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nevieeland · 6 months ago

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title: normal girl

pairing: ex boyfriend!k.namjoon x reader

synopsis: if someone were to ask you why you'd broken up with kim namjoon, you'd tell them it's simply because you weren't compatible. which was partially true. you wouldn't tell them it was because of a debilitating self loathing, or a lack of communication, or the fact that he was so embarrassed of you he didn't even tell his parents of your existence. but it was an amicable breakup, all in the past. or it would be, if he didn't have a habit of popping up everywhere.

rating/warnings: pg ; angst. party, drinking, mentions of weed. reader and namjoon make out. miscommunication if you squint. not proofread.

last updated: 11.02.25

word count: 6.8k.

the first time you see him after the breakup is at a party.

you don't know why you're surprised to see him there. all of your friends are his friends, and vice versa. you ran in the same, tight fucking circle.

so why does your stomach practically lurch out your throat when he laughs with one of your mutual friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. why does his presence here bother you so much?

you don't know.

you don't know why you're standing there, watching him from across the room like some fucking stranger. the same guy you used to tell everything to, the one who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt. he’s talking to someone else now. laughing like he’s got it all figured out. and here you are, just staring, trying to remember when it stopped hurting.

you told yourself you were over it, but you’re not. you can feel it creeping up, the ache, the fucking tightness in your chest. you thought seeing him would make it easier. it’s not.

so why the hell is he standing there, looking so... fine?

jimin’s hand is warm on your shoulder, grounding in a way that makes you blink, makes you realize you’ve been standing there, stuck, for way too long.

"are you gonna spend the whole night staring at your ex, or are you actually gonna have fun?" he leans in, his voice pitched low so only you can hear. "because if you’re just gonna be weird about it, i’ll take your drink and your dignity right now."

you scoff, finally tearing your eyes away from namjoon—who hasn’t even noticed you, by the way, which somehow makes it worse. "i’m not staring," you mutter, even though you definitely were.

jimin gives you a look, one that says don’t lie to me, dumbass, before tipping back the rest of his drink and setting the empty cup on the nearest table. "sure. and I’m not the hottest person in this room."

you roll your eyes. "you’re unbearable."

"and you’re deflecting." he tilts his head, studying you like he’s deciding whether to push further. he must see something in your face, because his tone softens. "you good?"

the question makes your throat tighten. you swallow around it, force a shrug. "yeah. just… wasn’t expecting him to be here."

jimin hums like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he loops an arm through yours and tugs you toward the crowd. "come on. if you keep standing here looking tragic, he’s gonna think you’re still in love with him."

you make a noise of protest, but jimin’s already dragging you away. you let him. anything is better than standing still.

jimin tugs you deeper into the party, past clusters of people you barely register, past the pulsing bass of the music that thrums in your chest. you try to focus on the warmth of his hand around your wrist, on the familiar comfort of his presence, but it’s hard when you can still feel namjoon in the room. like gravity, like muscle memory—like the aftertaste of something you don’t want to admit you still crave.

"drink," jimin announces, shoving a red cup into your hands. "dance. flirt. do literally anything other than mope in the corner like a sad victorian widow."

you glare at him over the rim of your cup. "that’s dramatic."

"and you’re predictable." he nudges you with his hip, grinning. "what happened to i’m totally over it, jimin, it’s fine, i’m fine?"

you sigh, tipping your head back as you take a sip—cheap vodka, too much mixer. "i am fine."

"uh-huh. that’s why you looked like you were about to throw up when you saw him."

you don’t have an answer for that, so you take another sip instead.

jimin huffs, his expression softening. "look, i get it. it’s weird. but it’s been, what? two months? you don’t have to let him ruin your night."

two months and thirteen days. but who’s counting?

you press your lips together, exhaling slowly. "he’s not ruining my night."

"great," jimin chirps, too fast, too pleased. his hands find your shoulders again, squeezing before he turns you toward the crowd of dancing bodies. "then let’s go. if i don’t see you at least attempt to have a good time, i’m calling a priest to exorcise the ghost of your failed relationship."

you let him pull you along because you know he’s right. because standing still feels worse than moving. because you can pretend for a little while that the memory of namjoon’s laugh isn’t still echoing in the back of your head.

and because, if nothing else, jimin will make sure you don’t drown in it.

the bass thrums in your chest as jimin pulls you toward the dance floor, the heat of too many bodies pressing in around you.

someone’s perfume lingers in the air, something sweet and floral, but all you can focus on is the way jimin spins you around, his hands landing on your waist like he’s daring you to let loose.

"you remember how to do this, right?" he teases, close enough that you can hear him over the music.

you roll your eyes but sway your hips anyway, letting the beat carry you just enough to keep him satisfied. jimin grins, triumphant, and starts moving with you, rolling his body like he was born to do this. which, honestly, he probably was.

"see?" he says, his voice light, easy. "way more fun than standing in a corner looking like you just got dumped."

you give him a halfhearted shove. "i did just get dumped. two months isn’t that long."

"feels long enough to me," jimin shrugs, his hands still on your hips, keeping you anchored. "besides, it’s not like he died. he’s just some guy you used to date. and if he can act like everything’s cool, so can you."

you want to argue. want to tell him that it’s not the same, that namjoon has always been better at pretending things don’t affect him the way they affect you. but you don’t, because that’s exactly the kind of thing jimin would pounce on.

instead, you let yourself focus on the music, on the way your body moves without thinking, on the way Jimin keeps you moving forward instead of looking back. for a few minutes, it almost works.

and then—

then you feel it.

a prickle at the back of your neck, the weight of someone’s eyes settling over you. it makes your movements stutter, just slightly, but jimin notices immediately. his hands tighten, grounding, but it’s too late. you already know.

you don’t have to look to know who it is.

but you do anyway.

and there he is.

namjoon, standing just a few feet away, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. his drink is half-forgotten in his hand, his jaw tight. and the moment your eyes meet, something shifts in the air between you—something heavy, something unsaid.

jimin follows your gaze and sighs, muttering something under his breath before stepping closer, like he’s preparing for impact.

"okay," he murmurs, his fingers curling around your wrist, "i know I said you should act like everything’s cool, but if you want to bail, just say the word."

you swallow hard, pulse thrumming in your ears.

you should look away.

you should turn around and let jimin drag you into the crowd and pretend this never happened.

but you don’t.

because Namjoon is still looking at you.

and for the first time since the breakup, you think maybe—just maybe—he’s not as okay as he’s pretending to be.

jimin must sense it, the shift in your energy and the way your breath catches just slightly, because his grip on your wrist tightens.

"hey," he murmurs, barely audible over the music, "don’t do that."

"do what?" you say, but it’s weak, barely a protest.

jimin sighs, tilting his head toward namjoon. "that thing where you look at him like he still belongs to you."

you flinch. "i’m not—"

"you are," jimin cuts in, no softness left in his voice now. "and i get it. i do. but if you let yourself go down that road, you’re gonna end up right back where you started. and i’m not picking up the pieces again."

that stings more than it should. You don’t want to be a burden. don’t want to be someone people have to fix. but it’s hard when namjoon is still looking at you like that—like you’re something familiar in a room full of strangers.

your fingers tighten around your cup. "i don’t know what to do."

jimin exhales sharply, his lips pressing together before he shifts, stepping fully in front of you, blocking your view. "then do nothing," he says. "don’t go to him. don’t let him come to you. just… let it be, for once."

you chew on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to nod. jimin’s right. you know he’s right.

but then you hear it.

your name.

low and careful, spoken in a voice you know better than your own.

you don’t even get the chance to think before jimin reacts. his eyes flick past your shoulder, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

"not tonight, namjoon."

jimin says it like a warning, like he already knows how this ends.

but namjoon—stubborn, stupid namjoon—only sighs. "i just want to talk."

you hate how much your body betrays you. the way your shoulders tense, the way your breath shudders just slightly. the way you feel yourself swaying toward him before jimin gently pulls you back.

"you don’t have to do this," jimin murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.

and maybe you don’t.

maybe you should walk away.

maybe you shouldn’t look up, shouldn’t meet namjoon’s eyes, shouldn’t let yourself get caught in whatever storm is brewing in them.

but you do. you never were very good at letting go.

jimin’s grip is still firm around your wrist, an anchor you could hold onto if you wanted. if you were smart.

but when you finally meet namjoon’s gaze, something in your chest folds in on itself.

he looks… tired. not just in the way he always does, like he’s been thinking too much again, but in a way that makes your throat tighten. his shoulders are tense, his jaw is tight, and despite how carefully he said your name, his eyes are anything but steady.

you shouldn’t care.

you shouldn’t feel anything.

but you do.

jimin must see the way your resolve wavers, because he sighs sharply and lets go of your wrist. "fine," he mutters. "but if you start spiraling, i’m dragging you out of here myself."

you swallow, nodding once before turning back to namjoon. he watches the exchange, his fingers curling around his drink like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t—not yet.

instead, he jerks his chin toward the back hallway, quieter, less crowded.

"can we talk?"

you hesitate. you shouldn’t. you shouldn’t.

but then you nod.

namjoon exhales like he’s been holding his breath, and that alone makes you feel like you’ve already made a mistake.

jimin doesn’t say anything as you step away, but you can feel his eyes on you, like he’s mentally tallying up every bad decision you’re about to make.

namjoon walks ahead, leading you toward the hallway, and you follow.

because of course you do.

because you never learned how to walk away from him first.

the music fades the farther you go, replaced by the distant hum of conversation. the air back here is cooler, less suffocating, but it does nothing to settle the uneasy weight in your stomach.

namjoon stops near a closed door—bathroom, maybe, or just some random room in whoever’s house this is. he turns to face you, fingers dragging through his hair like he’s trying to gather his thoughts.

you cross your arms over your chest before he can say anything. "if you’re gonna ask me if i’m okay, don’t."

namjoon huffs a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "i wasn’t."

you shift your weight from one foot to the other. "then what?"

his jaw flexes, and for a second, he looks like he regrets pulling you aside at all. but then he meets your gaze again, and something in his expression turns serious.

"why did you do it?"

your breath catches.

"do what?" you ask, even though you already know.

namjoon’s eyes don’t waver. "why did you break up with me?"

the words settle between you like a stone, heavier than they should be.

you could lie.

you could tell him what you told yourself—that it just wasn’t working, that you needed space, that it was for the best.

but the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s begging for something real, you’re not sure you have it in you to lie to him again.

you inhale sharply, feeling the weight of the question press into your ribs. namjoon is staring at you like he expects an answer that will fix everything—something clean, something that will finally make sense of it all. But there is no clean answer. there never was.

"i ask myself that all the time," you say slowly, carefully, "and every time the answer is the same. we weren’t compatible."

namjoon’s lips part slightly, but you don’t let him interrupt.

"and that’s true," you add. "we weren’t."

it’s the easy answer, the one that doesn’t dig too deep, the one that keeps things polite and distant. the one you’ve told yourself over and over again so it doesn’t hurt as much.

namjoon exhales through his nose. "that’s it?"

you let out a humorless laugh. "what else do you want me to say?"

his fingers tighten around his drink, his knuckles going pale. "i don’t know," he admits. "something real. the truth, maybe."

the words hit harder than they should. you shift your weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. "it is the truth."

namjoon scoffs, shaking his head. "no, it’s the version you tell everyone else. but not me. never me."

your stomach twists, but you force yourself to hold your ground. "you don’t get to be upset about that," you say, sharper than you mean to.

his jaw tightens. "why not?"

"because you never told your version either," you snap. "because I spent a year feeling like i was screaming into a void while you just—" you pause, forcing down the lump in your throat. "you never even told your parents about me, namjoon."

silence.

his expression doesn’t change, but the way his grip tightens around his drink tells you enough.

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. "what? you didn’t think i knew?"

he doesn’t say anything.

"you think i didn’t notice? the way you changed the subject every time i asked about them? the way you made sure I was never around when they called?" you swallow, throat burning. "i spent so much time making excuses for you, telling myself i was being paranoid, that maybe you were just private, maybe it wasn’t that deep. but it was, wasn’t it?"

namjoon shifts, exhaling slowly, like he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. but you don’t want careful. not anymore.

"did i embarrass you?" you ask, voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

his head jerks up. "what?"

you force yourself to hold his gaze. "was I embarrassing? is that why you never told them?"

namjoon looks pained now, like the question physically hurts him. "no," he says quickly. "god, no, it wasn’t—" he exhales roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. "it wasn’t like that."

"then what was it like?" you push. "because that’s what it felt like, namjoon. like i was something you wanted to keep hidden."

his shoulders rise and fall, and for the first time, he looks almost… small. like he’s carrying something heavy, something he never figured out how to say.

"i was scared," he says finally.

you blink. "scared of what?"

namjoon lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "i was scared of fucking it up. scared of them not approving. scared of what would happen if i let them into that part of my life and they decided you weren’t—" he cuts himself off, jaw going tight.

you stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears. "weren’t what?"

namjoon hesitates, looking at you like he knows whatever he says next is going to break something.

"enough," he says quietly. "weren’t enough for them."

something sharp twists in your chest, and suddenly, you feel sick.

"right," you say, stepping back. "so you just made that decision for them, then. for me."

"that’s not what i—"

"do you even hear yourself?" you let out a shaky breath, shaking your head. "you didn’t want them to decide i wasn’t enough, so you just... never gave them the chance to know me at all?"

namjoon presses his lips together, but he doesn’t deny it.

and that—that hurts worse than anything else.

you nod, even though it’s not really for him. it’s for you, to ground yourself, to remember.

this is why you left. this is why none of this matters anymore.

it’s in the past. or at least, it should be.

your heart stumbles.

"you’re ridiculous," you murmur.

"am i?" he meets your gaze, something raw in his expression. "because i know you, and i know how hard you are on yourself. i know that you think you ruined this, that you walked away because you thought i deserved better, but—" he exhales, shaking his head. "it wasn’t just you. you weren’t the only one who didn’t know how to talk about things."

your breath feels shallow, like there’s not enough air in this hallway.

this isn’t how you thought this conversation would go.

you thought he’d be angry. thought he’d want some kind of closure. thought he’d say something to make it all easier to leave behind.

but instead, he looks at you like he’s still holding on.

and you don’t know what to do with that.

the walls feel like they’re closing in. the air is too thick, too heavy, pressing against your ribs, making it hard to breathe. you don’t want to hear this. you don’t want to know this.

namjoon is still looking at you, still waiting, like he expects you to say something, to offer him some kind of reaction—but you can’t. you won’t.

so you don’t.

you inhale sharply, then push past him before he can stop you. your shoulder brushes his arm, the touch fleeting and electric, but you don’t let yourself look back. you just move.

the bass of the music hits first, a welcome distraction as you step back into the crowded party. the sound drowns out the lingering weight of namjoon’s words, the heat of his gaze still burning into your skin. you weave through the bodies, through the noise, searching for the only person who can pull you out of your own head.

jimin.

you find him by the drinks table, chatting with someone you don’t recognize, his mouth twisted into a lazy smirk. but the second his eyes land on you, the expression drops.

he takes one look at your face and sighs.

"that bad?" he asks.

you grab a bottle of vodka off the table, unscrewing the cap with shaking fingers. "i need to get drunk tonight."

jimin blinks. then his lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile but almost—something that says i told you so but also i’ve got you.

"okay," he says, plucking the bottle from your hands before you can take a straight swig. "but let’s do it the fun way, yeah?"

he pours a generous amount into a cup, mixing it with something vaguely fruit-flavored before handing it back to you. his eyes flicker over your shoulder, like he’s checking to see if namjoon followed, but he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t need to.

instead, he clinks his own drink against yours and grins. "let’s make some bad decisions."

and for the first time all night, you let yourself breathe.

the world is spinning.

or maybe it’s just you.

you don’t know, and you don’t care, because everything feels light—your limbs, your head, your fucking heart.

the music is loud, pulsing through your veins, and you’re pressed between jimin and yoonah, both of them laughing as you sway, barely keeping balance. jimin’s boyfriend—taehyung, you think?—is off to the side, watching with amusement, while jungkook keeps up with the reckless pace of your movements, grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all night.

"you’re gone," yoonah giggles, gripping your waist to steady you.

you throw your head back, laughing at nothing. "i needed this," you slur, arms flinging around jimin’s shoulders. "you’re the best for making me do this."

jimin huffs a laugh, his hands tightening on your hips as he keeps you upright. "i always know what’s best for you, babe."

"you do," you say, nodding so hard the room tilts. "you’re so smart. sooo wise. like a little… glittery buddha."

yoonah practically shrieks with laughter at that, doubling over.

"glittery buddha?" jungkook echoes, barely holding it together. "oh my god, i’m using that forever."

jimin rolls his eyes but smiles, shifting to keep you from stumbling as you sway too far to one side. "alright, okay, i think you’ve hit your very drunk quota for the night."

you pout, leaning against him heavily. "but i like being drunk."

"i know you do," he coos, smoothing a hand over your hair like you’re a particularly chaotic pet. "but i like you alive, so maybe let’s get some water, yeah?"

you open your mouth to protest, but the dizziness catches up with you, making your head spin. you press a hand to your forehead, giggling again. "whoa."

jungkook reaches out, steadying your arm. "okay, yeah, we need to sit her down before she actually eats shit on the floor."

taehyung, who’s been mostly observing, finally steps in, shaking his head with a fond smile. "come on, let’s get her outside for some air."

jimin nods, already shifting to loop an arm around your waist. "good call."

yoonah pats your cheek gently. "you good, babe?"

you grin, leaning into her touch. "never better."

and it’s true.

because in this moment, with the alcohol buzzing in your veins and your friends keeping you steady, you’re not thinking about namjoon.

not even a little bit.

the cool night air hits your skin like a blessing, crisp and fresh after the suffocating heat of the party. you breathe in deep, letting it settle in your lungs, hoping it might clear some of the haze from your head. it doesn’t. you’re still warm, still loose-limbed and giggly, still swaying slightly where you stand.

taehyung watches you with amusement, fishing something out of his pocket. “cigarette?” he offers, holding one out between two fingers.

you blink at it, then at him. “are you trying to corrupt me?”

he smirks. “wouldn’t dream of it. but you look like you need something to do with your hands.”

you hum, considering. then, just to be a little shit, you ask, “you got any weed?”

taehyung barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he tucks the cigarette between his lips and lights it. “i’m not trying to be responsible for your overdose tonight, babe.”

you gasp dramatically. “you can’t overdose on weed.”

“yeah, but you can pass out on the grass and wake up with ants in your hair.” he exhales a slow stream of smoke, tilting his head toward you. “and i really don’t feel like carrying your ass back inside when that happens.”

you laugh, leaning back against the railing of the patio. “fair point.”

for a moment, it’s quiet. just the distant bass of the party, the hum of cars on a nearby street, the flickering glow of the cigarette between taehyung’s fingers.

you close your eyes, letting the dizziness settle into something softer, more manageable. the night air is nice. It makes everything feel farther away—the party, the noise, the weight of namjoon’s voice still lingering in your head.

“you okay?” taehyung asks suddenly, voice lower now, gentler.

your lashes flutter open. he’s watching you, smoke curling around his face, his expression unreadable.

you shrug. “i’m drunk.”

“no shit,” he says, amused. then, after a beat: “but I mean… are you okay?”

something tightens in your chest, and you look away, down at the wood grain beneath your fingers.

“i’m not not okay,” you murmur, noncommittal.

taehyung hums like he expected that answer. he takes another drag, then flicks the ash off the edge of the railing. “breakups fucking suck,” he says, like it’s just a fact of life.

you let out a breathy laugh. “yeah. they do.”

another pause. more silence. more space to breathe.

then Taehyung nudges your arm with his elbow. “want a hit?”

you glance at the cigarette, then at him, and for the first time tonight, you don’t feel like running.

so you take it.

you bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling just enough to feel the burn at the back of your throat. it’s been a while since you last smoked, and it’s probably not the best idea when you’re already drunk, but at this point, what’s one more bad decision?

taehyung watches you with a lazy sort of amusement, like he’s waiting for you to cough. you don’t, but the way your nose scrunches at the taste makes him smirk anyway.

you exhale slowly, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “how do you and yoonah do it?” you ask suddenly.

he raises an eyebrow. “do what?”

“be so… normal.” you gesture vaguely, handing the cigarette back. “especially considering, y’know. everything.”

taehyung hums, taking a slow drag before tilting his head at you. “you mean the part where i’m dating her brother?”

you nod. “yeah. like… wasn’t that weird at first?”

he exhales, flicking the ash off to the side. “not really.”

you blink. “seriously?”

taehyung shrugs, passing the cigarette between his fingers. “i think she always knew.”

you frown. “knew what?”

“that i liked him,” he says simply. “probably before i even knew it myself.”

you stare at him for a long moment, trying to imagine what it must feel like to have everything fall into place like that—to have someone just know, to have things unfold without the weight of self-doubt and miscommunication crushing it before it even has a chance.

you press your lips together, glancing down at your hands. “do you think i’ll ever get over it?”

taehyung doesn’t ask what you mean. he doesn’t have to.

he leans against the railing beside you, looking out over the backyard, the glow of his cigarette the only bright spot in the dark.

“time will tell,” he says finally.

you sigh, tilting your head back to stare at the sky. the stars are faint, barely visible against the city lights, but they’re there.

you rub your hands over your face, exhaling hard. the alcohol has loosened your tongue, made your thoughts spill out faster than you can filter them. but maybe that’s okay. maybe, for once, you just need to say it.

“i hate him,” you murmur, staring down at the ground. “but i still love him.”

taehyung doesn’t react, just smokes his cigarette like he’s heard this kind of thing a thousand times before.

“i want to punch him in the face,” you continue, voice thick. “and then i want to kiss him. and then i want to hit him with my car.”

that makes Taehyung snort, but you’re not done.

“and then i’d stay with him at the hospital,” you add, chest aching. “i’d be the one sitting in that awful plastic chair all night, making sure he’s okay.”

you swallow, throat burning. “i just want to be his again.” the words feel raw, fragile, like they might break if you say them too loud. “but i can’t.”

taehyung takes another drag, eyes steady on the horizon. “no,” he agrees. “you can’t.”

it’s not cruel. it’s not dismissive. it’s just the truth, and you hate how much you need to hear it.

your arms wrap around yourself, like that’ll somehow hold you together. “i don’t know how to stop loving him.”

taehyung hums, flicking his cigarette away before turning to you fully. “maybe you don’t have to.”

you furrow your brows, confused, but he just shrugs. “maybe love isn’t something you stop doing. maybe it just… changes. maybe one day, you wake up, and it doesn’t hurt so much.”

you scoff, bitter. “you sound like a fortune cookie.”

taehyung grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. “i have my moments.”

you shake your head, but your lips twitch despite yourself. the ache in your chest is still there, still deep and gnawing, but at least now you’re not alone with it.

the night air is cool against your skin. the party hums in the background, voices and music blending into something distant, something that doesn’t belong to you right now.

you let out a slow breath, watching it disappear into the night.

maybe taehyung is right. maybe one day, you’ll wake up and the weight of namjoon won’t feel so heavy.

but tonight isn’t that night.

teh night air has cooled further, the party still pulsing behind you, but out here—alone on the patio—it’s quiet. the alcohol has loosened its grip on you, dulled the edges of your thoughts without making them disappear entirely. you’re sober enough to think clearly but tipsy enough not to care too much.

taehyung had gone back inside a while ago, leaving you with nothing but the distant hum of laughter, the glow of porch lights, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clinging to your fingers.

and then you feel it. that subtle shift in the air. a presence behind you. familiar, even without turning.

you don’t have to look to know who it is.

namjoon.

for the first time in months, his presence doesn’t make your stomach churn. it doesn’t feel like a gut punch, doesn’t send you spiraling into a mess of emotions you don’t know how to handle.

you feel… still. at peace, almost.

neither of you speaks at first. he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t try to force the moment into something heavier than it already is. he just stands there, quiet.

eventually, you break the silence.

"you always do this," you murmur, not turning around.

"do what?" his voice is careful, measured.

"pop up when i least expect it." you tilt your head, staring at the night sky. "like some tragic ghost of relationships past."

namjoon huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. "not a ghost," he says. "i’m still here."

you let out a slow breath. "yeah. you are."

another pause. another silence. but it doesn’t feel suffocating this time.

"you seemed like you were having fun tonight," namjoon says eventually.

you nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "i was."

he shifts behind you, like he wasn’t expecting that answer. like he was bracing himself for something else.

"i’m glad," he says after a beat, and you think he means it.

you glance down at your hands, at the faint smudges of ash still on your fingertips. "i was thinking about you earlier," you admit, voice softer now. "about how much I hate you."

namjoon hums, not sounding surprised. "and?"

"and how much i still love you." you exhale, shaking your head. "how i want to punch you and kiss you and run you over with my car."

you hear him huff out a laugh, short and breathless. "that bad, huh?"

you shrug. "you’ve always had that effect on me."

another pause. another breath of silence. then, "do you think we’ll ever be okay?" namjoon asks, voice quiet, almost tentative.

you turn slightly, not enough to meet his eyes, but enough to glance at him from the corner of your vision.

and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to run.

"maybe," you say honestly. "but not yet."

namjoon takes that in, his lips pressing together. then he nods, like he understands. like, for once, you’re finally on the same page.

the silence stretches between you, neither heavy nor light, just there. a shared moment in the quiet of the night, both of you lingering in something neither of you knows how to name.

then, after a beat, you ask, "are you still studying philosophy?"

namjoon exhales, a small, familiar huff of amusement. "yeah."

you nod, staring at the railing in front of you. "that makes sense." another pause. another breath. then it’s his turn.

"are you still…" he trails off, the rest of the sentence left hanging between you. you don’t need him to finish. you already know what he’s asking.

you hum, eyes flicking up to the stars. "yeah. still doing nothing with my life."

namjoon shifts beside you. "that’s not what i meant."

"it’s fine," you say, waving a hand dismissively. "i know what i am."

"do you?" his voice is quiet, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something frustrated, like he’s tired of you talking about yourself like this. you don’t want to go there. not now.

so you take another breath, pushing past it, keeping your voice light. "we were never gonna work anyway."

namjoon exhales, but it’s not quite agreement.

"we’re too different," you continue. "you with your philosophy books and your big ideas, and me with…" you gesture vaguely at yourself. "this. we were always fighting an uphill battle."

namjoon shakes his head. "that’s not true."

"it is," you say simply. "you can’t flog a dead horse, namjoon."

his jaw tightens. "i don’t think we were dead."

you shrug, smiling faintly. "then we were dying."

namjoon doesn’t answer right away. he just watches you, eyes flickering with something unreadable. then, after a long moment, he sighs, shaking his head.

"maybe," he says. "but that doesn’t mean we didn’t matter."

you swallow, the words sitting heavy on your tongue before you let them slip free. "i miss you," you say, barely above a whisper.

namjoon inhales sharply, like the words winded him. he doesn’t hesitate. "i miss you too."

you press your lips together, staring at the railing, at the wood grain beneath your fingers. "i wish things were different."

namjoon shifts, and you feel the weight of his gaze settle on you. "me too."

that’s all it takes for you to turn, finally, fully, to face him. and when you do, when you finally meet his eyes, you realize just how close he is—close enough that you can see the crease between his brows, the flicker of something raw and aching in his expression.

and then he steps closer.

the space between you shrinks, the air between you charged, crackling like something fragile and electric.

namjoon’s voice drops to a whisper. "do you want to know what i would have done differently?"

you don’t answer. you just watch him, heart hammering in your chest.

his hands find your waist, slow and deliberate, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he’s anchoring himself there.

"i would have told them about you," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. "i would have been better at talking to you. i would have told you how much you meant to me, over and over, so you never had to wonder."

your breath hitches.

namjoon tilts his head, eyes flickering between yours. "i wouldn’t have let you walk away so easily."

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s him.

but suddenly, you’re leaning in, and he’s pulling you closer, and before you can second-guess it, before you can think at all, your lips meet.

it’s soft at first—tentative, almost careful, like you’re both testing the waters, seeing if this still fits, if this still works.

but then namjoon exhales against your lips, and his grip on your waist tightens, and the kiss deepens, and suddenly it’s not careful at all.

it’s desperate. It’s aching. It’s everything unsaid spilling into the space between you, mouths moving like they never forgot how to fit together.

namjoon kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he never really let go in the first place. jis hands tighten at your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you steady. and maybe you would.

maybe if he weren’t holding you like this, you’d come to your senses, step back, remind yourself why this can’t happen.

but you don’t.

you let yourself fall into it, into him. into the way his lips slot against yours, warm and familiar, the way his breath hitches when you tilt your head just right. his hands slide up, trailing along your sides, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight like you need something to ground you.

like you need him to ground you.

a shuddered breath leaves his lips as you press closer, chest against chest, the space between you vanishing entirely. his hands slide up your back, one settling at the nape of your neck, tilting your head just enough for him to kiss you deeper.

it’s dizzying.

it’s dangerous.

it’s everything.

when you finally break apart, you’re both breathless, foreheads resting against each other, his hands still gripping you like he’s afraid to let go.

your heart is pounding. you don’t know if it’s from the kiss or from the weight of what it means. you close your eyes. "namjoon…"

"i know," he whispers, his thumb brushing over your hip.

you swallow, fingers still curled in his shirt. "we shouldn’t have done that."

he exhales, a soft, almost defeated sound. "i know."

but neither of you moves. neither of you steps back.

because even though you both know, it doesn’t change the way your body still leans into him, how his hands still linger at your waist, like he’s memorizing the way you feel.

it doesn’t change the fact that you still love him.

the silence between you stretches, thick with everything that neither of you are saying. his hands are still on your waist, your fingers still curled into his shirt, but the moment is starting to settle now, starting to shift into something more fragile.

you let out a slow breath and step back just slightly, just enough to put a silver of space between you. "i should go inside."

namjoon’s fingers twitch against your skin before he lets them fall away, hands curling into loose fists at his sides. he watches you carefully, searching for something in your expression.

"do you have someone to take you home?" he asks, voice low.

you nod, swallowing. "yeah. jimin’s got me."

namjoon hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line before he asks again, softer this time. "are you sure?" you know what he’s really asking.

he’s asking if you’ll let him be that person tonight. if you’ll change your mind, if you’ll let this moment spiral into something neither of you will be able to walk away from in the morning.

and for a brief, reckless second, you consider it.

but you don’t.

instead, you give him a small, sad smile and nod again. "i’m sure."

his shoulders deflate just slightly, like he was holding onto some last shred of hope, and now it’s slipping through his fingers. but he doesn’t argue. he just nods, looking down, jaw tight.

your heart clenches.

maybe you shouldn’t, but you do anyway—you reach out, sliding a hand up to his cheek, guiding his face back up so he’s looking at you again. his eyes flicker with something heavy, something pleading, and you think about how easy it would be to let yourself fall back into this.

so, just this once, you let yourself have it.

you lean in and press a kiss to his lips, slow and lingering, like a goodbye that neither of you is ready to say out loud. namjoon doesn’t move at first, like he’s afraid this is a trick, like he doesn’t trust himself not to pull you back in.

but then he exhales into the kiss, and his hands ghost over your sides, barely touching, like he’s memorizing the shape of you one last time.

when you finally pull away, you let your hand trail down to his, giving it a small squeeze. then, before you can second-guess it, before he can try to stop you, you say, "find a girl your mother would be proud of."

namjoon’s lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but you just smile at him, soft and bittersweet.

and then you let go.

you step back, turning toward the door, walking away before the moment can swallow you whole.

#𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗘’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗠 (n). NORMAL GIRL !#nevie writes.#kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #kim namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts au fanfic #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #bts fanfiction

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nevieeland · 6 months ago

Note

ik that there's only one chapter out so far so we might get a better look of reader's life in the valley, but i'd love to see a little drabble about that if possible? <3

I AM SOMETHING !

FEATURING ! STREETRAT!READER. PATROLMEN. TAEHYUNG. UNNAMED ELDERLY WOMAN.

WORD COUNT ! 1.7K WORDS.

SUMMARY ! IN WHICH YOU’RE BURNING OUT.

CW. BRIEF BLOOD MENTION, IMPLIED POLICE BRUTALITY !

the metallic scent of blood clings stubbornly to your skin, a sickly reminder of what you’ve done. what you always do. your hands tremble faintly as you press your palm against the cold concrete floor, barely able to keep yourself upright. the back of your head rests against the uneven bricks behind you, the jagged edges biting into your scalp like tiny teeth.

everything hurts.

your ribs ache with every shallow breath, and the dull pounding in your skull threatens to split it wide open. exhaustion pulls at you from every angle, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, coaxing you toward oblivion. but you can't sleep. not here. not yet.

not when they're still out there.

muffled voices seep through the cracks of your awareness, filtering in from just beyond the cage's iron bars. they echo like ghosts, fragmented and warped by distance, but you know the sound of patrolmen when you hear it.

"...two weeks now..."

"...riot... graffitied the hall again..."

"...violent little dog..."

"...extended sentence—dangerous type..."

your lips curl into a weak, bitter smile despite yourself. dangerous type. that’s what they’ve branded you. they’re not even wrong.

you’ve painted walls with slogans meant to spark something deep in your people, even if most just ignored it. you’ve thrown punches at patrolmen when their boots pressed too hard on necks that didn’t deserve it. you've earned every fucking extension they've given you.

your original sentence was supposed to be two nights. just two nights. then they upped it to five, citing “uncooperative behavior.” and after you shoved one of them off you when he got too close, it turned into two weeks.

you wonder if you’ll even make it that long.

the edges of your vision blur further, your eyelids growing heavier by the second. you try to focus on the voices outside the cage, but they’re growing fainter, blending into the sound of your shallow breaths and the thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

the cold floor presses against your cheek before you even realize you’ve slumped over. the last thing you hear before everything goes dark is a burst of laughter, sharp and cruel, followed by a low murmur.

“...not worth the effort.”

then nothing.

“this has got to stop,” taehyung murmurs, his voice low but firm. the weight of his worn jacket hangs loosely over your shoulders, the faint scent of smoke and sweat surrounding you. you who sits cross-legged in front of the weak flicker of the fire, trying to soak in what little warmth it offers. “fucking look at you. you look even worse than those strays gyuri likes to take in.”

you scoff, the sound sharp and dry, tilting your head dramatically as if to avoid the truth behind his words. “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself, trying to savour the slight shielding from the cold it gives you.

taehyung doesn’t laugh. he never does when it counts. instead, he pulls a roll of old, fraying gauze from his back pocket and kneels in front of you, his expression softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

“give me your hand,” he mutters.

you hesitate, lips parting with some half-baked protest, but his eyes lock on yours, steady and unyielding. with a reluctant sigh, you extend your bruised knuckles toward him. the skin is raw, torn from your last altercation with one of the patrolmen, and you wince when his fingers brush over the wounds.

he works in silence for a beat, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the faint scrape of gauze against skin. when he speaks again, his voice is quiet but resolute.

“you can’t keep doing this.”

you roll your eyes, leaning back on your other hand. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“it is,” he presses, wrapping the bandage a little tighter than necessary. “you’re not gonna make any kind of change if you’re always in that fucking cage. you’ll just rot there until they decide you’re not worth feeding anymore.”

“dramatic much?” you huff, trying to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go.

“i’m serious,” taehyung snaps, frustration flickering through his voice. “you’re going to die like this, and you know what? no one’s gonna be sad except me and gyuri.”

you open your mouth to protest, but the words get stuck somewhere in your throat. you think you’re supposed to be offended, maybe make a snide remark, but the heaviness of what he’s saying sinks into your chest like cement.

your fingers twitch involuntarily, and you look down at the flickering fire, watching the flames dance as if they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. then, you scoff again, trying to mask the tightness in your throat. “what, not even nobu? thought he’d at least shed a tear or two.”

taehyung’s lips press into a thin line. “nobu’s already processing too much grief to even register it.”

the grin falters. you want to brush it off, laugh it away, but the weight in his voice pulls you down, burying you under an overwhelming mountain of things you’d rather not think about. still, you try. “it’s fine,” you mutter. “i’ll be fine.”

“you’re not listening,” he cuts in sharply, his gaze burning into yours. “what about her?”

you blink, confused. “who?”

“the old woman,” he says, his voice quieter now, gentler but no less insistent. “the one who’s letting us live down here. You think she’s just gonna shrug it off when they drag your body through the streets?”

your throat tightens, and you feel the heat of shame creep up your neck.

“she’d be devastated,” taehyung continues, the edge in his tone softening. “she’s risking everything for us. and you wanna repay her by dying in some alley because you couldn’t keep your fists to yourself?”

the silence stretches, thick and suffocating. you can’t meet his eyes, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames. for once, you don’t have a comeback.

“you need to eat, doll,” comes the elderly woman’s voice, gentle but insistent. her brows are furrowed in concern as she watches you, her hands folded in front of her, wrinkled and worn with age. you can only imagine how you look to her—skinny as a stick, hunched over in the corner, staring down at the small plate of food in front of you as if it might bite back.

you want to eat, you really do. your body feels as if it’s begging for nourishment, but the thought of food makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. the nausea that churns inside you is almost ridiculous, especially considering how you’ve basically been living on scraps for days now.

a small, scruffy cat brushes against your leg, mewling up at you. it looks hungry too, and for a moment, you forget about your own discomfort as you idly pass some of the meat on your plate down to it. it’s a weak attempt to make up for the shame of wasting food.

the old woman clicks her tongue softly, playfully chastising you. “waste not, doll. food’s precious.”

you try to joke back, muttering something about the cat being liking the food more than you do, but the words feel flat, unconvincing. the weight of the silence presses in, and for a moment, you both just sit there.

the woman seems to sense your discomfort, her eyes softening with an understanding that makes your chest tighten. “you remind me of my son, you know.” she pauses, her hands folding a little tighter in her lap as she looks past you, into the fading light outside the small basement room. “he was always like this—quiet, stubborn. wouldn’t eat when he was upset.”

you glance up, curious, but wary. “where is he now?”

the woman’s gaze clouds over, her lips pressing into a thin line. “he’s in the inner sect now. haven’t seen him since... well, since the great shift.” her voice falters slightly, and you know she’s trying to keep herself composed. she looks out at the narrow window, the soft light making her face look even older. “everything changed after that.”

you don’t know what to say. the shift, the fence—the divisions that have broken so many things apart, separating people, creating barriers. there’s a sharp sting in your heart, and you swallow back your own grief. no matter how much time passes, the cavern left in your chest by your own losses only seems to crumble and grow bigger with each passing day.

“i haven't seen the man he’s become,” she continues, her voice dipping into sadness. “but I hope he’s... successful. happy. i really do.”

you feel an uncomfortable twist in your stomach. the weight of her words settles over you like a blanket too heavy to lift. you didn’t mean to bring up something that was clearly still so raw.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice quieter than usual. you push the food in front of you around the plate, trying to force a few bites into your mouth to make up for it, to make the moment feel less awkward, less heavy.

the old woman gives you a small, soft smile, shaking her head. “no need to apologize, doll. it’s okay.” her voice is warm and forgiving, and it only makes your chest clench tighter. “you just… remind me of him, that’s all. don’t worry about it.”

you swallow thickly, feeling the food sit heavy in your stomach, but you force yourself to finish it. the quiet hum of the fire, the soft purring of the cat, and the steady rhythm of her breathing are all that fill the space now.

after a few moments, she stands and walks over to where you sit. she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “you can call me auntie min,” she says, her voice kind and easy, like you’ve known her forever and not only a month and a bit.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden tenderness of it. for some reason, the offer of such familiarity stirs something deep inside you, something you weren’t sure still existed. you nod, a small, grateful smile breaking through the walls you’ve built around yourself.

“auntie min,” you echo softly, the words feeling foreign at first but right all the same.

for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of warmth deep inside.

a/n: a teeny tiny lore dump for tiwd!reader so that some of the future stuff in the story makes more sense, and also to provide a bit of background context. thank you so so sooo much for the ask, anon, and hopefully it’s everything you wanted!! 🙏🏾

taglist: @magicshop96 @wobblewobble822

#𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗘’𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗜𝗘𝗠 (n). TIWD !#min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #bts x fem!reader #bts au fic #bts au fanfic #bts fanfiction

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