❛ comforting BTS in low moments ❜
Jungkook lies sprawled across the living room couch, headphones clamped over his ears, music pulsing through the room like a heartbeat.
He doesn’t see you enter immediately, his eyes closed, lips parted slightly as his fingers drum absentmindedly against the armrest. There’s a tension in his jaw, like he’s holding back some storm inside.
You cross the room slowly and he opens his eyes slightly. “Hey,” he greets you, low, almost teasing, but edged with exhaustion.
“Hey,” you reply, sliding down to sit beside him, your thigh brushing his. He doesn’t move away.
“I don’t know what to do tonight,” he admits, his voice rougher than usual. “Everything feels too much. I’m wiped out.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I got you. Let me take care of you tonight.”
His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, intensity sparking. “You make me feel lighter,” he says huskily. “You always do.”
You close your hand over his, thumb tracing lazy circles against his skin. “You’re not alone, Koo,” you breathe. ”I got you.”
Jungkook swallows hard, his shoulders trembling under your touch. “You make it hard to think straight,” he admits.
“Good,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear. “You don’t have to think, just feel me here.”
His exhale is low, vibrating in his chest as he presses into you, the storm inside him settling. His fingers lace with yours, and his eyes search yours, raw and intense. The world shrinks to the heat of shared breath, the pulse of his heart, and the closeness you’ve carved between you.
You find him in the garden, a cool breeze tugging at his hair as he sits cross-legged on the grass with his back to you. His gaze is fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon, eyes distant and stormy.
“You’re here,” he says without turning.
“I’m always here,” you reply, moving forward until your shadow falls over him. You kneel behind him, hand brushing his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He finally turns, eyes heavy, lips parted like he’s tasting the air. “Do you know what it’s like to be inside your own head when no one else is there?” he asks. “When it’s nothing but noise?”
“I think I can feel it with you,” you whisper.
His head tilts slightly, studying you, a hunger in his gaze that makes your pulse spike. “You’re fearless,” he murmurs, leaning closer so your breaths mix. “Even when I try to scare you away, you always stay.”
Your hand slides over his, fingertips tracing the line of his wrist. “I stay because I see you,” you say, voice barely audible. “Not the mask, not the persona, but just you.”
He exhales sharply, leaning into your warmth. “Then don’t ever let go,” he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I want you here, always here. Feeling this with me.”
The wind wraps around you both, but it’s nothing compared to the heat coiling between you, intensity sharp, dangerous, and utterly magnetic.
Seokjin lies across the bed with one arm draped over his eyes. His body is tense, those broad shoulders hunched as if he’s carrying invisible weight, lips parted slightly as if holding back a sigh he doesn’t want anyone to hear.
“Hi” you whisper, coming in.
He doesn’t move at first. Then his hand twitches toward yours, tentative, almost pleading.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” you say softly, moving to crouch beside him.
He pulls his arm away from his eyes and looks at you, vulnerability flickering in his deep brown gaze. “I can’t help it,” he says. “Even surrounded by people, I feel hollow sometimes.”
You reach out to caress his cheek with tenderness. “I know,” you say gently. “But you don’t have to feel it alone. Not tonight.”
Seokjin swallows, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Hold me,” he says quietly, almost unsure.
Your hands slide along his shoulders, over his chest, feeling the subtle tremble beneath his skin. “I’m here,” you murmur, leaning closer. “Right here. Breathe with me.”
As you hold him, the tension in his body starts to unravel. His fingers find yours, gripping gently, like he’s afraid you might leave. “Do you feel it?” he asks, voice rough.
“I do,” you whisper. “Your loneliness doesn’t scare me. I’ll hold it for you.”
He exhales, a low, shuddering sound, and presses closer, lips brushing your shoulder. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he says, voice thick with need. “Lucky to be wanted like this.”
You let your hands linger on him, guiding him into warmth and solace. The night wraps around you both, heavy with desire, tenderness, and the unspoken promise that he will never be alone so long as you’re here.
You hear the music before you see him. Soft, rhythmic thuds echo down the hallway of the studio, accompanied by the sound of sneakers sliding across the floor and breath hitting the air in controlled bursts.
When you open the door, Jimin is already halfway through another run of choreography. His reflection moves sharply in the mirror, every line precise and every turn perfect −almost too perfect.
When the song ends, he doesn’t stop, and instead he just restarts the track. You walk over and quietly hit pause. The room falls silent except for his breathing.
“Hey−” Jimin turns quickly, a little startled. “Y/N? When did you−?”
He smiles sheepishly. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t notice.”
Jimin doesn’t say anything, his smile staying in place although his eyes drift down toward the floor. “I messed up earlier,” he says. “During rehearsal.”
“I did,” he insists, shaking his head. “My turn timing was late, twice.” He laughs softly, but it sounds thin. “Everybody probably noticed.”
You step closer until you're standing between him and the mirror. “Look at me,” you say.
Jimin’s warm brown eyes lift slowly.
“You know what I saw?” you say. “I saw you stay behind after everyone left.”
He shrugs lightly. “I just wanted to fix it.”
“You always want to fix everything.”
Jimin’s lips press together, but he’s quiet.
“Sometimes you dance as if you’re trying to satisfy the air.”
That catches him off guard. “What?”
You reach up and adjust the loose strand of hair stuck to his forehead. “You don’t have to earn your place every day.”
He studies you carefully, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
Your hand slips into his. “You don’t,” you say simply.
Jimin exhales, his tension evaporating slowly. Then with a shy smile, he squeezes your hand back. “Stay while I practice?”
“Only if the next run is just for fun.”
You find Hobi in the kitchen, long after everyone else has gone to sleep. There is a mess of bowls and utensils scattered over the countertops from what looks like an impromptu cooking experiment.
He sits perched on the counter, knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the floor. His usual energy is muted, as if the warmth has leaked out of him. You don’t say anything at first, you just sit on the floor opposite him.
“I’m just messing everything up tonight,” he confesses quietly. “I can’t get this recipe right, can’t get a verse right, can’t even… I don’t know, get a smile out of myself right.”
You let that sink in for a moment, then scoot a little closer. “You don’t have to get everything right, you know,” you say softly. “Even the sun makes clouds sometimes.”
He looks up, surprised. A small, tired smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “But I’m supposed to bring light,” he says, still muted. “−To everyone.”
“And you do,” you tell him. “Even when you think you don’t.”
His hands fidget with a couple of plastic straws. “It feels different when I feel like I’m failing.”
You reach for his hand, resting it over his heart. “You’re human, Hobi. Even the brightest flame flickers sometimes, and that’s okay. You’re still warm −still seen.”
He takes a deep breath, his smile brighter now. “You always know what to say,” he whispers.
“Not always,” you reply, “But I’ll sit here with you, okay, and we can figure it out together.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Together, huh?”
And for the first time tonight, the kitchen doesn’t feel so empty.
Yoongi is in the studio, lights dimmed, headphones wrapped around his neck but silent. He’s slouched in the corner, notebook open on his lap, pencil hovering but unmoving. His usual sharp focus is dulled tonight, like the music inside him has quieted.
You kneel beside him without a word, letting him know you’re there.
“Don’t worry,” he says without looking up. “I’ll just ruin it.”
“Yoongi−” you say softly. “I’m not here to critique, alright. I’m just here for you.”
He snorts humourlessly and shakes his head. “Even so, you’d be bored.”
“I doubt it,” you reply with conviction. “I like quiet with you.”
He glances at you, dark eyes catching the dim light. “Quiet doesn’t fix it,” he murmurs. “I feel like I’m always falling behind. Like I’m always a step short.”
You lift his hand gently, letting your fingers curl around his. “Maybe,” you say, “But being here, doing your best, even when you feel behind, that’s enough.”
He studies you thoughtfully, mulling over your response. “You make it sound easy.”
“I’m not saying it’s easy,” you admit. “I’m just saying you don’t have to carry it alone.”
For a moment, he just breathes, letting the weight of the words settle before he lets out a resigned sigh. “How do you always know what to say?”
You shrug. “One of my many talents,” you smile. “But you always know when to listen.”
You squeeze his hand as he rests slightly against you, silent but present. You let him stay there, letting the quiet between you speak louder than any words could.
You find Namjoon on the balcony long after midnight. The air is still, the city humming beneath the building like a distant ocean. He stands with his elbows resting on the railing, shoulders curved forward, his phone forgotten on the small table behind him.
He doesn’t notice you at first, only realizing you're there when you drape the blanket over his shoulders. He glances back, surprised, then sighs softly. “Did I wake you?” he asks softly.
“No, you didn’t,” you reply, taking your place by his side. “I just noticed you weren’t there, I missed you.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth, but it fades quickly. The wind lifts his hair as he looks out at the sprinkling of lights again. “Do you ever feel like you’re meant to have answers for everything?” he asks quietly. “You know, as if people expect that from you.”
“You mean because you’re you?”
He chuckles under his breath. “Leader, translator, spokesperson −the guy with the speech.” His fingers tap at the metal rail. “Sometimes I think everyone sees a version of me that’s bigger than I actually am.”
You watch him carefully. “It must be a lot of pressure.”
“It is,” he admits, “I just feel like a guy who doesn’t know if he’s doing things right.”
You reach for his hand, threading your fingers between his. “Joon,” you say gently, and he looks back at you. “Do you know what I see?”
“I see someone who worries this much about doing things right,” you tell him. “And that’s exactly why you usually do.”
He studies your face with an admiring smile. “That logic sounds a lot like something I’d say.”
“Then it must be correct.”
Namjoon laughs, leaning his head against yours. “You always show up when my brain gets loud,” he murmurs.
You squeeze his hand. “I’m not here to quiet it −because that’s who you are,” you say. “I just want to remind you that you’re not alone.”
For the first time tonight, his shoulders relax.
Thanks for Reading ❧
❧ bts masterlists | p a r t • o n e | p a r t • t w o
❧ bts reactions/imagines masterlist ❧ ( bts taglist ❜ )
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
