everyone seems to be in on a secret he isn’t, but he looks across the bar and finds it hard to care. There you are, laughing wildly as Hoseok twirls you around on the dancefloor. All the lights in this place combined can’t outshine you—not on your worst day, but especially not when you’re like this.

So. Yoongi’s pouting again, plush bottom lip jutting out far enough to brush against his glass of whisky. He’d finally given up and splurged on something top shelf. Figured it’d get him to where he needs to go faster than anything else, because Yoongi is a lot of things and a dancer isn’t one of them, so he’s doomed to spend the night at this table, sandwiched between Taehyung and Jimin.

Listening to them drone on and on about the guy you’re interested in.

He wonders what he’s like. How the two of you met. He pointedly does not think about whether or not this guy’s a dancer, a musician, if he can always afford top-shelf whisky. He wonders if you’re gonna make Yoongi meet him. If he’s gonna have to play nice and pretend to think this guy is cool and interesting. He can pretend, he thinks.

If it’s important to you, Yoongi can do anything.

Namjoon will know what to do, because Namjoon never actually knows what to do about anything and still somehow always arrives at the correct answer.

“Why am I here, hyung?”

Yoongi clears his throat. Spears another piece of beef and puts it on Namjoon’s plate like a peace offering. Orders another round of beers even though he hasn’t touched his first. “Uh,” comes his eloquent response. “Well—”

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon mutters, face-planting onto the table. “This is worse than I thought.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things, but if he’s worse than Namjoon thought, he’s in deep shit.

“Um—”

Namjoon picks his head up. Studies Yoongi for a minute, clearly looking for something, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and says, “It’s you, hyung. She’s hung up on you. And I shouldn’t even be telling you this, because we all just assumed both of you would eventually remove your heads from your asses and get it together, but fuck, this is painful. I can’t do this anymore, you know? I’m not your feelings friend. Jimin is your feelings friend, but he said you just sulked the entire night at the bar—”

“I didn’t sulk,” Yoongi argues, but the words are spoken around a pout.

All he receives in return is A Look. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

Yoongi is a lot of things.

Today, he’s a coward, which is new.

He’s not usually a coward, it’s just… he knows how to be jealous and how to sulk and pout and not get what he wants. Those things are easy. But he has no idea how to deal with the bomb Namjoon had dropped on him. He’s not even sure it’s the truth. What if Namjoon was just fucking with him to get him to stop sulking? That’s absolutely something Namjoon would do because he’s done it before.

He sighs. Stops to catch his breath because you live on the sixth floor in a building with no working elevator and he doesn’t work out, so he’s really going to be pissed if Namjoon lied.

“Yoongi? What’re you doing here?”

His heart really does stop this time, because there you are, fresh-faced and smiling and a little confused, and Yoongi knows his face is splotchy and red and that his hairline is sweaty. “Yeah, hi,” he says, and it comes out like an immensely displeased grunt. Doesn’t sound at all like he’s happy to see you, and—oh. Yeah. He can understand now why you might’ve been hesitant to say something.

“Sorry, I just—these steps, you know?”

“Yeah, they said the elevator’s finally getting fixed next week.”

“Thank fuck.”

Your brows knit together. “You planning on coming by more often?”

Yoongi is a lot of things, but right now he’s impatient. So he closes the distance between you in record time and says, “Yeah. Listen, Namjoon told me this guy you and Hobi have been talking about is actually me—”

“That duplicitous snake—”

“—and I’ve kind of been losing my mind over it, because I feel the same way, so if it’s true I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m not entirely sure Namjoon wasn’t just fucking with me—”

“Oh, like that time he told you he’d seen your rejection letter from SNU just so you’d stop stressing over whether or not you got in and that you’d be even more excited once you did, in fact, get in?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Namjoon is a bastard. You should kiss me, though.”

Min Yoongi is a lot of things.

As he presses his lips to yours—soft, soft, soft—more than anything else, he’s happy.

[the-mazed-magic-shop]

I don't think I am even allowed to comment on this bcs this is so PROFOUND and my brain is functioning on two little braincells who are busy arguing about how the freaking fuck you wrote something that is so intelligently put together.

If Yoongi read this he'd smile thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssss big and hire you immediately to brainstorm his ideas together! Wow. Just wow. Thank you for putting this out for us to read!

nobody doesn't know anymore | myg

everyone knows, what loneliness can do to a mind. his mind is something that likes to use negatives, if only to complicate his feelings. yoongi is at the edge, thinking about everything that has built him into the man he is. then what is it that he still craves for? nobody doesn't know — because everyone knows it's not him, but his loneliness thinking.

pairing ; no pairing ft. yoongi

rating/genre ; pg // angst, idol au.

wc ; 1.4k

warnings ; thoughts about past, heavy use of metaphors (forgive me), my bad interpretation of people pt 2, hard childhood, inner turmoil, feelings of grief and loss.

note ; i wrote this so quick. people made me think so so so much. and i am in no way saying that this is what he is talking about in the song, so mind me. it's just that this song inspired me to write this. take this as a disclaimer but m not claiming that these are yoongi's thoughts — these are mine. if you understand what I'm trying to deliver, have my kisses please. listen to people pt 2 ft. iu by agust d for that's what compelled me to write this lol. again, this might not make much sense and idk how I've ended it! also, this is unedited hehe. for we die on this hill.

masterlist | taglist

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Yoongi likes to think he has accomplished a lot in his life, but even that is a lie. And he knows that.

He had a dream when he was in middle school, and the years he had put into achieving it had been lengthy, and stressful. There were stretched moments of happiness too, where he had found himself at peace, proud of himself. But come today and he feels like there's a hole inside him.

He feels hollow. His heart still craves for more.

The dim light of his bedroom falls on his eyes and he breathes easily, taking in the air conditioned air with his eyes fluttering shut.

His mind drifts to his years of being a rebel, always disappointed by the ways of the world, and his lips quirk a little. Oh how foolish he was to think that he will be able to change it, that he will be able to see a place different from the one he has seen. With his eyes closed he shakes his head, thinking about the time he had realized how wrong he was.

The world is not going to change. It has billions of years in the making, and he, a mere man in his twenties, who has hardly seen the depth of the people living in it, has no chance of changing it. People might think he has seen a lot, known a lot, and is familiar with the ways of a lot – but the truth is that his knowledge has always been bound by his interests. He learns about the things he wants to know about, he doesn't go and seek answers for the questions which have never made their way into his mind.

His fingers twitch on his chest. He has always had this innate desire of being at peace. But even now, when he is supposed to feel it, his heart aches for something else. And maybe it's a shot in the dark, but the thought of an emotion that is so raw, but still built with layers of other feelings is what makes him crave for it.

His childhood years were not easy. He hadn't received the love, the support for which he had yearned. He was like a soul treading on, towards the light he had seen at the end of the dark tunnel he was residing in. But after years of his walking in the dark, when he had finally felt the light hit his withered, lifeless skin – he had grimaced and squinted his eyes. It had taken him a long time to get accustomed to that feeling, the raw warmth and the peaceful breeze.

His steps though, they never stopped. He had walked on and on, and had met a few too many travelers on his way, some of them joining him on his journey. Now that he had found the light, he didn't know what he was aiming for. Maybe just sit on the shore he could so clearly see, dip his feet in the sand and have conversations with the ones who had felt him worthy enough to join.

He had reached the shore too, pride swelling in his chest as the sand touched his feet. He had dipped his ankles in the warmth, and had enjoyed the softness. His greed, never ending, had compelled him to walk towards the water, hand in hand with his companion. He had perched himself at the edge, at the line where the warmth of the sand met the cold waves. His feet were no longer dipped in the grains, but in the cold water which washed away any remnants of the warmth he had yearned for.

The calmest of waves, had washed away something he had been wanting for so long. And that had him recoiling from there, leaving his companion's hand and looking back at the water as if he was burned. He was again in the sand, but the grains stuck to his feet, no longer making him feel warm, but irking him. He had run back, forgetting there was someone washing themselves in the waves for him. His selfishness had made him blind, and in his haste he had stumbled and fell on the ground.

That night the tears were thick, rolling down his face like the waves he so despised. For now there was no one to hold his hand and breath his scent – they had already been taken by the calmest of the oceans. The moon in the sky was covered by the clouds, and the only light he saw was a distant lighthouse. But he was tired, and he hated the water, so he made his house on the shore.

Now when he looks out of his window he doesn't see the light, for it had been taken from him the moment he had recoiled from the waves. He thinks he was selfless, because he hadn't brought his partner back, letting them revel in the peace the water provided. But even he knows how wrong he is – how the water did little to ease them, and so much to unnerve them when they saw how it affected him.

He still goes about his day with chivalry. Hoping that someday he will meet someone who will make him feel less lonely.

When he thinks back on that day, he realises he never feared loss, but the dread that came with it. He feared the possibilities, the future that will come with it. Maybe he never truly loved them, but the thought of being alone again was so daunting that he had folded like paper and fell on his knees when he had lost them.

He remembers the sandcastle he had built with them, the one which had been taken down by the calmest of assaults. Later when he had come to terms with the reality of him being alone, he had thought how people were fleeting, how feelings were fleeting. How easy is it to build something with someone, and easier for it to crumble down into nothingness.

So far away, that day, that feeling, that person. Everything is so far away from him, he can do nothing but sigh. When he had though that life was a struggle between revolt and submission, he was wrong. It was a struggle against loneliness. For he had rebelled, and surrendered but never did he understand the true sadness, until he was left alone, all on his own.

With eyes closed and breaths steady, he moves his hand on his bed, searching for his abandoned notebook. He needs to write, or else the calm breaths will turn ragged soon – and he can't risk it again.

On a page, he has already written down some lines. Has also scratched out some lines.

Maybe I didn't recieve enough love

Forever is a sandcastle, even with gentle waves, it collapses without resistance.

He scoffs, rewriting the lines and scratching the ones written before again.

Wasn't loved enough as a kid,

That's why I'm the cautious type.

Forever's something like a sand castle, you know.

It comes crumbling down at the calmest of waves.

He rubs his thumbs on the side of his pen, his tongue peeking out and brows furrowed. It's his countenance when he is in the mode of deep contemplation, and right now he is thinking if he should write about his loneliness or not.

Someone had once told him that a song tells the story the artist wants to say, and it can also communicate with the artist – telling them things they need to hear, not want to. With that in mind, he shakes his head and writes down a few more lines.

The say life's a struggle between resistance and submission.

I say it's a struggle against loneliness.

If you can't hold back, it's okay to cry.

He takes a deep breath before writing down the next line.

You're already more than enough to be loved.

His heart swells at that. Maybe he won't have to battle with himself every day. If he is able to accept that he is capable of being loved, he will come to terms with his future, his present too.

His journey has been fulfilling, he has discovered himself. And his feet land on the floor of his bedroom, thinking that maybe some day, he will have a hand to hold on to, without feeling the guilt that eats at his insides.

Because the greed that he wanted to give up was of no use, and his selflessness only caused him more pain. Maybe this time, he will be selfish, wishing for something which he will never let go. Something which has layers and a string of emotions strung together like a necklace – Love.

Because he knows that everyone knows. And nobody doesn't know anymore, that loneliness has been the root of all his desires.

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taglist : @jinsquishes @jeonkookiesworld @sailoryooons @jjkeverlast @aliimac @gimmethatagustd @namjoonwhoresworld @apotatomashedbybts @synnfulqt @saweetspoiled @chimchimmarie @sugababylove84 @axigailxo @yoongukie-ff @instabull @graycosco @wobblewobble822 @jungkooksseuphoria @kalea10 @yoongimarryme3 @jminssiii @cowboylikeyoongi @sashs-posts @iwishselena

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