#beware the ides of yarch

[snackhobi]

Yoongi's soft cheeks in the latest run episode!! Don't you just wanna bite them so bad?? I know I do 🤧 definitely wanna vore cuddle him 😔 anyway here's a short prompt to celebrate the start of Yarch: Yoongi reacts to YN kissing him on the cheek when he actually thought YN was going for a kiss on the mouth ☺️ feel free to skip this if it's too boring!!

pairing: yoongi x reader / word count: 1.1k / genre/rating: fluff, sfw / warnings: none!

author’s note: a few things: 1) yes I do wanna bite yoongi’s cheeks so bad 🤧 2) YARCH MADE ME LAUGH... I love yarch (yoongi march) 3) boring? this is literally me all over it’s perfect 🥰 4) I hope it’s okay that I referenced yoongi’s hair from this week’s run too because I am... so in love... anyway 5) this is the first thing I’ve written in over a month and it’s unbeta’ed so forgive any mistakes 💖 

It’s funny. When you’d first met Yoongi, you’d thought of him as unapproachable: all sharp edges, prickly, intimidating from his choppy bleached hair to his keen eyes, from his dark clothes to his shining jewellery. Even when you’d seen him smile—a small, reticent thing that had softened all those edges—he’d still seemed a step removed from you. Reserved and cool. Distant.

How wrong you’d been. 

It’s hot today. Bright sun, heat haze; the perfect day for dipping in the water, lounging by the poolside, bursts of energy mellowed by moments of laziness. You’ve slipped away from the current hubbub, Taehyung’s encouraging whoops for Jimin’s cannonball into the water, stepped from bright light into quiet cool, the tiles under your feet a welcome refrain from the sun-hot paving stones outside. 

You can still hear the sounds of the merriment, splashing and laughter from your friends, but it’s muted through the shut French doors. Leaving you in a little bubble of your own, for this moment—leaving you in peace to grab something cold and refreshing from Namjoon’s bustling fridge, to crack open a drink you so desperately need on a day like this.

There’s a brief burst of noise. The door swings open and in cuts through the sound of Hoseok’s laughter, before the door is pushed shut and once again you’re plunged into muted quiet. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is—to see who’s followed you inside—and a smile lights your face.

“Hey, Yoongi.”

If anyone’s the antithesis of a summer person, it’s Yoongi. He’d skulked under the parasols, refused to get in the pool—only to be hoisted in by a merciless Jungkook. Yoongi bears the battle scars now by way of his damp hair, gone curly as it’s dried, dark spirals. 

The you of the past would have thought that Jungkook had invited a swift death upon his head. That wrestling Yoongi into the cool water would have been repaid with a vicious retaliation from this sharp-eyed boy—but instead you’d just laughed as Yoongi had surfaced, drenched and dripping but fond, weak for his friends and loved ones. No retaliation at all, unless you include the raised eyebrows that don’t faze Jungkook one bit, Yoongi’s attempt at feigned annoyance crumbling almost instantly into rippling waters.

You’ve known Yoongi for a long time now. Grown from strangers to acquaintances to friends, learned that Yoongi isn’t cold or sharp or distant, not really. He’s quiet and open, in the same way that a flower blooms under the sun, unfurling in the right light. (And you’d become one of those rays, something warm that lets him blossom just so.) 

He smiles back at you and it lifts his whole face, that little curl of his lips. 

It’s a smile you’ve only just started to see, something secretive and sweet, something new. Just for you. 

“Hey yourself.” 

His voice is low and languid. You’ve grown from strangers to acquaintances to friends to this—whatever this is. It’s the feeling of potential, of something more, a nascent sunrise. Like each touch you exchange means more, somehow, that each word and look holds something heavier behind it.

You’ve perched yourself at the breakfast bar, high on one of the fancy stools, glass bottle forgotten in front of you. Yoongi joins you and you can’t help but notice that he allows himself the luxury of closeness, doesn’t pull away or push back from it.

From this close, he smells like chlorine and sun cream. Like summer. All those sharp edges you’d thought he’d had are familiar, now, replaced with the lilting edges of his softer parts; his gentle eyes, the pink of his mouth, the round of his cheeks. 

(You think his mother had been right when she said he looked like a dumpling. Not just round cheeks but warm inside, too, warm and yielding and filling and lovely.)

He catches you staring. Turns into your gaze with a little cock in his brow, a terribly affectionate quirk to the corner of his mouth. But he doesn’t say anything, just watches and waits, notices the way you lean towards him, pulled towards him by something inexorable, undeniable. He finds his breath stilling as he braces for this moment that’s been building slowly from the second you’d first met, the slow rise of a firework into the sky before it bursts into sound and light and beauty, lets his eyes flit to the sweet curve of your lips—

Which press lightly against the apple of his cheek before you pull back.

You’re smiling so wide, just like a cat who got the cream. You see how he blinks, before you see the way his eyes crinkle so fondly as he smiles back, surprised but still pleased.

“I think you missed?” He says, voice soft. And you can’t help it, can’t help but keep smiling at this, his calmness even when you’ve thrown him for a loop. Can’t help but smile at that implication, unspoken but obvious—that his cheek was the false target and instead his mouth was the bullseye. That he wants it.

(That he wants to kiss you, too.)

“Did I miss? Oops. Hold on.”

You lean in, careful and considerate, lining up the shot—

and turn your head to press a kiss to his other cheek. 

You see the way he tries not to laugh, shoulders shaking in that way you like (love) so much. You’ve wanted to do that for a while now, to kiss those soft cheeks, but you’ve never felt so bold. Not until now, in this moment of cool reprieve as the sun beats hot outside, spills over your laughing friends, only a door away: maybe you should have waited for a different moment but it feels right, somehow. To give into that warm desire in this beat of stillness, to have Yoongi’s eyes slide back down to your mouth, to lean back in to finally take that next step in this thing that you have—

An unholy yelling. You both turn at the sound, watch the blurs of movement through the glass of the doors as a grinning Jungkook sprints past, chased by an indignant, irate Jin.

A beat of silence passes. Then:

“Do we want to know?”

“Probably not,” Yoongi replies. You can hear the smile in his voice. The moment’s been broken, but the way he looks at you lets you know that there’ll be plenty of other moments past this one, and that’s okay. You’re happy to wait a little while longer.

(In the coolness of this room he reaches for your hand, and you follow him back into the warm light of the sun.)