Bts Min Yoongi Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

Call You Mine [MYG]

Plot: "I never regretted the day that I called you mine..." 

A Min Yoongi/Agust D one-shot. 

That's it. That's the summary. I have nothing else to say. 

Happy Birthday Min Yoongi!

Rating: PG // SFW

Genre: fluff | romance | idol romance | one-shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 1,912

AN: Wee. It’s late. I’m late. I’m always late. Who’s surprised? Not me. Happy Birthday Lil Meow Meow! All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

"Who are you?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Your breathing shifted just now."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. That was how he always responded when you asked him that. Was it because you knew him so well? Or were you just anxious? Maybe it was a mixture of both. Either way, it was something you didn't want to admit aloud.

Not to yourself. Not to him.

"Does it matter?" he asked. 

Of course it mattered! 

You didn't respond, determined to get your answer first.

He flashed you a mischievous grin, a bit of his silver fringe falling along the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you guess?"

You felt your lips pulling into a pout, mustering what patience you had to not smack his bare chest with all the strength you could manage this late in the night. Even in the low light, he must have seen the disapproving look you were giving him. Lifting one hand up, he lightly poked your forehead and you whined at being teased. You knew he did this to get a rise out of you. He also knew how important it was for him to give you an answer.

It bothered you how much he always dragged his feet on this matter. The more logical side always reminded you to have patience. This was his own personal game that he liked to play with you. Sometimes he would win. Sometimes you did. 

No one was really keeping score anymore.

You didn't want to guess. You didn't feel like playing this game tonight. To showcase your intent, you roughly pulled from his side and flipped over on the bed to turn your back to him. This must have surprised him because he didn't start laughing at your reaction. In fact, the bed was absolutely still - your breaths barely audible in the dark.

Warmth touched the flare of your hip as he placed his hand there. You tried not to relish in his touch, but it was difficult. After everything you'd gone through to get to this moment, it was only self-inflicted pain to ignore him. Part of you knew to stand your ground. The other part was willing to give in to his advances.

Because you loved him so much. Because you loved all of him…so much.

“Hey,” he called softly, reaching over your stomach and pulling you close to his body, “remember when we first met? At that bar in that one town?”

You bit back a scoff. Like you could forget. He never made it easy for you to, even if you wanted to. 

You kept silent, not wanting to cater to his need to hear your voice. To hear how, even now, you found yourself in an endless loop of falling in love with him each and every single day. To him, you were a lifeline for survival. To you, he was the reason you pushed through your tiresome work week.

The bar was crowded that night. It was an average Friday evening. You were out with friends, hitting the town and it was the third bar on the stop of your group’s infamous “bar hops”. Nothing was special about that night. It was just the end of another long work week for you. Another end of being a faceless number down a long hall of cramped cubicles and endless phone calls. A moment’s reprieve from jittering printers and raucous fax machines.

Two days of escape from being a nameless paper pusher in a seemingly endless cycle of meaningless.

He walked through the doors with his entourage - exuding purpose and power. They were celebrating another successful performance and chatter about said performance was the first thing you heard as they burst through the door. You watched him go straight up to the bar and buy it out, saying everyone’s drinks for the rest of the night were on him.

You envied his smile. You envied his “can do” attitude that dripped from every square inch of his body.

But it was his freedom that made you jealous the most.

You weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy that night. A pair of acid washed jeans stuffed in combat boots, a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Hell, even your hair was in a messy up-do. After all, you weren’t looking for an easy score that night. Your plans to get laid were the furthest thing from your mind.

Yet there was no mistaking the way he zeroed in on you. Out of all the patrons in the bar, you were the one he decided to nail his focus to. You were the one who somehow managed to get his attention.

So, what should have been a night of blissfully getting toasted with your friends turned into something much different.

Feeling his lips against the nape of your neck, you felt your breath hitch slightly as his mouth moved to speak. “I asked you what you were doing for the rest of your life.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from your chest, causing you to curl up into a ball as you covered your mouth. It was one of the most absurd questions you’d ever been asked. Who even asked something like that in this day and age? What you were doing tomorrow? Sure. What you were doing next weekend? Of course.

The rest of your life, however, held a different weight altogether.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing tonight,” came your amused reply as you lowered your hands from your face. You still refused to look at him. “That’s what I said.”

The memories were flooding in quickly. His looks. The low dulcet sound of his voice. Even the cute little lisp he had when he spoke excitedly about something. His hair was a different color back then; jet black with an undercut. 

Everything changed in that one conversation. 

Despite his big spending at the bar, you knew he wasn’t well off. Not yet. But he had big dreams. He had drive. Money didn’t grow on trees and his dream would yield fruit if it prospered. Music, however, was such a shaky basket to throw all of your eggs into. But his passion and determination made you believe that he was telling the truth; that nothing would stop him from succeeding. He was determined and there was a small part of you that wished for his success. Somebody needed to grow wings and fly.

But the conversation didn’t take long to reverse back to you. On to your current occupation and your overall distaste with how things were going in your own life. It was a dead end road. You knew this. Somewhere along the way, you even accepted it. Some people were paper pushers and others were the stars that people could admire from afar. You had no place in that world. Your meager complaints and tiny goals could hardly hold a candle to the strength of his burning ambition.

That’s what you believed in the beginning.

You should’ve known better. 

After his friends and yours all got together to finish the bar hop for the night, your groups eventually wound up near the outskirts of town at a park. The drinking, laughter and flirting continued. He was never far from your side and neither were you from his. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, his hand found its way into yours, holding it close. Your lips touched soon after and it was a magical moment.

That was the beginning of the end for  you.

Days rolled into weeks. Weeks into months. You looked forward to the weekends not to escape the dreary worklife you found yourself trapped in, but to see his performances in underground venues and fringe shows. The energy he exuded from the stage was intoxicating and the cheers from the crowd as he pumped them up was contagious. It only took a few shows and you were screaming and hopping around like an idiot like the rest of them.

Afterward, your groups would meet again to drink and celebrate in the success of the show. It wasn’t embarrassing for you all to run through the streets, screaming and shouting as the thrill of the night cloaked you from head to toe. Bottles of beers in your hands, you ran through crowds and stumbled down stairs in hopes of catching the last train home. You both cuddled in a drunken haze together as everyone talked all over one another - wrapped up in their own conversations.

It was only then that it became apparent that the person you were slowly falling for had two personas. One for the stage and one for when it was just the two of you. Sometimes they bled into one another. Sometimes they were kept far apart from each other.

Agust D and Min Yoongi.

As his success continued to build, your anxiety mounted - worrying about where your place was in his life. More months passed and the venues started to change. You knew there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to go to a performance because it was in the middle of the work week. Or maybe it was too far for you to travel. You couldn’t risk taking off of work for something “trivial” like a concert performance. That’s what your managers would say. They would belittle you for inconveniencing the rest of your co-workers. 

You had an image to maintain.

When he showed up on stage with silver hair, you knew that it was time. Agust D was rising to a level of stardom you wouldn’t be able to compete with. Fans cheered and remained loyal. Fans who were willing to drop any plans they had to hit the road and support their idol. They’d been around far longer than you had; had been cheering for him during a time when you didn’t even know he existed. 

It was the life he’d chosen; one you knew was going to take wing.

How were you supposed to stay close beside him? How were you going to continue to nurture this thing that existed between you both?

Feeling his arms wrap around your bare stomach, he pulled you even closer. You could feel his heartbeat slowly bumping against your shoulder blades. Yoongi pressed a kiss behind your ear, one of your weak spots, before allowing his tongue to glide along the curve of your jaw. You resisted the urge to moan at how he made you feel, both in that moment and every moment before now.

“I never regretted the day that I called you mine…”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Part of you wanted to curse him for his words. For his way with words. But that was how he always was. On the stage or off, it didn’t matter. It was his answer for any worry that threatened to smother you into a dark pit of no return.

Slowly, you turned in his arms. Yoongi’s eyes peered at you, his brows furrowing with concern despite the smirk playing on his lips. 

“Do you know the answer?”

That was the answer to your question. It was always going to be the answer.

Lifting your arms up, you wrapped them around his neck and leaned in, your lips barely touching his. “You’re Min Yoongi…” This time, you could feel your own smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “...and you’re mine.”