Yoonmin Oneshots

good morning hyung

[Not my story]
Ao3 miniimin

“Forty minutes till the van comes,” Jin called from across the kitchen. “Food will be done in five, so someone needs to set the table. Jungkook?”

From the living room, a whine rose up. “I set it yesterday!”

“Tae?”

“No fair, I cleaned up monday. Make Namjoon-hyung do it.”

Jin rolled his eyes. “You know that he cooked for us earlier in the week, he’s off duty.”

Jungkook and Taehyung made noises of incredulity simultaneously, and Jungkook’s head popped up from behind the couch. “Hyung, you can’t be serious. He served us raw meat and onions in boiled water for dinner -”

“ - And you made us eat it.” Taehyung finished, sitting up and slinging his arms around Jungkook’s shoulders lazily. “I still haven’t pooped since then.” He added, a vaguely concerned afterthought. Jungkook’s nose screwed up, and he squirmed in Taehyung’s grasp. “Gross,” he mumbled. Taehyung, completely unaffected, settled his chin in the crook of Jungkook’s neck.

Jin sighed, turning to look hopefully at Hoseok, who was engrossed by his phone - most likely on twitter, scrolling through the responses to their recent tweets.

“Hobi?”

“I did grocery shopping yesterday.”

Why was it that he had to do all the work? He was the eldest hyung, shouldn’t the others be cooking his food, cleaning his laundry, packing him carefully made and personalized lunches?

If being a real mom was hard, Jin wasn’t sure what could be said about being mother to six college aged boys, all of whom demanded self- specific nurturing. Not that he got any help from the managers, or the other hyungs, or even Namjoon who was supposed to be the leader, the least that he could do was be useful when Jin was too busy to -

“Wait, where’s Yoongi-hyung?” Tae called out. “He hasn’t done anything in a while, has he?”

Jin glanced at the clock. “It’s nine twenty-two,” he said matter of factly.

“Ah,” Taehyung acknowledged. “Jimin?”

“Already went up,” Jin responded. “It shouldn’t be long now.”
~oOo~

On the upper level of their apartments, Jimin was walking as quietly as possible down the hall, rubbing the sleep out of his own eyes lazily. The socks he wore made his footsteps whispers on the wooden floor. When he reached the door, he rested a hand on the knob for a moment before turning it and slipping into the dark room.

Jimin blinked, his eyes readjusting before he realized what was making the room pitch black. Not only were all the blinds drawn, but heavy blankets had been tossed over the curtain hangers, blocking any stray ray of sunshine. In the blackness, he smiled to himself.

Min Yoongi was something else.

And said something else was, he assumed, underneath the massive pile of comforters and pillows that covered the bed. Jimin watched it for a minute just to make sure, and sighed when he saw the slight rhythmic movement of someone breathing.

This was a very delicate process that only he had managed to perfect in their three years of being a band. The other members had tried to rouse Yoongi in the morning, and after the seventh event of graphic death threats and smashed lamps/doors/cellphones, they had decided to leave the duty to Jimin, respectfully.

The seal on the deal had been when Taehyung had set off the fire alarm as a “sneaky” plan to rise Yoongi without actually having to enter the room. The mint haired boy had pulled himself out of bed, ripped the smoke detector off the ceiling, and hurled it with surprising accuracy at Taehyung’s face.