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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 1 year ago

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touch-starved | min yoongi

we are going to ignore how every single one of my writings has nightmares in them, i personally experience very vivid nightmares on occasion so i guess art imitates life or whatever. also we're gonna ignore that this is the second bodyguard imagine i've written, this one was a request so it's a little less embarrassing but still is a little but not enough that i won't post it on the internet because i know y'all shameless too. here we have bodyguard!yoongi x celebrity fem!reader. warnings: stalking/stalkers (not yoongi this is not a yandere situation sorry), mentions of loneliness, a nightmare (obvs its me writing duh), horror movie mentioned...........idk if there's anything else but please do lmk

There is a soft knock at the hotel room door. You check the peephole to see Yoongi standing there, tapping rhythmically on his leg as he waits for you to let him in.

“Well, as far as I can tell, you’re not being followed,” he says as he enters, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it onto the chair by the sofa.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing your temples. “Well, that’s a relief,” you say tiredly.

“All this trouble for a guy you’re not even dating,” Yoongi says mildly, but he’s looking at you with his curious eyes, trying to gauge your mood.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever even talked to him,” you agree, flopping listlessly onto your side. “Remind me never to smile at anyone in public ever again.”

He smiles. “Or wear similar outfits, or go to the same places,” he adds, his eyes gentle. Then he leans against the sofa, facing the wall. “It’s not your fault, though.”

“I know,” you sigh. “You know, I kind of wish it was real,” you admit.

“Why? You like the guy?” Yoongi asks sharply.

“Not really,” you muse. “I mean, he is handsome. But it’s really that if I were in a relationship, it would mean that someone got close enough to me to like me.”

“I know you,” he responds indignantly. “And I like you.”

“You’re my bodyguard. You are paid to like me, so it doesn’t count,” you protest.

Yoongi shakes his head, annoyed. “On a good day,” he says scathingly, “I’d like you even if you weren’t paying me.”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” you say, and the tension in the room dissolves as Yoongi gives you a smirk. “Who knew it would be so lonely to be a celebrity,” you say lightly, unable to escape a twinge of bitterness in your voice.

“It’s not all bad,” Yoongi reminds you, nodding out the massive windows at the spectacular skyline view.

You smile at the setting sun. “True,” you allow. “This part I like.” You watch for a few minutes as the sun sinks almost imperceptibly lower. “You must think I’m so spoiled.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I can see how there would be drawbacks. Personal privacy is a luxury that only poor people can afford.”

You tsk at him. “You’re talking in riddles again,” you scold. “It’s a condition at this point. You should really have it checked.”

He grins. “Just say you aren’t smart enough to understand,” he shoots back.

You chuckle, loving the back-and-forth. “Just say you have to pretend to be smart by using big words,” you retaliate.

He bows, his grin wider, as if to say, “you won this round”. “So,” he says, going to the mini fridge and popping a can of soda open. “What shall it be tonight, madame?”

You crinkle your nose in disgust at his butler-like tone. “Something spooky. In honor of fall,” you tell him, handing him the remote.

When he had become your bodyguard two years ago, at the recommendation of your agency, you had learned that he was required to work long into the night at your side. Feeling bad, you had started to watch movies every night when he came around so that he’d at least have something to do. Your relationship had come a long way — he had started out watching the movies from the back of the room, standing by the door, to now, sitting beside you on the sofa. This was representative of your relationship as well — when you had first met he was cold and professional, but now the two of you bantered back and forth in a way that was comfortable and easy. You really couldn’t remember ever feeling so comfortable with anyone, in fact.

It was hard to know when your less responsible feelings for him had begun. Truthfully, you suspected that you had just developed an unhealthy attachment to the only person you spent time around, but there were nights when you’d watch him writing in a little pocket-sized notebook, his long hair falling in front of his face, and imagine how it might have been if you’d met in a normal way — at a college somewhere, where he’d bring you a juice every day and help you study for exams. Now, there was barely a way to tell if what you felt when you saw him — that accelerated heart rate, that quiet thrum of energy in your mind — was real, or if it came from your own foolishness.

You watch him now — his face in the dying sunlight is so pretty you’re almost jealous, and the feeling in your chest pulses in a way that is almost painful. He turns on the TV and scrolls through shows until he finds a promising title: some horror film about an old woman in a spooky old house with a mysterious secret. As you begin the movie he has his arms folded, watching with veiled interest. But he notices the first time you flinch.

“Scared already?” he teases.

“You don’t miss a trick,” you say ruefully. “Pay attention.” You gesture to the screen.

About fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door that corresponds perfectly to a jump scare in the movie, and you yelp in fright. Yoongi gets up, brow furrowed. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asks.

You shake your head no. He looks through the peephole and curses. “It’s your stalker again,” he grumbles, pulling out his cell phone. “Hey, Harvey,” he says, and his voice is calm, but you can tell he’s angry. “I need you to come up to the room and grab something. I was hoping it had already been taken care of.”

The voice of the hotel security team lead says something unintelligible, and Yoongi thanks them before hanging up. He slides the two chains into their places on the door and takes a door jam from his pocket, wedging it between the door and the floor. He grins at your wide eyes. “Don’t worry, milady,” he says, “he can’t get in even if he figures out how to unlock the door.”

“But what if he did get in?” you whisper, spooked.

He shrugs. “I’d kill him,” he replies.

“For real?!” you squeak,

“No,” he says with an eye roll. “But I would incapacitate him in record time. That dude is a wimp.”

He seems to notice you’re nervous, and his eyes soften. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I’ll take care of you.”

When he sits back down, he sits closer to you than normal. Your legs are touching. You look at him quizzically and he smiles. “It’s a small couch,” he says, throwing an arm up over the back of the couch — not around your shoulders, but close enough that you’re blushing.

You try to focus on the movie, but you find that despite your anxiety, you’re beginning to nod off. Almost automatically, you find yourself leaning toward Yoongi’s warmth, and your head finds his shoulder. Giving in to the exhaustion, you find yourself in dreams.

It’s not long before the dreams turn dark. You have been prone to bad dreams as a result of your overactive imagination, but these are more solid than your usual nightmares — stealing from reality and stretching it so that teeth are too long, smiles are too wide, and the hands that reach for you are too strong. You wake up with a gasp.

You’re in your bed. You flick on the bedside lamp and put a hand to your chest, breathing deeply, still anxious. When a soft voice calls your name, you nearly jump out of your skin. Yoongi has poked his head into your bedroom, and is now looking at you in amusement. “It’s just me,” he says, stepping inside. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to recover, although your voice still shakes. “I just had a bad dream.”

He grins. “No more falling asleep to horror movies,” he says in a fake-stern voice. “Do you need anything?”

“I think I’d like if you stayed with me a minute,” you confess, your voice quiet, looking at your hands. You are more nervous he’ll say no than you are about the dreams.

When you finally meet his gaze, his expression is unreadable. He walks silently to the side of your bed and sits down beside you. You can’t help but admire how the lamplight casts an alluring shadow on his face before he does something unexpected.

He reaches out, and without looking at you, slips your hand in his.

You stare at him. He has never done this before — never touched you when he could avoid it. You’d always been grateful and a bit disappointed about this. You knew he should keep his distance and simultaneously wished he wouldn’t. To say you’re startled wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

And yet, holding his hand is soothing. You feel your fear fade away, and in a moment of boldness, give his hand a shy squeeze.

He looks at you, then at your interlocked hands. He takes a deep breath. “Well, I need to quit my job.”

This revelation is shocking. “Why?” you ask, suddenly panicked. “If I did something — I mean, I’m sorry if I crossed a line —“

He puts a finger to your lips. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says gently.

“Then stay with me,” you say, knocking his hand away from your lips.

“I can’t work for you when I feel the way I do about you,” he explains, almost in a pleading tone.

"What are you talking about?" you ask.

"I love you," he blurts.

You gape at him. "What?"

He blushes. "You heard me."

You look at his hand in your hand, and then back to him. "Are you serious?" you ask him, unable to keep a smile from your voice.

He rolls his eyes. "If you're just gonna make me keep repeating myself, this conversation isn't going to go anywhere." He stands up and places your hand back into your lap. "I'll give you some time to process."

You leap out of bed and follow him. "Wait a minute," you say, grabbing his hand. "How do you know you love me?" you ask him, your eyes searching his.

Yoongi blushes, but he looks a little pleased that you've grabbed his hand. "Well," he says, slowly digesting your question, "I think it's pretty easy to know. Of everyone I've ever met and spent time with, I've never enjoyed being around anyone the way I like being around you. Nobody makes me smile like you do, and nobody makes me crazier."

You blink. "Well, I feel all those things about you."

He raises his eyebrows. "You do?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I don't have many real friends," you explain, "but I'd rather stay in with you and watch movies than go out, or go anywhere really."

"You would?" he asks.

You give him a pointed look. "Now who's repeating themselves?"

He shakes his head. "I'm just shocked. Are you saying you love me back?"

You look at him, trying to find the answer yourself. Your heart is pounding harder than it did at any scary movie, and the heat of his gaze is making you feel flushed and squirmy. You struggle for words. "I --"

Yoongi throws his jacket and keys onto the couch, and in one swift movement he pulls you into his chest. He places his hand on your cheek. "What do you feel right now?" he whispers, his lips inches from yours.

"It's hard to know," you whisper back. "Completely crazy, but somehow calm. Entirely safe, but terrified. It's like I'm on top of something very high, but wearing a harness."

He gives you a tender smile. "That sounds like love to me." And then he kisses you.

You cling to him as he presses a kiss to your lips, then your cheeks and jaw and nose and forehead. Sighing in relief, you melt into his arms, enjoying the feeling of being adored. After he finishes kissing you, he holds you in his arms for awhile, running his hand down your back in soothing motions.

You carefully monitor your feelings as he holds you, realizing that after all this time alone, you could be a bit out of touch with them. You feel a lot of things -- wild and alive and a little dizzy -- but the undercurrent of your feelings is peace and quiet. It feels right.

"You do need to quit," you say suddenly.

He pulls back. "Why?" he asks, shocked.

"Because I do love you back, and I'm not about to pay my boyfriend to hang out with me," you say. "That's pathetic, even for me."

He laughs, tucking your hair behind your ear. "As you wish, love."

"You can hire your replacement in the morning," you say, kissing him again.

#bts #bts fluff #min yoongi fluff #missing min yoongi? well me too so i wrote this #missing yoongi hour #min yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #agust d #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts agust d #yoongi imagine #kpop

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elusivecagedmockingbird · 1 year ago

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Lights Out, Words Gone

[yoongi x reader] [1.4k+ friends to lovers, light angst]

A/N: So, there was an attempt, by me. Heh. I'm just really trying to get back into creative writing. I used to enjoy writing, but no one told me that turning that into a career and years of writing newsletters and articles for corporate dulls the mind and at this point, even journaling feels like a chore. But if you found this fic and somewhat enjoyed it, I'm grateful.

It's ridiculous, you think to yourself. How can someone be easily disarmed by a smile?

One minute, you're furiously driving at 2 a.m. to fetch Yoongi from a dive bar—miles and hours from where you live so you're well within reason to cuss him out; the next, you're giggling next to him after he told you the lamest joke you've ever heard.

"Y/N, what did the full glass of water say to the empty glass of water?"

In no mood for his shenanigans, you slide the bottle of water you bought during the drive over, closer to him. Unperturbed, he continues with a grin, "You look drunk."

You let out an annoyed sigh. The joke doesn't even make sense, and yet, because it's Yoongi's gummy smile and his contagious giggles that echo across the empty chairs and fills the bar, your mood shifts.

Suddenly, you snort a laugh. Hearing your amusement, his giggles turn into hearty laughs, and you follow.

Yoongi catches his breath after a minute and fluffs his hair. Suddenly, he looks so soft and cuddly. You feel your breath winded.

Feeling compelled to break the silence, you tease, "Did you steal that joke from Jin?" You don't wait for an answer. You usher Yoongi out of the corner of the bar he hid himself in and he lets you push him out as he weakly argues, "Did not. I thought of it myself. I can make funny jokes too, you know." You hum in response, amused by the pout forming on his face.

Yoongi trudges straight to his bedroom as soon as you arrive in his place. You follow, wanting to at least make sure he's tucked in with a bucket on his side of the bed—a precaution, lest he hurls his guts in bed, which rarely happens. But better to be safe than sorry.

You eye Yoongi as he grabs a shirt from his drawer and take that as your cue to leave.

"Stay the night," his voice gravelly. You stop mid-journey out the door.

What.

"Uh, Yoongi—"

"It's too late to drive," he crosses the room and pulls your hand to take his shirt. "And if you think I'm letting you take the couch, I'm offended. Sleep here."

A beat passes. "It's not like we haven't shared a bed before," he winks.

Right. As if you'd forget. You remember all too well how Yoongi gets needy and cheesy when drunk—which is why you hesitate. You need to distance yourself before your feeling overwhelms you and make you do something you would regret.

"Remember hell weeks shared in Jin's fancy dorm room? You snored like a fucking berserk honking truck," he chuckles, probably remembering those younger versions of you whose only problems were exams and thesis defense.

The nostalgia hits you, and you quip, "Ya! I remember Jungkook and I pulling an all-nighter for all those times. It was actually you who loudly snored."

Yoongi erupts in soft gummy giggles as you playfully give him the stink eye.

Laying stiff beside him, you almost succeed in willing your mind to slip into dreamland when you hear comforters shuffling until you feel him closer to you.

"You awake?" he faces you. "I am now," you huff. You open your eyes to adjust to the dim room, the only light source coming from the street lamp post outside his bedroom window and the tiny static light of your charging phone on the bedside table.

"I just…" he starts, "I wanted to thank you for picking me up. The guys were either out of town or probably too deep in their sleep to hear their phones ring."

"Yes, well… I was on the other side of the town and deep in sleep when you called." You weren't sure what your point was. Probably wanted him to know that you know he definitely did not call anyone else but you tonight.

But of course, he knows that you know. He knows he can't bullshit you. Not when you used to spend every waking moment since you met in college, which was almost 24/7, since you barely slept then. Years of friendship synced you together—getting used to one's idiosyncrasies, being able to read each other across the room, and sharing the same opinion on all things you deemed important.

"And yet you still came. I'm surprised you actually picked up after weeks of radio silence."

Yoongi starts to pick at his nails, his anxiety peaking. Atuned to even his habits, your hands reach to envelop his and you rest your cheeks atop.

"I actually thought it was one of my booty calls," you joke. He doesn't laugh or react, so you turn serious, "I'm your friend, of course, I'll come get you."

Always.

You smile at him, "It actually wasn't a bother. Get some rest, Yoongi." Thinking you ended the conversation, he suddenly confronts you, "You say that but you suddenly cut me off. Why?"

Ah.

Now, you consider if he orchestrated the whole thing. Trying to corner you so he could finally confront you. It wouldn't be out of his character.

You unclasp your hands.

"I didn't cut you off," you lamely defend yourself and hope he lets it go.

Again, this is Yoongi who's calling you out. You can't evade him just like he can't bullshit you. So he holds out.

"Right. So you suddenly dodging my calls and missing weekly hangouts when I'm available to join, is what? Coincidence?" His voice remains calm, but you would miss how it sounds heavier if you hadn't known him for years. Each word is weighed down with pent-up emotion, and now those fueled words hit you like bricks.

"I've gotten busy. Everyone did after graduation." A half lie, half truth.

He shifts a bit closer to you. "You know, even in the dark, I can tell when you're lying, right? I may not see how your eyes get shifty, but your voice has that lilt at the end when you speak. Almost as if you're also trying to make yourself believe in your lie."

You can already feel the onset of a headache from your lack of sleep, but what's more pressing is how your heart dreads being this close to him again, even more so now that you're being called out and you have no excuse. At least nothing good enough to pass Yoongi.

As the minute passes, the silence thickens, and you feel yourself growing even more tired. It could be from the drive, lack of sleep, or that you just fucking had the most mentally-draining shift just hours before that you finally resigned with honesty. Besides, now that you take a glance at his curled-up form beside you, you admit that he, at least, deserves to know why you distanced yourself.

Yoongi has been your best friend for years—the one who made sure to look into your eyes as he encouraged you to take the extra classes because if you thought it would help you secure the job of your dreams, then he believed it would pay off in the end, and you needed to believe that, too.

Yoongi, who held your hand when you went through mental and emotional hurdles. You honestly believe you wouldn't be here now, living and breathing, had it not been for him.

If only the way you looked at him stayed the same, and how his hands felt in yours remained unnoticed, like those days when he held you as you hurled your guts at bar restrooms after chugging down cheap vodka and beers.

If only your affection towards Yoongi didn't root themselves in what you thought was your uninhabitable heart and grow its tendrils over the years of laughing, crying, and sharing even the most mundane moments with him.

And so you will be honest, but you don't know where to start other than offering an apology.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi. I fucked up," tears brim your eyes but you look at him. You let your repressed emotions out and they're coming out all at once, and you're getting overwhelmed. But you need him to know.

He has to know.

Yoongi doesn't respond but motions for you to continue. It's his turn to take your cold hand and warms it between his calloused palms.

You glance at your hands, then at him in the dark and it is during this delicate moment that you let it out, "I seem to have fallen in love with you."

How cliche, you rebuke yourself. Cringing a bit at how you phrased your confession.

You hear him let out a — was it out of relief or disappointment, you're unsure.

You shift your eyes to the window behind him and get a glimpse of the rising sun. The aura of the sunrise breaking the dark blue night sky.

You don't know how many seconds, minutes passed. Yoongi remains silent.

Oh god. Surely this can't be a good thing.

You should leave now.

Unwillingly, you pry your hands away, but before you could even move another muscle, Yoongi finally breaks his silence,

"Then I fucked up, too."

>> Read Lights Out, Words Spill

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