#joonclouds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 4

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

Hoseok throws down his suit jacket on the kitchen counter harder than he needs to and heads straight to the fridge, pulling a Perrier out and cracking it open. It’s only after he’s guzzled down half the bottle that he acknowledges the person sitting in his living room.

“Why are you here?” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“You gave me the code to your apartment.” Hoseok watches closely as his manager comes to stand on the other side of the counter, bracing his hands on it.

“I asked you why you’re here, not how you got in.”

“Where’d you go after you left the opening gala?”

“A drive.” is his clipped reply.

“You can’t. Just disappear like that, Hoseok.”

“The fuck, Hyunmin. You’re not my goddamn babysitter.”

“Well, your personality sure needs one.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “You go your way, I go mine, we meet in the middle for work. We keep out of each other’s personal business, how hard is that?”

“Very, apparently.” Hyunmin says derisively. “News flash, you’re an idol and for some reason very much beyond me, people actually care about what you do. And I’m your manager, so it is literally my job to make your business my business."

Hoseok just looks at him in the blank way he knows infuriates people. It works. He knows he's pushing buttons, but he's never been more in the mood to revel in some toxic behaviour.

”You think that situation with Sohee shut itself up? Who cleaned up that variety show debacle last month?”

Hyunmin braces one hand on the table and jabs a finger on his chest.

“Me.”

"Thank you, knight in shining armor." Hoseok even swoops his hand down in a little mock bow. “That variety show’s directors were intentionally framing us maliciously in post editing for bribes, and you know that. What, was I supposed to just sit there and take it?”

“No, I didn’t expect that, but you could have handled it with the snarky clever comebacks you always seem to be dishing out, or whatever it is that you have going on up in that head of yours. " Hyunmin snaps back. " But no. What do you do? Curse at the director, cause a scene, storm off the set. Like a child throwing a tantrum. Newsflash, kid, welcome to showbiz.”

"I've been in this business longer than you have, and I’m higher up than you on the food chain. Newsflash, Hyunmin, welcome to showbiz. Change your job if you hate me that much."

"Unlike you, Hoseok, some of us can't afford to change our jobs because we have actual families to care about."

It's a low blow and makes Hoseok tongue the inside of his cheek angrily, but he doesn't do it without a twinge of guilt. He doesn’t like his manager, but he doesn’t necessarily hate him either. Hyunmin was just doing his job and had gotten the short end of the stick being stuck with him - a snarky, do-what-I-like idol with flighty tendencies and a temper to match. If Hoseok was being honest, he hadn’t been trying to be the easiest to deal with either.

“Fine.” Hoseok concedes. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“The tabloids are already on to you. Whatever you’ve got started with the Aurarts heiress, I don’t know what President Kwon wants with her.” He exhales heavily and waves a hand in the air. “I don’t give a shit if you have to pull roses out of your ass - all I know is you can't mess it up.”

“Too late for that, buddy, I told you we had history. You think sending me in there as a surprise to her wouldn't fuck it up?"

“Well, I don’t care. Fix it, unfuck the situation or whatever. We need her.”

“What for?”

“Do you even care?”

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and takes a sip from his Perrier.

“Anyway, I came by to give you this.” Hyunmin fishes a manila envelope out of his bag and slides it over the table. “President Kwon says it’s your new project, non-negotiable.”

Hoseok sets his drink down, tilting his chin defiantly. “What, another variety show? Another commercial? What kind of fanservice is it this time?”

“Well, look at it, don't look at it, you're doing it anyway."

That piques his interest a little. Hoseok empties the envelope, scans the contents -

“I’ll do it.”

Hyunmin's folded arms go a little lax in surprise and Hoseok puts the papers back on the table with a small sense of smug satisfaction.

“What, first you lecture me on listening to management like a good dog, and now you’re surprised when I actually do?”

“Fine. But don't think I don't I know you better than that, Jung Hoseok.” Hyunmin barks, grabbing his bag and car keys off the counter. “I don’t give a shit what you’re planning, just stay out of trouble."

In the silence left to him he takes a final swig from the bottle and makes a face. He doesn't even like sparkling water. Everything is suddenly awfully uncomfortable. The bubbles roiling around in his stomach, the tag on his shirt is itching and makes him short of breath, his hand feels awfully cold from the drink - dark green glass shatters against stainless steel as Hoseok hurls the bottle into the sink, water spraying in all directions.

A few droplets land on the documents, and he watches, uncaring, as the liquid makes the ink blotch and spread.

Fuck sparkling water. He needs a drink.

—————

It's a thought that comes more often to Hoseok nowadays, that he doesn't know when and how all this happened. This, referring to how he's on his third gin and tonic (more like gin and gin), glass in hand, mind cloudy, and letting the condensation seep all over the suede couch. (He doesn’t care it’s going to leave a water stain. Why did anyone even make suede couches? What a bunch of pretentious idiots.)

This, also referring to the stupidly big penthouse that overlooked the Seoul skyline. He’d picked this out by himself about three years ago - he’d been drunk off his face partying at a club on his last night LA when Hyunmin had asked if he’d already out a place he wanted to stay when he moved back to Seoul.

He still thinks it was a feat he had the mind to search Naver for housing options in the middle of an alcohol-induced haze, sent the one with the most ridiculous figure back to Hyunmin - and that was that. The first time he saw the place he was quite pleased, marveling at the city skyline spread out at his feet. But now it feels more like a hotel rather than a home. It may as well be, given how little time he’s spent here in the last year.

But more than anything, this, referring to the colossal mess, yet, not-mess that his life was in.

He’d arrived in the city ten years ago, literally nothing to his name but a passion and an already growing debt to the company he was signed to. But a certain dance practice video that went viral made sure that he shot to overnight stardom - the fans loved his humble, bright eyed, bushy tailed look and everyone wanted to know the dance genius who could also rap, sing and produce his own music. Fast forward ten years and he’s Jung Hoseok, celebrity and dance legend with a reputation for his sharp wit and an offhand attitude to life that oddly enough, charmed its way into the hearts of many. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants.

It’s very much a not-mess. Technically, he’s living the dream.

It’s also very much a mess, because living in a dream... well. It's hard to tell which parts are real and which parts aren't.

People telling you things because of what you want or what they want? It begins with subtle hints they drop (I think the audience would like it if you looked a bit more… soft, yknow?) and then before you know it you’re their puppet on strings (we’re scrapping that track, I’m sorry, we’ve decided to go with a really strong concept, we have some pre-composed songs that you can look at). Hoseok went - goes - along with it because well, all this fame and éclat is dizzyingly glorious, isn't it? Before you know it, it’s been ten years of people telling you what and how to do things and you have no idea who you are.

No one tells you about how you this life makes you want to drown yourself in it and never come back up for air, willing to live in this dazed limbo with no purpose, real beginning or end to anything. How at the end of days like this, without the lights and people and cameras to distract him from the quiet, he is left with a terrifying sense of emptiness. Each day, Hoseok quells it with a pair of designer sunglasses and a smirk, but the emptiness - it grows.

He flicks mindlessly through his Instagram feed, just for something to look at (makes sure not to accidentally like anything), and after three minutes clicks his phone off and tosses it aside, abandons it with his half drunk gin and tonic on the couch. Walks through his wardrobe, strips, and pulls on a pair of gray sweatpants, doesn't bother picking up the stay clothes. He stops mid stride in the middle of his bedroom, deciding to sleep in the living room couch instead, returning to his bedroom only to drag the comforter off his bed.

A shiver runs down Hoseok's spine and he makes a face when his torso shifts onto the wet patch from his glass earlier, but all he does is just tuck his blanket over the cold area, turning over so he can face the cityscape view; a thousand little blinking lights. Distantly, he thinks that each of these lights could be a person and wonders what all of these thousands of people might be doing.

Wonders if any of them feel like they have a black hole in their chests. A star, dying, forces on all sides closing in with a crushing pressure that is waiting to engulf all that it is into nothingness. Did you know? That because no light can get out of a black hole, you can’t see it? Black holes are invisible.

Shifting again, he rests his left hand on his right shoulder and pats himself gently in a steady rhythm. It lulls him into a clouded, dreamless sleep.

—————

Mornings are mostly unproblematic, generally tolerable and under control.

Granted, you’re not really a morning person. You didn’t necessarily like being woken up at the ass crack of dawn, but you learned to tolerate it. After a good twenty years following the same drill, it becomes the new ordinary. Bolstered by a nice hot shower, a relaxing morning skincare routine, and then once you discovered the wonders of coffee - some caffeine in your system; everything seemed a little more palatable.

Even Friday mornings, where you have to routinely sit through a weekly report meeting from your board of directors. Three hours (give or take, depending on how long the stick up their ass is that week) of telling people how to do their job while being fighting to be respectful and to be respected as a young woman in a room full of older, more ‘senior’ men. Maybe even that could be mellowed out by the promise of the weekend.

You tap the page of your open notebook with the back of your pen, going over the dot point list.

“Alright last on the agenda, where are we at with the masterclass series for the conservatory?”

“Ah yes, of course.” Mr. Choi quips.

Most of the people in the room wouldn’t have spared it more time than it needed - the moneymaker projects being elsewhere, and it being a non-profit initiative. You think you did well though, allocating this to Mr. Choi. He’s humble and cares genuinely for the best outcome. You can see from the meticulous presentation he's put together that he’s proud to show you his work.

“We’ve just concluded the first installation in the masterclass series, and the final artworks by the students are going up on display next week.”

You nod in approval, flipping open the folder. It’s a series of photographs of students holding their own paintings. Some are pulling silly faces, some with bored expressions, but each of them hold their finished canvas with pride.

“As you can see, they did beautifully.” Mr. Choi smiles, and your heart swells. “Jisoo was an excellent choice of mentor.”

“And you did a fantastic job of putting it all together.” The tubby, middle aged man beams at your compliment.

“Will we still be taking applications from students from the same schools this time around?”

“Yes, let's. I like the idea of bringing art to these schools”

“Pardon me, Ms. ____ , but if I could wedge a comment into this discussion - “

“Yes, Mr. Kim.”

Mr Kim clears his throat gruffly, like he can’t believe he needs to ask permission from you to speak.

“I just think that these masterclass slots would benefit participants more if they were to go to students from a more reputable school with more reach rather than …”

He trails off, and you don't wait for him to find the acceptable words.

“This project is about bringing down the overly curated, elitist image of art." You explain. "By opening the spaces to schools with poor funding and underprivileged students, we give them the chance to explore art forms which were otherwise not an option to them.”

“But Ms - “

"Was I not clear that this is why we started the masterclass series in the first place? To bring the joy of creation and art to the people who have been denied the opportunity?"

"These other schools would have students with more refined - "

Tired and having had enough, you shut the folder in front of you. You were the chairwoman of the board, and this was your meeting. “If you have any objections you can send it in the form of a report on Monday. Detail exactly why we should change our student demographic for the masterclass and how it will boost the conservation’s image as an organisation that aims to bring art to everyone, regardless of their social standing.”

This shuts him up. At the price of more whispers behind your back, but that was something you were willing to take. Another couple more wouldn't make a difference, anyway.

“Anything else, Mr. Choi?”

“Yes, we have yet to decide on the mentor for the next run. I’ve narrowed it down to two artists that we might consider approaching for the next series, which is dance.” At your nod, he clicks on a projector, a face popping up next to a short but detailed biography.

“Both artists have aIready expressed their interest in working with us. I was hoping we could review them today so that we’d be able to start meetings by next week.”

The first face is familiar - a sweet smile with delicate features framed by bangs and long black hair. You’ve seen her before.

“We have Lisa - she’s young, but already making waves in the community. She’s got a fantastic background in dance, graduating top of her class from Juilliard. Well versed in many areas, and she’s made quite a few appearances on big talent shows.”

A good candidate indeed, you think - she’d be very well rounded and able to cater to many different types of dance. Her smile seemed personable too, which was essential.

“She’s talented and a good fit. I can definitely see her potential, but I’m just concerned she might be too fresh to the industry. I want someone who knows it intimately. Knows the grit and dirt of it all but still performs like it’s their first debut. That fire.”

You twirl your pen between your fingers slowly, considering her for a good minute.

“Did we have another artist we were looking at partnering with?”

“Ah. We were originally going to move forward with Hoshi as the second candidate, but given the group’s coming tour, that won’t be possible anymore. But recently we’ve managed to find someone else whom I personally feel would be our next best choice to headline the next masterclass. Actually, I do have to give credit to Mr. Kim for making the connection here.”

You glance over at Mr Kim and he shrugs smugly, but you smile tightly and give a go ahead gesture to Mr Choi anyway, who fiddles with his laptop momentarily. A new face pops up on the screen, and ripple of approval to move through the room - this person is clearly an excellent choice.

Your heart drops through your chest, so quickly it makes you nauseous.

“Jung Hoseok has expressed interest in working with us.”

By some miracle, you gather your wits enough to manage a response.

"Do we have any other candidates, Mr Choi?"

"I second Jung Hoseok, Ms. ______" Mr Kim pipes up. You can tell he senses your reluctance; he's pouncing on it. "I see no reason as to why he's a bad fit. He's popular here, and even in Japan and China. This is KY Entertainment we’re talking about. President Kwon has expressed an interest in partnering with us before, and I'm sure the rest of the board would agree that this would be a good opportunity to get the ball rolling."

"I see where you're coming from, Mr. Kim. I'm just concerned that Hoseok's main... main focus isn't dance at the moment."

"Hoseok is also an idol and musician, but he did first start out as a dancer - a very talented one at that. I'm sure you of all people would be familiar with that information, since his shot at stardom started under the scholarship that your family funds, does it not? It is also a plus point that his humble beginnings align with our company vision."

Mr Kim leans back in his chair and laces his fingers over his lap. He knows he's won.

Your pen taps on the table out of habit, but you're the image of calm and collected. You pride yourself on being a logical person. Level headed and always appropriately detached when it came to making important decisions regarding future business developments. Challenging your word wasn’t frowned upon, you made sure that everyone under you knew that. But should they decide to, they had to make a damn good case with the facts if they were ever to do so - just because your arguments were ironclad.

As much as you hated the greasy man, he wasn't wrong, and you were the one grasping at straws here. Hoseok, you knew, was more than qualified for the position. So unless you wanted to explain to the entire board that your decision to axe the best candidate for the masterclass series involved your pride and a bout of residual emotions from a teenage infatuation, there was no way out of this.

"Mr Choi, what are your thoughts?"

"I'd have to agree with Mr Kim, Ms. ____. KY Entertainment is powerful. they would be a good partner to have on our side.” Mr Choi reasons. “And they’re not just offering us their rookie idols. It’s Jung Hoseok.”

You hate that it sounds like they're trading you a prime piece of meat, and you hate it even more that just his name is enough for him to prove how much he’s worth.

And that is how, four mornings later, Hoseok sits across you in your office, reclining into the armchair as he tests the cushioned give of its backrest. Your expression is schooled and placid, but he had given you a small smile nonetheless as he’d entered. The tiny butterfly that has wandered it's way into your office together with him flits across your chest, and you mentally shoo it out of the window with vigour.

Mornings are mostly unproblematic, generally tolerable and everything was definitely one hundred percent under control.

_______

PREV / NEXT

It's been a while, my friends! Enjoy the new chapter. Things start to get interesting here, and more characters will be introduced soon.

Thank you @ggukkieland on tumblr who is a sweetheart and actually noted this work on her cherished reading list compilation and motivated me to start where I left off. Life really happened to me in the last few months and I really neglected my writing, but I’m excited to try and get back into it.

As much as I write this for my own enjoyment, when people let me know they enjoy my work, it fuels me to do better!

Stay safe loves, till next chapter! x

#joonclouds #hobi #hoseok fic #jung hoseok #jhope fic #slow burn #bts jhope #bts fic #hoseok fluff #POAW

14 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 2

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You’re into the last leg of this evening. Between having to skip dinner, make small talk with businessmen who make it their life’s work to mansplain the workings of this country’s economy to you, and Jung Hoseok upending your world on it’s ass, you’ve almost made it through the night.

With an arm resting in the crook of Taehyung’s elbow, the two of you take a slow walk around the less occupied parts of the gallery before you have to be at the main foyer to see off the guests. It’s not hidden from everyone’s eyes, but it’s a little ways from the crowd and you’re glad for the small breather. The two of you stop in front of one of your favourite pieces in the new collection - a massive triptych that takes up almost the whole wall at the far end of the exhibition hall.

“So, Jung Hoseok, huh.”

Taehyung is speaking softer now and he tilts his head closer to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. Even while you’re wearing heels, he’s taller than you by half a head.

“It’s nothing.”

“You left me hanging“ - he emphasises the me by pressing an offended hand to his chest - “to greet him. That’s not nothing.”

“Well, he’s an important guest.”

You think back to the fleeting hello, which really was more for the attending press than the two of you. It was like something out of a bad romance anime, complete with the slow motion and sparkly shit, just shy of having a few rose petals fly across the screen. You weren’t seventeen, you were twenty eight, for crying out loud. You could be a mature adult about this.

While your idiot of a heart had gone and betrayed you, as soon as the fluttery feeling had subsided, a tinge of bitterness and anger were quick to make themselves known. Very slight, but there, nonetheless. It made the single moment seem stupid and unwarranted, and that was exactly how you felt about Jung Hoseok.

You play it off coolly, but as you know by now, no matters of the heart (well, your heart, specifically) got past Kim Taehyung.

“Always knew you had high standards.”

“He’s not on the standard.”

“So… is it a celebrity fan crush or is it like…” Taehyung gives your arm that’s hooked in his elbow an enthusiastic shake. Whatever that meant. “Because in my entire nine years of knowing you, you’ve not mentioned his name even once.”

“It just didn’t come up, I guess. ”

“Oh, it didn’t come up.”

“He’s just a friend, okay?”

“Oh, so now he’s just a friend.”

“Did you like, lose your brain halfway through the small talk?”

He groans. “I had to talk to duck face selfie girl at one point so maybe a good chunk of it just slid right out of my ears.”

Despite yourself, you’re amused, but you tuck the smile away behind your teeth.

“Come on, ____. Your definition of making friends is holding people at arms length until they’ve all but signed a blood oath and sworn their firstborn to you in fealty.”

“Ugh. Go back and talk to selfie girl.” You shrug your arm out of Taehyung’s elbow, but he’s quick to tuck it back in place affectionately, and you let him.

“So friends… with benefits?” He presses after a moment, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Academic benefits,” you scowl. “I helped him pass math class.”

Your friend turns to you with a look on his face.

“Oh no.” You groan.

“Oh yes.” Taehyung beams at you with a smile that is way too cheeky to mean anything good. “A crush, but not just any crush, ____, a highschool crush.”

“We were close in highschool. Then he left to be a trainee when he graduated and we lost touch. That’s it, okay? Now can we please drop it?”

“If you think I’m going to be satisfied without the juicy det- ow, fuck! Stop!“

You pinch Taehyung’s arm and he yelps. To anyone not privy to this conversation, you and he are director and curator, finding time during the bustling evening to appraise the opening collection. It looks like he’s made an amusing comment when you nudge him and he laughs amicably.

You elbow him in the ribs to make a point. Hard.

“I’m running on 3 hours sleep, I can’t breathe in this dress, and these heels make me want to strangle something. So help me god I will not hesitate to throw them, and you, off the top floor balcony to christen this new gallery.”

It’s not really a surprise, but the threat does nothing to deter Taehyung. He’s a dog with a bone and not about to let it go anytime soon.

“I haven’t seen you that starry eyed since you watched Bocelli live.”

“That’s different,” you gripe. “Would you be starry eyed if you met god?”

“My point exactly.”

“Ugh.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “So I was seventeen, I had a crush, he moved away after graduation, now we’re here, nothing is going to hap- “

“Shut up.” Taehyung hisses.

“Wow, you know, that’s pretty rich for someone who - “

“Do you want to look like an idiot? Shut up, ____. Shut up right now.”

“What?” You demand, turning to him, confused and annoyed (more so the latter because he’d been the one trying to pull this story out of you). He’s smiling at something over your shoulder, so smug you just know it in your bones it can’t be anything good. You know that look and it makes the blood drain from your face when you guess the worst possible reason for it.

Your voice is a whisper. “He’s coming over, isn’t he.”

“Yep.”

“Fuck.”

Turning around, Hoseok is right there and you pray to any benevolent god for enough functioning braincells to hold a conversation. Actually, just even one braincell would be fine, because that’s more than you had going for you right now.

“Hey, Hoseok.” You breathe.

“Hey, ____.”

Hoseok offers his hand to Taehyung and smiles. “Jung Hoseok.”

“Pleasure. Kim Taehyung.”

As Taehyung accepts the handshake, he can see why you were so mesmerised. He can imagine Hoseok to be quite the looker, even when he was younger and hadn’t necessarily grown into all his features yet. The guy exuded an easy charm about him that many had fallen victim to. Many, including you (still falling, Taehyung was sure of this).

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No, perfect timing, actually.” Taehyung replies easily. “I was just telling ____ that I should head back out to see if everything’s running smoothly.”

One of his hands comes to the middle of your back and gives it a firm nudge. Just enough for you to be slightly off balance, making you take a tiny step in Hoseok’s direction.

Horrified, you open your mouth to say something, but again, Taehyung beats you to it.

“It was great to meet you, Hoseok. You two catch up alright, bye!”

And with that, he’s turning on his heel with a tiny wave and scuttling away. When this evening was over, you were going to find that guy and burn his entire silk pyjama collection, designer or not. Even better, if they were designer.

“Just thought I’d come say hi. Properly, this time.”

Hoseok’s voice is lower now, and there’s a relaxed way about how he’s got one hand in his pocket that definitely wasn’t there before. He’d grown out of his teenage chub into elegant cheekbones, a high nosebridge, and a sharp jawline. It’s with a little twinge that you note how painfully handsome he is now - a reminder that this isn’t your Hoseok - he’s older, different.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening?” It feels formal - too formal, but you don’t know how to talk to this version of him yet, so you take the safe small talk route. He gives the room an approving once over, raising his glass to it and takes a sip.

“I did. The space looks wonderful, and it’s a really commendable initiative. I think a lot of artists will benefit from it. I’m proud of you, ____. I’m glad I came.”

“I’m glad you found the time.”

You really hadn’t intended for your tone to be quite so sharp, but the bitterness leaks, no matter your efforts to patch up the cracks.

“I guess I deserved that.” He sighs. “Look. I just wanted to say I - I’m sorry.“

“Yes, I agr- wait. What?” The apology is unexpected, and makes you draw a blank mid- small talk script.“Wait. What for?”

Hoseok hooks a finger under his neck scarf, pulls at it a little to loosen it.

“Like. For.” He gestures vaguely in the air. “The last time we spoke.. Or didn’t.”

Oh.

The bitterness rises very close to the surface now, you can almost taste it at the back of your throat, bubbling and indignant. With lips tightly pressed together, you swallow it back down.

“It’s okay. I didn’t need you to apologise for anything.” Your voice is surprisingly level.

“Well. “Hoseok looks a little lost, like he wasn’t the only one being caught off guard this evening. “I needed to say it anyway.”

“For who? For me, or you?” You’re still pretending like you’re having this conversation with the art piece on the wall instead of him.

“Well. It’s alright. Thank you for your apology,” you continue when he doesn’t reply, calm but curt. “I’ve heard it, and I hope that resolved any residual misunderstandings.”

Hoseok huffs a chuckle but it’s more like a sharp exhale. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

This pricks your temper. If he wanted your attention, he certainly has it now.

“No,” you deadpan. “Not really.”

“Why do you -“ he pauses, gestures to you frustratedly, head to toe, “ - always cut people off when they try and reach out to you, run away when - “

“If we’re really going to be digging up the past, Hoseok, it’s more like you ran away from me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the way it was styled.

“ ___, If you could just hear me out, I - “

The bitterness - it rises, bubbles, boils over.

“I’ve heard you out, Hoseok, listened to your apology.”

“Look, I just want us to start over again - “

“Start over?” You let out a snort, not caring that it’s terribly unprofessional and cameras might be watching. “Newsflash, your insufferable persistence is ten years too late.”

Your annoyed outburst hangs in the air as you finally turn to face him properly.

His apology angers and softens you in equal measure. You can’t figure out what his deal is - why he’d never bothered to cross paths with or even reach out to you all these years, though you both ran in overlapping circles of art and entertainment. Until today.

You allow yourself one tiny moment of honesty, dropping all the bells and whistles that came with the persona you had created for tonight.

“Why didn’t you call me back, Hoseok?”

You’ve said it so quietly that he barely catches it.

When Hyunmin, his manager, had insisted he come to this event because his next project, it was a bit of a reluctant agreement on Hoseok’s part when he found out you were the main hostess. Since leaving town, he’d packed up all its memories, shoved them into a metaphorical basement, locked them up with a key and tossed that key to the bottom of a river called Not Dealing With Things. That included you. The whirlwind of the past ten years had done a good job of making sure that basement stayed locked.

So in his confidence he’d been prepared to show up, greet you, apologise, get over some initial awkwardness, make small talk - he’s handled worse. But he wasn’t prepared for you to be even more beautiful than he remembered. Doe eyed and glowing, lips curved into a charming smile, and dressed in a long silver gown that made it look like you were walking in a puddle of moonlight.

Maybe, even that he could handle, if all you offered him was that warm facade that you showed to everyone. But he certainly was not prepared for you looking at him with eyes as soft as the first time he met you.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, but then shuts it again, like he can’t find the right words or bring himself to spin up an excuse. You see his hesitation and suddenly your eyes are cold again and the shutters are up - he’s back to square one.

“Nevermind. Don’t tell me. I don’t care. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Before he knows it, you’re spinning away in your moonlight dress, leaving him there alone.

He lets out a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face. Stalks a straight line to the valet, taps his shoe impatiently as the driver gets his car, slides in without tipping anyone, and floors the pedal, heading for the highway.

He needs to get away.

__________________

PREV | NEXT

#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fic #bts fic #hobi #hoseok fanfic #bts x reader

12 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 1

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

Warnings: None, but emphasis on the Slow in slow burn.

____________

The official opening night of your art conservatory marks your first independent venture from your family’s Aurarts Corporation. The press and public fawn over you, commending your initiative to increase representation opportunities for budding artists. You wanted this place to celebrate all types of art.

The opening ribbon is cut, champagne, popped. Compliments were given on the new space - one with high ceilings, a fully functional theatre, practice rooms. Crafting studios with expansive skylights and clean white walls wait to house artists and their masterpieces. Mirrors have been strategically placed to make the main hall and foyer look even bigger than it is.

The silver gown and warm smile you wear belies the eighty-hour work week you’ve had leading up to today and the way your feet scream in protest at the new satin Manolos that haven’t yet been seasoned by wear. Maybe you eat more than your fair share of tiny canapes, but you are the perfect hostess - you laugh, shake hands, exchange jokes - always sincere, never past the point of oversharing.

So yes, it’s an important night. It has to be perfect. But that isn’t why you’re nervous.

You feel a warm hand on your elbow and you’re pulled into a gentle hug. It startles you, but once you catch an eyeful of colourful prints that smell like a woody bergamot, you relax.

“Hey, ____.”

“Tae! I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Who will save you from all this social interaction otherwise?”

Mirroring Taehyung’s smile, you return his embrace. Though it’s not till you’re pulling away that you realise what’s different about him tonight.

“Your hair!” Your fingers come up to touch the strands at the nape of his neck which, previously bright blue, are now an ashy silver.

Taehyung grins. “You like? I did it to match your dress.”

The gray hair makes his skin glow.

“I love. It suits you.”

You give him an approving once over. Taehyung’s style is eclectic, to say the least. His hair colour changed depending on his mood, sometimes blue, sometimes pink. A few weeks ago, it was a fire-engine red. On most days, he chooses to dress in a mish-mash of designer jackets, some of which he’d taken a can of spray paint to, baggy cut clothing and odd sandals (rarely covered shoes). But that had never taken away from the fact that he was incredibly good looking - maybe even added to it, if that were possible.

Tonight he’s dashing, in a loose silk shirt with wild paisely patterns tucked into dress pants, and a smattering of silver and gold on his fingers and in his ears.

“Who knew Kim Taehyung actually owns proper shoes?”

He doesn��t say anything, just tilts his heel with a cheeky smile, showing you that he’s not actually wearing proper shoes, or even socks for that matter - just loafers that look like actual shoes in that they had no backing to cover the heel.

“Did you seriously wear bedroom slippers to my grand opening?”

Taehyung laughs and eyes your Manolos skeptically.

“They’re my best pair of Gucci loafers. If I’m going to have to endure all this small talk I’m going to do it comfortably.”

You groan quietly, shifting your weight to your other foot. “Don’t remind me. We’re not even a third through the night.”

Taehyung nabs two glasses of wine from a passing server and you accept one gratefully.

“Ugh - “ he pauses to take a big sip as he scans the crowd. “Remind me again why you invited half of the country to the opening?”

“Marketing says it’s good publicity, ecetera ecetera.” You take a substantial mouthful of wine yourself.

“That’s good publicity?” Taehyung tips his glass to point over your shoulder and you turn in its direction.

The both of you cringe visibly.

“Uh. She’s got a million followers on Instagram?”

He makes a small retching noise in the back of his throat. “She’s taking a duck face selfie in front of the - hey!”

Taehyung quickly gets the attention of a server and shoves him in selfie girl’s direction. “Tell her no flash photography, it’s a real Matisse, for fuck’s sakes.”

While Taehyung’s flagging down another server to refill his wineglass and muttering something about how can’t anyone have a shred of respectable gallery etiquette, you’re spacing out a bit.

The soft, unassuming lull of the string quartet sits underneath the rustling of expensive gowns and clinking of glasses. Anyone and everyone who was someone in the entertainment industry was extended an invitation. That tiny ball of anxiety still sits in the base of your gut. It’s like waiting in line, and it’s almost your turn - for what you’re not sure - but not quite yet. Your fingers pick at the thin seam of your dress.

“____.” It vaguely registers that this isn’t the first time Taehyung’s called your name.

You clear your throat quickly. “Sorry. I’m a little tired today. What was it?”

“When was the last time you ate? You better not say yesterday.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I ate.” Technically, not a lie. Stealing the canapes was considered eating.

Taehyung frowns, but he’s sufficiently appeased. “ As I was saying, I saw you chatting with President Kwon earlier. What’d you think of him?”

“I think - ” You suck in a breath through your teeth, taking a moment to find the right words. “He’s competent. Knows the ins and outs of the arts and entertainment businesses. He might be useful so let’s not rule him out yet.”

“Rule him out yet? He’s a big fish though.”

Your expression changes slightly - it’s still a smile, but Taehyung has known you long enough to be able to tell. Its what he likes to call your Politely Disgusted face.

“Like I said. Yet.” You emphasize. “While we were talking, I watched him hand his empty wineglass off to his wife instead of the wait staff. He’s definintely not being friendly to me because it’s his personality.”

He nods in understanding. You were quick on picking up little things like that - you had quite the talent for reading people. “He wants something from you.”

“Bingo. And when we find out what he wants, then we can really - “

A small change in the atmosphere makes you pause. Something’s different.

“_____?”

“Hold on. I’ll be back in a minute, I think someone’s here.” You murmur.

There’s a small hush about the air. It’s less conversation, heavier, quieter with a certain entrancing quality. Whatever it is makes you turn your head and take a few steps towards the main foyer, leaving Taehyung behind in a bit of a confused daze.

Without seeing, you know.

Of course he’s received an invite. But he’s a little late, having missed the opening ceremony. Systematically, you weave through the guests with murmured apologies, that tangle of anxiety bubbling over into something more - trepidation, anticipation, excitement… you can’t tell anymore.

You’re halfway to the main doors when you see him before he sees you.

He’s in a black suit - Dior, by the looks of the nondescript label on the jacket cuff. The bowtie has been forgone in favour of a matching silk neck scarf and the top two buttons of his white shirt have been left undone. His hair is styled such that errant pieces fall boyishly into his eyes as he nods politely to greet the attending press and guests.

Perchance, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in one of the mirrors - cheeks pink with a little flush, eyes wide and shining. It’s unlike you. There’s a tiny curl that’s escaped your bun, but you don’t reach up to smooth it back as you usually would. It looks quite charming, you think.

It can be quite a peculiar experience, to see someone after a long time.

The years make little changes to their appearance, the way they walk, talk, hold themselves, leaving only just enough familiarity for recognition. It’s like a weird sense of jamais vu, recalibrating your memory as you align the two faces - the one you knew, and the one that is.

One thing you know for sure. His face has always been smooth lines and pretty angles. Time has certainly taken those lines and angles, made them smoother, prettier. Made them breathtaking.

He spots you in the crowd threading through it to come stand in front of you. You’re taller now, and in your heels, you don’t have to look up much to meet his gaze. The mirth in his eyes is a little dimmer now, but it’s there and still the same.

“Hi, ____. It’s been a while.” He extends a hand with a smile and you vaguely register the sound of cameras clicking and flashes of light.

It’s not till he glances down almost imperceptibly that you realise your reaction has been left wanting for a second too long. Quickly sliding your hand into his, you smile and perform your part as best you can for the watching eyes that follow.

“Hi,” you breathe. He grips your hand firmly, warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

That short, polite moment is all you get before he’s swept away in the flow of greeting the other guests and influencers who clamber for a photo, but it leaves you with peculiar feeling. Like you’ve missed a step on the stairs and you’re paralysed in a hanging moment of falling and flying at the same time.

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

__________________

References: 190106 Hoseok For your enjoyment

PREV | NEXT

#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hobi #hoseok fic #bts fic #hoseok fanfic

19 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 3

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

_________________

You meet Hoseok for the first time when you’re seventeen. It's in the early days of March - you remember because it's the time where Spring isn't quite here yet, so the evenings are still chilly. Getting to wear your favourite sweaters a few weeks longer is something that you still get a small thrill out of. You're a lot younger, a lot less jaded than you are now.

Leaning against the wall a ways off from the main crowd, you watch the guests in disinterest. It was laughable for a party of forty, at most, to rent such a colossal space. Surely even if it was a selection showcase, it was excessive.

Your family’s attendance to an event meant no expense was spared. The dress code is smart casual but a grand hall has been rented, with towering ceilings and a sprawling expanse of space. There was a live string quartet and champagne and little degustation canapes. Everyone talked in hushed voices, as if afraid to disturb the air around them. And what were they feeding with these canapes? Mice? You can’t even have real alcohol, just this stupid fizzy grape juice in a fancy glass. You think about the amazing grilled cheese that Madam Han, your housekeeper, makes and you groan internally, wishing to be anywhere but here. You’re sure your face says just as much.

“Yup, me too.” Turning in surprise, you find someone next to you.

His height is the first thing you notice. A good head taller than you are, and all black looks good on him, a silk shirt hanging loose and ripped jeans tucked into boots. He looks familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it yet, so you shelve that thought for later because well. There were more important issues at hand.

As a general rule, you thought all that "love at first sight' type thing was bullshit. You didn't buy into that sort of malarkey, and even if you did, it’s not something you got to have. But what was a girl to do in the face of .. well, a handsome face? Despite the remnants of stubborn pre-teen chub around his cheeks and a smattering of acne on his chin - things you're sure he'd grow out of in time - he's just your type of trouble.

Maybe you didn't know that yet, but all you do know is that when he turns slightly to give you a half smile, you freeze and your heart jumps like it's about to launch itself out of your body.

“Well. Someone's having fun.” He clarifies, fiddling with the stem of his champagne flute. You quickly look away, but not before noting his similarly bored demeanor.

"As much fun as you are, clearly."

“Yes, this is a riveting time.” He deadpans back, and the snicker he garners out of you breaks the ice like sugar glass. The both of you return to surveying the small crowd, but make no move to leave, enjoying the feeling of sharing in a certain kind of disjointed camaraderie. What is it they always say about shared trauma?

“You’re old enough to drink?” You tilt your glass in the direction of his.

“I’ve been old enough since three years ago. But legally, no. This isn’t alcohol.”

You sigh, but then a thought pops into your head. “Wanna sneak into the kitchen with me? The servers often leave the open bottles unattended.”

“Not your first rodeo, huh.”

“And certainly not my last. I can’t wait to be legal so these things become more tolerable.” You take another sip of your non-alcohol.

After a moment you ask again - “So? Kitchen?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could, but this night is a sober one. Nerves and alcohol don't go well together for me.”

“Aaaaaaand he turns out to be even less fun than this party.”

This earns you a chuckle from him. It’s warm and inviting, a little buzz of electricity in your veins. Feels like if you’d been drinking actual champagne that evening. He nudges your shoulder playfully with his own when you cross your arms and angle your body slightly away in a small show of sulking.

“I have no choice, cowboy. I’m the showhorse. Gotta do the parade if I want my scholarship."

“Ah, Jung Hoseok.”

The puzzle pieces fall into place and you give him another once over out of the corner of your eye, this time with more recognition than before. Now you knew why he looked familiar - the identities of the artistes were all kept secret until after the selection showcase, but since you were your father's daughter, you'd seen the lineup beforehand.

"Yup, that's me." Hoseok downs the rest of his drink, grimacing. "And this entire thing is a show by a pretentious businessman who's already decided who's going to be selected."

"Looks like it's not your first rodeo either, you know how this works."

"Boy, do I."

"So why stay sober for it anyway?"

"I like dancing."

Hoseok's answer makes you go quiet. Whatever sarcastic banter you had lined up was halted in the face of such a simple, honest admission.

After a moment, he adds - " and I have a feeling it might reflect badly if I turned up tipsy to my first performance in front of the panel of directors.”

You shrug. "You know what they say about brooding artists and alcohol."

Suddenly, a thought comes to him. “Wait. You know me?”

He turns to you, and you can see him trying to figure out who you are, why you know him but he doesn’t know you.

“Of course I know you.” You state a matter-of-factly. “Jung Hoseok, the parading showhorse.”

“And you’re…. Mirae? The….cellist?” He takes a wild guess at one of the other performers in the showcase lineup that night.

“Nope.” You reply, popping your lips in amusement when you realise he has absolutely no clue who you are.

"You're not competition, are you?"

"Wrong again."

Hoseok squints in confusion and turns fully to face you, taking you more seriously now. “So who are you?”

Leaning in closer to him you tilt your glass in the direction of where the biggest group of people congregated in the middle of the room, deciding to at least have a little bit of fun tonight if you couldn't get your hands on the drinks. Albeit at the expense of someone else’s embarrassment, but it’s not like you two were close anyway. Consider it a trade off of sorts.

“See that man in the gray suit?”

“The CEO of Aurarts?” He frowns slightly. “Why?”

“He's the one who gets to decide if you get your scholarship or not, right?”

“Yes.” He drags the syllable out hesitantly. “Where is this going?”

“Well. In the direction of him being my very pretentious father. I'm sure you'll know my name soon enough.”

The colour drains from Hoseok’s face.

“Fuck-“ He begins, but quickly catches himself and bites his lips together when he decides that swearing in front of the daughter of the business magnate he just badmouthed, and who is coincidentally also funding his scholarship, isn’t the best first impression.

“Sorry. I. Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck with one hand. Gone is his easy charm - he’s now visibly perplexed, turning red and refusing to make eye contact. It makes you giggle, a bright pealing sound that seems to cut like a warm knife into butter. As it happens, the emcee’s voice crackles to life over the speakers, cutting your laughter short and inviting guests to take their seats as the performance is about to begin.

"There's your cue, and mine."

You sigh, quite content with your fun for the evening; Hoseok is pretty cute when he’s flustered. He's opened and shut his mouth three times and still trying to find a way to dig himself out of the hole he's in, so you decide to put the poor boy out of his misery and leave first. Pushing off from the wall, you offer him a small wave and mouth a ‘good luck’ over your shoulder. He manages a tiny wave back.

Between accompanying your father amongst the guests and making small talk with them after the performances are over, don’t get a chance to talk to Hoseok anymore for the rest of the evening. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of a silky black shirt and a charming smile, but not long enough of a look to know if he was looking back.

But you do get to watch his performance - it’s the last one of the night, and you don't know if it's intentional, but they’ve saved the best for last.

Hoseok walks onto the makeshift dancefloor, barefoot, and one more button on his shirt undone. Perhaps you didn’t notice it before, but there is a power with which he holds himself in his beginning pose, facing away from the audience, stance wide and hands crossed in fists behind his back. His head is turned, just enough for you to see his side profile, and you know he sees you sitting in the front row. You feel a shiver of excitement at the base of your spine. It pulses in rhythm to the opening beats of the dance track.

When he starts, you understand why he’s in tonight's lineup. Each movement of Hoseok’s body is fluid but perfectly controlled, matching the heavy bass tempo on the dot. Never early, never late. The music slowly starts to pick up, and his eyes turn dark, expression changing with every turn of the music. Joy, fear, passion and desperation tell the story of escape from old demons and rebirth into a new self. As everything reaches a crescendo, it’s like his presence expands into the cavernous hall that seemed to swallow every one of it’s tiny guests earlier, filling the space until you felt like the walls might burst.

One fist clenched and shaking in the air, Hoseok ends his performance kneeling atop a raised dais in the middle of the stage. The air is so silent and heavy with awe you can hear his laboured breaths. His smile is so bright and victorious, you think you might be dreaming when it is literally blinding you in the shine of spotlights. It's then you realise he's actually got braces on. Your heart gives you a quiet, endearing sigh, and you agree with her.

Applause erupts, a standing ovation is given. It takes you a little longer to collect yourself, but you stand with the crowd too, and clap until your palms heat and sting.

He’s not dancing to the music, you think. He is the music.

_________________

PREV | NEXT

A/N: And with that we’re all caught up with the chapters I’ve also posted on A03! You can check me out there if you prefer A03 hehe. Will be releasing future chapters at the same time from now on. Hope everyone is having a ✨great day✨ xoxo

#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #jung hoseok #hoseok fic #bts fic #hobi #hoseok fanfic #bts x reader

13 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 4 years

Text

A space situation

You sigh heavily and shut your eyes. The man was so intelligent, but days like this you wonder if sometimes his brain took unpaid leave.

“My house is literally a third the size of your closet.”

If this wasn’t your house you might have found it a little bit funny. But it is your house.

Joon is your very rich very endearing sugar daddy but also very clumsy and sometimes rash in buying you whatever what he sees fit but it’s not very practical all the time.

Namjoon x Reader

Genre: It’s a fluff party guys

Word Count: 3k

Note: Quarantine can be inspiring lol

You don’t know you’re smiling, but it’s there. A tiny little smile lingering on your face as you watch the man in your kitchen from your crummy two-seater couch that barely fits into your living room.

It’s not a sight you’ll ever get used to seeing, you think, Namjoon with his designer suits and perfectly swept back hair, fumbling around in the drawers. He was wearing that new Dior shirt you had picked out for him last week.

When he’d came in to your dingy apartment, he’d removed his (probably very expensive) cufflinks and tossed them in your countertop dish.

“You shouldn’t treat your things so carelessly,” you chastised, taking them from the dish and moving them somewhere safer. Even in the cheap incandescent light, the large stones twinkle softly and you wondered how much they cost.

“They’re very pretty.”

‘What?” He’d glanced up briefly from his phone to see what you were holding. “Oh you like those? I can send them to my jeweler and get them set into earrings for you if you want.”

You nearly drop the cufflinks.

When he stands he bumps his head on an open cabinet.

He’s a bit befuddled for a moment and sends the cabinet door a look, but it quickly melts into a grin when he hears you giggle.

“Hey, don’t laugh. I’m six foot and this kitchen is literally made for someone who’s like five-nothing.”

God, you wanted to take a swim in those dimples.

You get off the couch and walk over, opening the second drawer to pull out a whisk and offer it to him.

“You’re the one who wanted to come to the dump which is my apartment, Joon.” It’s a matter-of-fact tone, but you can’t hide the twinkle in your eyes.

“I wanted to make you that dalgona coffee thing. But I don't have instant coffee at home. I didn’t know if it works with normal espresso.”

“You’re telling me you have a thirteen thousand dollar coffee machine at your place, and no instant coffee.”

Namjoon makes a face. “Instant coffee tastes like dishwater.”

You grab the bottle of instant coffee and shove it in his face.

“I love it.”

Namjoon shakes his head and grabs the glass jar from you, delivering a swift peck on your cheek.

“I love you.”

You blush, one hand going up to cup your face. To hell with butterflies in your stomach, this man truly gave the zoo a run for its money.

You’d met him while waitressing at one of those fancy fundraiser gala dinners. It paid the best, and between struggling to feed yourself and those overdue college bills, you were ready to swallow your pride and deal with the pompous crowd for a little while.

Namjoon had always thought it was a blessing he’d survived thirty three years not having broken a bone (well, he’s caused other people to break their bones, but that doesn’t count.) But that night, accidentally spilling his wine on you was the one time Namjoon ever felt truly lucky that he was a clumsy oaf.

You looked like a little deer, flustered and apologising, reaching for the nearest stack of napkins to fuss over the cuff of his jacket, when he should have been the one apologising to you. The two of you at a later point have recounted this first meeting and you still can’t believe he finds it hilarious that you were horrified, on the verge of tears because you thought he’d expect you to pay for his jacket.

Though you later understand why he’d find that funny. One thing more genuinely beautiful than his face was Namjoon’s heart. He’d insisted he book you a cab home (after understanding you didn’t have a spare shirt), and settled with your manager that you’d be taking the rest of the night off.

The next day he caught you by surprise, showing up on your doorstep in a cream cable knit sweater, and a black gift box adorned with a white camellia in hand (half out of apology, but also because he needed an excuse to see you). You’d opened the door, let out a strangled squeak and promptly slammed the door shut in his face. Later, he did get invited in when you didn’t so closely resemble a drenched version of Dobby, but it was unlikely you’d ever forget the horror of that moment.

Of course at first, your relationship was merely transactional - he paid you for your company, mostly at more of these fancy galas where he needed someone to distract the crowd while he really talked shop with the important people, and you.. well who were you, a mere mortal, to say no to that? It would get your bills paid, put food on the table, and Namjoon was kind, intelligent and not bad to look at.

Okay fine, he was great to look at.

Sure he’d been divorced once, but everyone has skeletons in their closets, right? Namjoon’s closet was three times the size of your apartment so there’d be plenty space to hide them. (Later, much later, you also become privy to the information that the guy could fuck you six ways from Sunday, but that’s besides the point… you think.)

After the parties on the way home you’d started to linger in his car. He’d walk you up the stairs of your dingy apartment complex. You hold hands, his large one dwarfing yours as the both of you walk as slowly as possible up the entire ten flights.

It was dangerous for you to walk alone, he said, but really, Namjoon wanted to talk to you a little while longer. You were nothing like he’d ever known. You were quiet. Listening. But really listening, not just waiting for your turn to talk. So different to the ditzy socialites in his circle who wanted only to talk about themselves.

Its not long before you're inviting him in for coffee - he drank your dishwater coffee quietly for the next three months before he suggested going to his place where the ‘real coffee’ was.

You fell fast, and you fell hard.

Not that you didn’t have your share of heated romances with people your age, but none of them really got you, listened to you as intently as he did when you rambled on about the inequality and hegemony of this world. You chalk it up to the fact that you’ve always been more mature than others - a result of circumstance. Not by choice, really, but it was what it was.

Namjoon always carried an air of introspection around him. Not intentionally. Many people took that for pride, but you realised quickly it was quiet confidence. He liked to listen and learn and observe.

On your coffee nights he begins to give you a glimpse of who he really is. Undoubtedly, he’s a Kim. That cool, nonchalant disposition was his battle armor. But beneath that you come to see the man who when you ask him about the telescope in the corner of his study, tells you he still entertains his childhood dream of being an astronaut. That on clear nights he likes to read Carl Sagan and look at the stars, wondering about the kind of lives they lead.

You learn he’s a great big klutz that breaks the handles off his cabinets ‘by accident’. You see the soft side that sometimes likes to read children’s books because ‘some of the best lessons in life are simple and humble ones’. And eventually the side that suddenly pulls you in closer in his sleep to his chest on rainy nights because he hates thunder. You always wake because you’re a light sleeper, but you’re glad you are, reaching up to smooth the furrow between his brows gently with a thumb before cuddling deeper into his embrace.

It’s also the first time he smiled at you. It was the week before his birthday, you’d given him a little resin keychain with little pressed wildflowers. He’d gone silent for quite a while and you didn’t know if he hated it or loved it.

“It’s a keychain.”

“Yeah.. It’s not much but I made it in a resin art workshop I went to, you have everything already and I hadn’t any idea what I could afford that you’d need-“

“You made this?” He interrupts, looking up at you.

You feel your gut shrivel. Jesus Christ. He hates it.

Immediately you move toward him to remove your offending gift. You were a Tiny Bit Hurt, but what had you been expecting with a cheap thing like that?

“If you don’t like it, it’s okay. You don’t have to use it! I just thought because you call me your little wildflower you’d like - “

You can’t finish your sentence because your face is smushed into Namjoon’s (very nice, very broad) chest as he pulls you into a crushing hug.

Horror takes over slightly and you struggle to move away. “Namjoon, I’m wearing so much foundation, and you’re in a cream Givenchy sweater - “

“I love it.”

You stop struggling. His warm breath tickles your ear, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“You do?”

“I do. I love that you put in all this effort. You are my little wildflower. Always blooming in surprising places.’

You hug him back, nuzzling into his scent. The Givenchy sweater could wait. There was always drycleaning.

“And now I’ll have something to remind me of you wherever I go.”

When he pulls back to look at you he’s sporting not just one of those polite half smiles, but a full on beaming grin that make his eyes into smiling crescents. You get to see how deep his dimples actually are.

You swooned so hard you thought you might’ve given yourself an aneurysm.

Well, fast forward a year and here you are.

Watching the owner of a global business conglomerate make you some silly whipped coffee drink in the kitchen of your tiny apartment with water stains on the wallpaper, his diamond cufflinks sitting in a repurposed butter spread tray that held coins and keys on your countertop.

Watching your klutz boyfriends, ad he jerks the whisk at an odd angle and gets foamy coffee splattered all over the front of his white shirt.

'Joon, that’s Dior.” Your face crumples. Grabbing a towel out of the drawer, you wet it and try to dab the coffee stains off. That shirt was so expensive, it could pay your rent for three months.

You knew and had come to terms with the fact that money would always worry him far, far less than it worried you, but seeing such an expensive item go to waste would never stop making you a little bit unhappy. Well, there was more to it, but you shoved those thoughts away.

Namjoon sets the bowl down on the counter.

“It’s okay, love. I’ll just get a new one if the stains don't come off.”

You scrub harder.

After a silent moment, Namjoon puts his hands over yours to still them. “It’s not just about the shirt, is it?”

He waits for you, like he always does because he knows you need a little time. He’d wormed his way into the deepest parts of your heart, but there would always be a final little fence you had to decide to take down. He was okay with that.

After a minute, you nod. Gently, he takes the dishcloth from you and sets it aside so he can hold your hands properly. Times like these he just wants to hug you and hope that would be enough to protect you from the world. You taught him that money, as much as it solved problems, was not everything.

He puts a finger under your chin and tips it up so he can see your face.

“I just..”

“Go on.” He encourages.

“I know we’ve been through this before, but I can’t help but feel like I’m a… I’m a burden.”

Funny, considering how you two started out. The sugar baby/parent lifestyle just wasn’t for you. You were a Bad Ass Bitch who didn't need anyone, and it was important to stay on brand.

“Like, I keep being on the receiving end and sometimes I just feel like I can’t do anything for you. You spend so much money on me. The other day after we went shopping you bought me such lovely fruits to stock my fridge, and even got me a new heater for my room when it’s cold, and now you’re making me coffee because I sent you that post on Instagram and I just….

“If you didn’t have to come to my stupid old apartment you shirt would still be clean and I …“ You gesture vaguely at him and then at yourself.

“You give me so much. And well, I’m… just me.” You say finally.

Namjoon’s just been listening as you ramble, face unreadable. He;s got his business face on and you can’t tell if he’s angry with you or not.

“So you feel like you can’t do anything for me.”

You nod.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding the topic every time I ask you to move in with me?”

You nod again.

“Look, _____. I want you to listen to me. Like really listen.” His hands move to cup your face, eyes now staring intently into yours.

“You give me something in this world no amount of money can buy. You make me feel whole. You make me feel excited that I get to do life’s most mundane things with you. Even if it involves drinking dishwater coffee.”

That last part gets a small smile out of you, so he knows you’re in the clear.

“I know you’re not used to receiving nice things, because the world hasn’t given you much of it. I hate that. What I do for you, I do with my whole heart. I will continue to want to do these things for you for as long as you’ll let me.

“And maybe if I keep doing them one day you will see how everything, everything I do for you pales terribly in comparison to what you give to me by just existing.”

You’re so overwhelmed with emotion so you just respond lamely “o..okay.”

In your head, your two braincells clap enthusiastically as they crown you honorary president of the Idiot Club.

Namjoon sighs and rests his hands on the countertop on either side of you so he can look at you eye to eye. You look so pretty like this, he thinks. Eyes vulnerable and lips soft, just like you should be. He hates the world for treating you so cruelly.

“And for the record, I insist on spending time here I noticed you’re more… yourself than at my place. I want you to feel comfortable.”

“That’s not true.” You raise your chin petulantly, because you’re slightly prideful that way and don't want to acknowledge that Namjoon sees through you clear as day.

“Don’t argue with me.”

Namjoon narrows his eyes fractionally, his gaze darkening, and suddenly you’re very aware that you’re caged in. Not that you were complaining but was it suddenly really hot in here?

“I’m not arguing.”

“Yes you are." He's lowered his voice and its taken on a huskier tone.

“You know that everything I do, I do out of love for you. And I will damn well put up with your apartment with no complaints if it means you will feel more at ease.”

This man was going to give you whiplash with the way he made the most loving words sound like filth.

You lower your gaze, just the way you know he likes, and look up at him through your lashes. Two could play that game. You see a spark ignite in his eyes.

“I know.”

“You know, what?”

“I know, sir.”

“Good. Now why don’t I finish making you that coffee, and then we can go back to my place and we’ll see what you really know.”

With that, he releases you to get the milk from the fridge, and you spin around to place one hand on the countertop and one hand over your chest. You suck in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. A few seconds longer and you’d have -

A sharp cracking noise from behind you quickly sweeps any indecent thoughts clean out of your mind.

You turn to find Namjoon looking at you with an incredibly apologetic expression, holding a black piece of plastic which what seems to be -

“Did you break the handle off my fridge?”

Three days later he’s sporting the same apologetic expression, the only difference is that you two are separated by a towering, stainless steel monstrosity that now sits in the middle of your living room, leaving you two to converse by having to look around the sides of it.

“I’m sorry, ___. I didn’t know it’d be this big.”

“That’s what she said.”

You peer around the corner with a cheeky grin. He gives you a look that’s half withering and half amused. “Mature.”

Reassessing the appliance in front of you, you throw your hands up in the air.

“For the love of sweet god, Namjoon. This fridge is ridiculous. I’m not feeding the entire village. You’ve seen my apartment, how did you think this was going to work?!”

“I dont know, okay? I just called my home decor guys and told them to send you the same fridge I have!”

You sigh heavily and shut your eyes. The man was so intelligent, but days like this you wonder if sometimes his brain took unpaid leave.

“My house is literally a third the size of your closet.”

If this wasn’t your house you might have found it a little bit funny. But it is your house.

You wait, but there’s just silence from his end, so you continue.

“What do you expect me to do with this monstrosity? Take a fucking winter holiday in it?! We can’t even -“ you kick the sofa for emphasis.

Pausing because he’s still unusually quiet, you stretch to look around the fridge again. He’s on his phone, tapping away in furious concentration.

“What are you doing?”

“Give me a minute.”

Oh no.

“What are you doing.”

“Relax, my love, I’m fixing the problem.” He waves you off nonchalantly. “Give me a minute.”

“Are you calling the delivery men to take this back?”

There is a genuinely confused look on his face when he looks up.

“What? No. Don’t be silly. I’m texting my real estate agents. They’re getting you a new house so this fridge will fit.”

#joonclouds #namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon fluff #namjoon fic #bts fic

52 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 3 years

Text

The Price Of A Wish | 0

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Reasons why people wish on Dandelions:

1. To tell the direction of the wind

2. For good luck

3. To carry your thoughts and dreams to your loved ones

4. It’s easier to wish for something that’s real, on something that isn’t.

#joonclouds #POAW #hoseok #hoseok fic #jhope fic #bts fic #jhope fluff #hobi fic #hobi

3 notes · View notes

joonclouds · 4 years

Text

Heat Packs | YoongixReader

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

Yoongi x Reader (and shoeless friend Taehyung)

Plot: Producer!Yoongi, fluff at the end, kind of enemies to lovers?? arguments to lovers? idk man Yoongi is bad at expressing feelings

Warnings: It gets a bit hot and heavy at the end but nothing else unless you want to consider cringey fluff as a warning lol

Wordcount: 7.3k

Note: Quarantine is still very inspiring. I am still very bad at naming my fics. producer!Yoongi is *chefs kiss* Hope ya’ll are well x *kisses*

It is a Tuesday evening in mid November that you decide you hate Min Yoongi. Hate was a strong word for you. Most of the time you hovered between a state of neutrality to mild displeasure, and sure, you’d been harbouring a (maybe not so subtle) crush on your reclusive boss, but you decide today that it was time to Burn That Ship cause you hate Min Yoongi.

You stand there, heart pounding. From embarrassment or from anger, you can’t really tell at this point - but heck, it wasn’t even your fault. Indignant, that’s what you felt. You had heard a loud bang and crash from his recording studio, and in a moment of panic and concern you’d rushed in to check if everything was okay.

Turns out he was moving his large bass speakers and didn’t need (or deserve, you think huffily) any of your help. Maybe you should have knocked first, but -

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Never heard of knocking?”

See, you were a Badass Bitch™. Which is why now your face is flushing an angry red, mouth open, ready with a snappy comeback. But Badass Bitch™ is also paranoid and doesn’t like confrontations, so she takes a baton and whacks the retort right out of your mouth. So you close your mouth again, stand there silently and look down. And if it could get worse, it does - a prickling at the back of your eyes starts to grow.

“And you’re just going to stand there?” The black-haired boy cocks a brow at you.

“I.. I heard a crash so I just came in to make sure everything was okay and-“

“What is this, your house? Is your name on the outside of the door?”

You wring your hands behind your back and pinch the fleshy part of your palm to ease the growing lump in your throat. No, you refuse to cry in front of him. After three months of working here you’d thought you’d finally wormed your way into the category of “acceptable humans to Min Yoongi”, but clearly you had not. In fact, as of now, you probably didn’t even exist on the Venn diagram.

“I.. No, but… I…”

“Does it. Say your damn name. On. My. Studio. Door.”

You stand there, speechless, mouth opening and closing, looking for something to say. A fat tear starts to pool in your left eye and threatens to spill, but by some miracle you manage to hold it in. Barely.

Yoongi lets out a sharp breath and makes his way across the room, yanking the door wide open.

“The rule here is no one comes into my studio. Get the fuck out.”

You are still crying as you sharpen the twentieth coloured pencil on the living room floor you share with a pixie of a girl called Chungha, who sits opposite you with her chin propped on folded knees.

“You should do this for a living, you know. Given how many times you’ve done this already.” She comments

“What, the crying?” You stutter out confusedly between a hiccup and a sniff.

“I meant the pencil sharpening.”

You blow your nose wetly into a tissue. “I can’t help it, okay? I cry. When people. Shout at me.” You choke out the last few sentences in between sobs.

All your admission does is bring forth another wave of tears.

“So who made you cry this time?”

“Min Yoongi. Min. Fucking. Yoongi.” With each syllable you turn the pencil with a newfound gusto, taking some sort of vicarious pleasure in watching the wood getting shaved off in neat strips.

Chungha’s eyes widen. “As in, owner of the studio, Min Yoongi. Your ridiculously elusive, black-clothes-only, don’t-come-into-my-office, hot in a weird way, Min Yoongi?”

You nod aggresively. “I hate him. So much.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You consider locking Chungha in the storeroom.

“Maybe he just had a bad day?” She offers.

“What did I do to deserve this? All I did was check on him in his studio!” In your angst you stop sharpening. You imagine the little plastic sharpener is Yoongi’s stupid head and you hurl it across the carpet.

“I’m sorry he shouted at you.” She pulls a Kleenex out of the box and dabs gently at your face. “Even if he told you not to go in, but you didn’t deserve that. He’s an idiot. Men are idiots.”

“I was just trying to be nice!” You protest, voice rising a good four octaves. “I heard a loud thud so I got worried and I rushed in without thinking, but turns out he was just moving his speakers and he just got so mad and saying all those mean things - “ you trail off slowly as hiccups and sobs leave you incoherent.

“You know how he is, grumpy old man. I’m sure he’ll apologise.” Chungha offers you another tissue. “And honestly my love, there’s no point crying now you’ve already forgiven him so…”

“I. Havent.”

“Tell me that when you next speak to him and aren’t a puddle of mush.”

You fling your snot-stained tissue at her.

—

The next week when your shift comes around, you still show up for work. Even though you are half an hour late from pacing up and down the street outside, considering if you should just not show up to spite him. It took three existential crises, five tears, and many muttered curses about the offending human being, but eventually you find yourself in the lift up to the recording office. You didn’t like to admit it, but you were the type who was quick to anger, but quick to cool.

Though cooling didn’t mean forgiveness. You were good at compartmentalisation and that was exactly what you were going to do.

The idea of not landing yourself in crippling school fee debt was wholly enticing, and to do that you needed this job as an admin at the recording offices. It paid well, and was easy enough. Keep the place clean, stock the pantry, manage the room bookings, make sure no one breaks equipment. Make ramen for customers. Don’t go into Min Yoongi’s studio. Even if he suffered a heart attack and might be dead. Easy.

You steel yourself with a breath and push open the swinging door with gusto, making a beeline for the reception with your head down and eyes trained on your shoes. Just get behind that tall white counter and you’d be safe -

“Oof.” - if you didn’t first collide with a broad, hoodie-clad chest.

Warm hands grip your shoulders to steady you. “Whoa, watch where you’re going, little pea.”

You smile as you step back to see a familiar face face that takes your breath away. “I didn’t know you were coming in today!”

Taehyung, or Tae, as you had come to know him, was one of the regulars at the studio. A music student with a voice deep and syrupy as honey, and a face just as sweet to match - he made hearts go ba-dump in chests. Even after six months of seeing him three times a week, and the knowledge that he was already (secretly) attached to his art school’s equally pretty-boy dance major, you as a normal human being were still not safe from Tae’s charms.

“Yeah, I had some free time - Jimin’s off putting in extra hours in the dance studio so I figured I’d come here.”

You’re glad for his presence as you go behind the reception and get ready for work.

Tae walks up on the other side of the counter and rests an elbow on it, chin propped in his palm. From behind his long bangs you can see he’s sporting a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. He looks at you expectantly and you’re confused for a moment but it all clicks into place.

You fall into the chair behind the reception and let your head loll back on the backrest, giving him the side-eye. “What is it, Tae?”

He grins mischeviously. “So Yoongi unleashed the kraken on you, huh.”

“If by kraken you mean Mr. Shouty Pants, then yes, the kraken.”

Tae lets out a barking laugh. “Let him off the hook, fisherman. He’s not so bad once you get to know him - he wasn’t always like this, you know.”

You guess is that if that stupid recluse had anything such as a friend, then Taehyung would probably be the closest thing to it. But then again your guess was as good as useless because it was near impossible to not like Tae - he was definintely overly-friendly, but not in a smothering way and boy, did it grow on you. Out of all the people who came and went in the studio, Taehyung and about four other people were the only ones you had ever seen Yoongi say more than three words to in a single sentence. Well, now you were included in that category too, but for very different reasons.

You make a scrunchy face at the sandy-haired boy. “Not so bad? All I was, was concerned and he saw fit to make me feel as worthy as the dirt under your shoe.”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

When you raise an eyebrow pointedly at him, Taehyung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, shoe police, calm down.”

After a moment, he adds, “are you still angry?”

You sigh in resignation. “Honestly? Not really. I decided I need this job more than my dignity.”

Tae chuckles good-naturedly.

“Oh, by the way could I have the restroom key, Jungkook’s track got rejected again and the idiot’s gone and locked himself in there. Again.”

Bending to look under your table for the right set of keys, you cant help but feel the little worm of resentment wriggle in your heart. “If he were even half decent he’d apologise.” You grumble quietly.

“Looks like he already has.”

“What did you say?” You emerge from under the desk, a little red in the face, and hold the keys out to Tae.

“Thanks!” Tae grins widely at you as he takes the keys and makes in the direction of the hallway, calling out behind him, “Ramen at 9?”

“Choosing to have ramen with me over Jimin? I’m honoured.” You tease.

Turning back to your desk you notice a little convenience store heat pack with a yellow sticky note that says ‘it’s getting colder’ messily scribbled on it. Tae must have put it there while you were searching for the keys - a right shame he batted for the other team, the boy was so sweet.

“Thank you for the heat pack!”

“Not my doing!” Is his muffled reply from inside the corridors, but you just leave it at that.

—

Taehyung trains his eyes on the mop of black hair sitting in front of him at the audio console. He slowly swings in the spinny chair he’s kneeling backwards in, arms and chin on the high backrest.

After a couple minutes of silence Yoongi turns around.

“Tae I swear. I tolerate you, but if you continue staring at me while spinning in that chair for one more second I will enforce a shoes-on policy on this studio.”

The spinning continues, a playful gleam in the younger boy’s eyes. I call bluff. “When I’m gone, who else will you spill all your admin staff related problems to?”

Yoongi lets out a resigned sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Why he chose to let this shoeless, pajama-clad hooligan into his life he would never know.

“This is about ____, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nods. “What you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.”

He stops spinning in the chair. “Hyung. You didn’t misplace her printing, spill coffee on her notes, make her give out flyers in the rain, put in her pay three days late, or even ask her to make ramen for Jungkook.” (The boy eats four packets in one go.) He lists them all out on his fingers, much to Yoongi’s further annoyance.

“Heck, maybe even collectively doing all of those things might have been better.” He wags an accusing finger in his face, but Yoongi chooses not to acknowledge it. Just like he’s trying not to acknowledge the huge clusterfuck that was this situation with you.

“You made _____ cry. The _____ who waters the stupid plant outside your door and replenishes the bottled water in your personal fridge after you run out because you’re too damn lazy to do it yourself. You’d both die of dehydration if not for her.”

“You both?”

“You and the plant outside, you fucking dumbass, since both of you have so much in common.”

Yoongi slumps deeper into his chair, twiddling with the rings on his fingers uncomfortably. He’s looking at his three computer screens filled with music arrangements but all he can see is your face, hurt and angry. There was a particular point where he saw a tear threaten to escape and he can’t remember feeling like more of an asshole. He’s frustrated that you make him frustrated with your stupid pretty face all crumpled up like that and the fact that he’d been the one to -

“So?” Taehyung asks expectantly.

Yoongi has a defeated look on his face. “I already apologised!”

Taehyung gives him a stare that was equal parts appalled and in disbelief. “With a two dollar heat pack you bought from the convenience store? Which you left on her desk, along with some random post-it and no name. She thinks it’s from me, by the way.”

“She should have been able to tell? ... From the handwriting?”

Taehyung just looks at him.

“I didn’t mean what I said, Tae.” He adds huffily after a short silence. You know why I get so prickly when people come into my studio without permission.”

“Hyung, but ____ doesn’t know that.” He reasons with a softer tone. “I know you like her. If you didn't you’d have fired her on the spot. She’s the best one yet, and pretty, too. I bet if you explained yourself she’d forgive you.”

He hates it, but Taehyung was right when it came to things like this. Your feelings had been hurt and insulted (unjustly so by him) and he didn’t know how to fix it, so he’d just avoided coming out of his room or being at the studio when you were working your shifts. Which had turned out to be an unexpected inconvenience because you were there, manning the reception and running the room bookings more often than he had thought.

“Knew she was trouble from the moment I hired her.” Yoongi grumbles.

“Stop it, old man. You’re just saying that because you like her.”

And indeed you were, all doe-eyed and warm smiles in a floral print dress catching him off guard the day you tentatively pushed the doors of the studio open, asking about the position opening for a receptionist.

Yoongi soon discovered, over the three months you’d been here so far, that you were also a college student struggling to pay her bills, and your shy disposition hid a sharp tongue and intelligent dry wit that had left him chuckling below his breath before he could stop himself. You were definitely trouble, and just his kind.

“After you apologise you should just ask her out already,” tae adds, “she’s totally got a thing going for you."

Yoongi scoffs. “Yes, _____ totally has a thing for me and my winning personality.” He puts his hand on his chin in mock contemplation. “Now I know why she ran off crying. She’s in love with me.”

“I said, after you apologise. Properly. She’ll forgive you.”

“Maybe I can just fire her. Then I don’t have to see her again.” He groans.

“Then I’d never forgive you.”

The words were sharp, but that was just Taehyung. There was somehow always a kindness to everything he did or said, even if it was an unpleasant thing; it had made Yoongi see the error of his ways more than once. The kid was more mature than anyone gave him credit for.

Tae pushes off the chair and claps an encouraging hand on the older boy’s shoulder before turning to leave the room.

“Just say sorry, Yoongi. It’s not that hard.”

—

The way Dongwon looks at you as he leans on the reception counter makes you uncomfortable. In the kind of way that you can feel his eyes on your face, your throat, your shoulders. It makes you want to take a shower. Not that you were wearing anything revealing. In fact, you are the antithesis of sexy right now in what Chungha liked to call The Nun Outfit - a white turtleneck knit and a plain black midi skirt that fell to your shins.

Nevertheless, you force a smile out, respecting that this was one of Yoongi's previous work partners. “I’m sorry, but Yoongi specifically told me not to allow any unscheduled reservations today.”

“Come on babe. I left shortly after you arrived, but you know who I am. I just gotta pick something up, and use studio B for a while.”

His usage of the affectionate term on you makes your skin prickle but you shake it off. “Maybe you could leave a message?”

Fumbling at your desk, you reach for a pen and a notepad, pointedly ignoring the way Dongwon is leaning in closer, not sparing you an inch of his scrutiny. “Here, you can use this -"

“Are you fucking him?”

You freeze. “What?"

Dongwon gives you a once over and runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek. You think you’re going to throw up.

“Are you two fucking? Is that why you’re listening to him like a good little - ”

Yoongi is nothing if not a possessive man. So when he catches the tail end of your conversation with Dongwon on his way out to get this third Americano of the day, and sees Dongwon looming over you like you're his next meal, he feels a sharp, intense anger pressing against his chest.

“The heck do you want?” Yoongi is seething as he enters the reception area, but he tames the flames quickly. His tone is deceptively level.

Dongwon looks away from you and a weird expression crosses his face, but it’s schooled quickly. “Yoongi, my man.” He greets emptily.

“I’m just visiting. Seeing how you’re doing.”

“Great.” is Yoongi's clipped reply as he sets his empty cup on the counter and tosses a couple of bills in front of you.

“Im sorry, sajangnim, I told him you said no unscheduled -”

“Iced americano, triple shot.” Yoongi cuts you off.

He looks at you pointedly, the first time he’s acknowledged you since he had shouted at you a week ago. Under normal circumstances you’d have snapped back about how ‘so we’re only speaking if you need me to be the coffee lady’ but today you just take the money and leave the office, glad to be out of there. You drag your feet, walking as slow as possible to the cafe downstairs and pray the barista takes longer, but there’s only so much time you can kill before you have to go back up. Coming to the end of the corridor you just hope they’re both gone by the time you get back so it saves you the confrontation but -

You stop just before they can see you through the glass door.

"You don't talk to my people that way."

"Your people?" You don't need to see Dongwon's face to know he's sporting a twisted mocking expression.

"What’s the matter, she’s free game if you guys aren’t sleeping together." His leering tone makes you blanch. "With a face like that? She's way out of your league, man, and even if you were fucking, it doesn't mean you can't share - “

Dongwon is cut off when you hear the loud, telling smack of a fist connecting with a face. It is all you can do to not drop the coffee in your hand, the other coming to cover your mouth to muffle a gasp.

“God, what the fuck is wrong with you, Yoongi? Who shoved a cactus up your ass?”

There is a brief scuffling noise, and the sound of some pushing and shoving, but quickly, it is quiet again.

“You know I could end your career in one phonecall, right?” You can barely hear Yoongi from where you are, but one thing’s for sure. You’ve never heard him like this before. Angry and menacing.

“I know what you’re here for. I’m not going to fall for it again. I kept quiet to protect the people in Namjoon’s company, but don’t you for one damn moment think I don’t know you’re the stealing bastard who took my demos and used them as your own.”

"And when Namjoon realises what your work is like - ha!" Yoongi snorts. "I was gonna watch you die a slow and public death but I guess that can be sped up."

Suddenly, things click into place with a shrill clarity. You don’t hear Dongwon say anything.

“You. Owe. Me. So you be a good little bitch and apologise to _____ when she comes back, and if you even so much as breathe on the corner of my block again, I’m going to fucking end you.”

“Yoongi you -“

If there was a good time for Badass Bitch™ to make an appearance it would probably be now. So you squeeze your eyes shut and with a deep breath, push open the office door.

“Coffee’s here!” You say a little too brightly, like you didn’t just walk in on an altercation.

Dongwon is trapped against the counter, collar gripped in Yoongi’s fist. He’s sporting a shiner on his cheekbone. Your lip trembles, but you manage to hold it in place. After a tense moment, Yoongi releases his grip with a disgusted exhale. Dongwon brushes himself off, turning away to straighten his shirt.

You place the coffee cup on the counter, turning to Yoongi and holding out a small fist. When he just looks at you, you grab his wrist and deposit some coins in his hand. You notice his knuckles are definitely pink.

“Your change.”

Yoongi ignores you, looking over your head at Dongwon. He opens his mouth like he’s about about to throw a nasty remark, but then closes it again with fire burning in his eyes and turns to leave.

“Oi. You forgot something. ” Yoongi’s tone is dangerous, warning.

Dongwon looks back, eyes still blazing, gaze shifting to you when Yoongi tilts his head in your direction.

He scoffs before pushing the door open, but then as he leaves he spits out begrudgingly, “Sorry, or whatever.”

You stand there in shocked silence for a good full minute before your senses come back to you. You turn to Yoongi again, grabbing his wrist to examine his hand.

“Yoongi, your hand -“ you start, but he’s already yanking it back from your grasp and muttering an angry “I’m fine”, before grabbing his coffee off the counter and heading back into his studio with a slam of his door.

If Yoongi’s day could have gotten any worse, it just did. There is a knocking on his door, for the third time in a row now and -

Knock knock knock.

He groans, yanking the door open. If he could get any more pissed off, he does, when he comes face to face with Taehyung.

“The fuck do you want, Tae, I swear if it’s nonsense again -"

"Stop taking your problems out on other people, hyung. Getting real tired of your shit here."

Yoongi groans internally. Tae was right. Again.

"Sorry. Its been a day. Dongwon was here earlier." He explains wearily, and the younger boy softens a little with understanding.

"S'okay. He's gone now?"

"Yeah, left him with a present too." Taehyung eyes Yoongi's hand that rested on the doorframe. He nods a few times, and then shoves a plastic bag into Yoongi’s hands.

“I have a present for you. It’s from ____.”

Your name stuns him for a moment. “Wait. Who?”

“____. She asked me to give it to you. I think she’s too afraid to give it to you herself.”

“What? Why?”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes before walking away. Yoongi shuts the door and slumps back in his chair, hand coming to massage his temples but he winces when he tries to make a fist. His knuckles are an angry, painful red. He definitely hit Dongwon harder than he’d intended.

Sighing, he empties the contents of the little bag onto the table and finds a tube of anti-inflammatory ointment, a roll of bandages, and a little pink post it note. It’s from you. You’ve doodled a smiling caricature of yourself with a tiny speech bubble that says ‘thank you!’.

He picks it up, running a finger over the smiley face and plasters in the top right hand corner.

Huddling deeper into your coat as you trudge miserably back down the street in the direction of the studio, you silently thank Tae for the heat packs he’s been leaving you - though he always denies it and you wonder why. Of course it’s just your luck that you left your house keys at the office on the coldest night of the month.

It’s not that Yoongi was avoiding you, you reason to yourself, as you walk, he was always like that. Aside from the first interview, you didn’t get a second glimpse of him till the third week into your new job. And even then you didnt really know what he actually looked like, because his face was always covered with a mask or a black cap pulled low. You heard more about your boss than how much you actually saw him.

Maybe he just felt embarrassed by the whole two situations? You reason to yourself. Frankly you were over the whole shouting fest. Maybe he just had an off day, so what? (Chungha was right, you were just a little miffed that he didn’t apologise to you, but you guessed he’d redeemed himself). As you round the corner you kick a stray pebble that bounces down the street -

Oh.

You remember the first time you had a Good Look at Yoongi. Not just glimpses of eyes under a cap pulled low, or a flash of his profile as he tugs his hood up over his head. Like, a real proper stare. It was about a month and a half in, when you were heading to water the plants outside his studio before you ended your shift, and caught him working late with the door open.

You had imagined him to have coarse, unrefined features, what with his reclusive, gruff personality. And so you were caught by surprise, when you're greeted with a delicate side profile, strong brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he experiments with different chords on the keyboard with long, elegant fingers. A plush lower lip is worried between a row of clean, straight teeth. It was an unconventional kind of handsomeness, a kind that made you want to look, and look again.

But it's like he knows you're there and looks up. Before you can apologise out of habit, he closes the door in your face, your gaze meeting his for a split second. His eyes are angled with an almost feline quality under long lashes, sharp and guarded. You didn’t know what they guarded, but you felt a curiosity take bud in your chest and it was in that moment you knew you were very much in trouble.

But it is not clear how much trouble you are in. And you thought you were clear of that trouble, given the happenings of the past weeks. But now you realise any chance of being clear of it is now shot to shit when you round the corner of the street and see him crouching at the curb outside the building near a small ball of fur.

He’s playing with a cat.

Softly, the three-coloured cat he’s watching purrs, abandoning the can of tuna in favour of rubbing itself against Yoongi’s shin. He pulls a hand out of his hoodie pocket and reaches down to scratch between its ears. A gentle, endearing smile finds its way onto his face. You feel your heart squeeze.

But like the last time, before you can make your presence known, he looks up. He knows. There’s an expression on his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been.

Yoongi quickly stands up and shoves his hand back into his hoodie pocket as you approach. It is at this point a small logical part of his mind registers that it would be a good time to apologise to you, but for the most part it is a mental re-enactment of a keyboard smash when you give him an unsure smile and a tiny wave. All swaddled in your coat and scarf, you were so cute, and holy shit you were walking over and he had no clue what he was going to say.

“So you’re the one spoiling him.” You murmur as the cat leaves Yoongi to pad over to you.

“Him?” He replies dumbly.

You nod to the meowing ball of fur curling around your ankles. “Him. I named him Jimin.”

“Jimin.” He repeats slowly. “A very human name?”

Yoongi watches you, as you watch the cat, a small smile gracing your face. “He reminds me of a friend of a friend. Small and cute. But has claws. And very clingy once he gets close to you.”

You look up to catch him staring, and he quickly redirects his attention to a streetlamp in the distance. “Yeah, I’ve been feeding him for a couple of weeks now. You’re definitely right about him being clingy.” Yoongi admits sheepishly as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Crouching to give Jimin a head scratch, you can sense Yoongi wants to say something. But you reckon he doesn’t know how. You think about giving him a hard time, but you don’t. You figure getting caught feeding a little cat is enough punishment for him.

“Don’t worry, sajangnim. I won’t tell anyone." You say with a little smile. "I’ll keep your image intact.”

Your smile makes his brain short circuit. "What?"

You let out a laugh because this was the most flustered you’d ever seen Yoongi, over a cat, no less! (you were wrong about this) And boy, was it amusing.

It's a light, happy noise and it's so pretty, Yoongi thinks. A pretty laugh for a pretty girl.

"Y'know, your whole brooding, all black, don't talk to me, mysterious guy image." You make a mask gesture over your face and then to him in mock disbelief.

"Playing with cats isn't very on brand of you, but I'll keep that information to myself."

Yoongi laughs then, and he dips his head to try and hide it, but from where you're crouching with Jimin you're treated to a glimpse of the cutest gummy smile that makes your heart turn into mush. You mentally note to prepare yourself for the next time he does that.

Putting your hands on your knees you push yourself back up and you both stand in companionable silence for a little while, watching the little cat go back to his bowl of tuna.

“I’m gonna -“

“Yeah so - “

The expression of mild surprise quickly turns into amusement on Yoongi’s face, and it makes you laugh softly into your palm like a shy fifteen year old. You quirk your head at him. Yoongi feels like it is really unfair for someone to be this cute.

“You first.”

Yoongi rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks up at you from behind the hair falling in his eyes.

“I’m. Uh.” He stutters. “Realised I never apologised for that day.”

“It’s okay,” you smile reassuringly. “I’m over it.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I mean, granted you were a Top Notch Asshole, but I guess it was just a bad day for you.”

“I deserve that. Taehyung told me I should stop taking my anger out on others. Its true.”

“I accept your apology. Everyone has their own… thing.” You say stupidly after not being able to find better words.

“I just have issues sometimes. With... intellectual property.” He gestures vaguely in the air, trying to explain the best he can and you understand that he doesn’t really want to say more.

“I know.”

Yoongi’s brow knits in confusion for a moment before realisation dawns upon him.

“You heard us.”

You nod with a tight smile. “I didn’t mean to.”

Yoongi nods. “You’re not curious?”

“I am.” You consider this for a while, before adding: “but I don’t want to hear it if you don’t want to tell me.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at you. He likes that you are perceptive, and that you don’t feel like you’re automatically owed a lengthy explanation (even though he feels like you were). He likes your humour and the way you say things, and how every emotion is displayed so clearly on your face. He used to hate it because he thought it was a lack of tact, but honesty like yours is something he’s recently come to treasure a lot.

His staring makes your skin prickle all over and your cheeks flush, so you look for something to say.

“So all the receptionists who've worked for you become your punching bag, or was it just me?”

“Only the pretty ones.” He's sporting that cheeky gummy smile again.

He thought you were pretty?

It was so cliche, but it made you giggle. "Okay, casanova."

Your laugh dies down and you do this little shrug smile thing at him. In the muted yellow of the lamplight, and the snow starting to fall around you, Yoongi feels his heart stutter.

“Thanks, for the... stuff.” He pulls his other hand out of his hoodie to show you that it’s bandaged.

“Ah, you got them. I’m glad Tae got them to you. I didn’t know if you um.” You pause. “... wanted my company or not.” Yoongi blanches apologetically. “I’m working on it.”

After a moment of silence, you point up at the building. “I gotta get going. I left my house keys in the office. I came back to get them.”

“I think I’ll stay here a little longer.” He looks down at his furry friend working steadily at finishing whatever's in the bowl. “With Jimin.”

A sudden gust of cold, sharp wind cuts by, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets kept warm by the heat pack Taehyung had given you. You see Yoongi shiver in his hoodie, and in the spur of the moment you fish out the heat pack in your pocket and hold it out to him.

“Take this, if you're gonna be out here. It’s getting colder these days.”

There is an odd expression on Yoongi’s face and he stares weirdly at you for a moment before you go into panic mode.

“Oh no, do you mind that I’ve been holding it before? Oh no I’m sorry. It’s okay, my hands are clean, I wash them often, twice actually with soap and water. I don’t like germs. If you want I also have hand sanitiser - “ you begin digging around hastily in your little sling bag, but freeze when Yoongi’s hands settles over your own.

They are big and warm, and the rough callouse on his palm brushes gently over your knuckles. You can’t help but imagine what they’d feel like on other places of your body. He accepts the heat pack from you, fingers lingering just a little too long - you’re sure of it, you hadn’t imagined that.

“Thank you, ____.” He offers you a half-smile and you can feel your heart flip flop like a fish in your chest.

All of a sudden, self-consciousness hits you in waves, and you school your features, clearing your throat. “I… I’d better get going, sajangnim.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“Call me Yoongi.”

Yoongi finds himself biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too wide as he watches you, all flustered as you stutter a mumbled agreement and goodbye, trudging off abruptly in the direction you came. Only to turn back around because you’d gone in the wrong direction instead of going to get your keys. Cute, he thinks to himself. Very cute.

—

The first time you say his name is two weeks later and you’re not used to calling him that, so he really has to drag it out of you. (Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but you best believe he won’t ever let you live it down that you couldn’t bring yourself to drop the honorifics.)

It’s after hours, and he’s leaning against the audio console in his studio, with you standing between his legs. A random demo track of his plays in the background - a simple piano melody, but you don't recognise it. Must be one of the new things he's been working on - there were a lot of them lately. One of them being working up the sexual tension between you two, which had reached a head today, given the position you were in. You were about to burst. Into tears, or flames you didn't know which but you sure as hell were about to find out.

You are eye to eye with Yoongi. An arm around your waist presses you against his chest with nowhere to run, the other hand gently cupping the side of your face. He is terribly close, so warm and smells of soap and the leather jacket he’s wearing.

“Say it properly.”

A little bubble of annoyance rises in your throat at the smug expression on his face. You’re rather cute when you’re frustrated.

“This is blackmail. It’s illegal, you know?” You say huffily. “It’s just a name, why do you have to make life so hard for me? I’m sure you’d know - “

You ramble on, and Yoongi watches you fondly - you weren't much of a talker, but put you in a spot and suddenly you couldn’t stop talking. He’s rather excited to discover more of this side of you. Even your coping mechanisms were cute, and he thinks to himself that he’s pretty much done for.

Yoongi places his index finger under your chin, tipping your head up to meet his gaze and runs the pad of his thumb slowly over your bottom lip. You shut up, and watch him as he watches his finger press into the soft flesh. The guy knew exactly what he was doing, and you were going to let him.

“Kiss me.”

Yoongi tilts his face even nearer, lips hovering dangerously close.

“Not good enough.” He whispers. His breath fans gently across your cheek; it smells like the mint gum he likes to chew on when he’s working on a particularly difficult track.

Yoongi feels your small hands tighten around the lapels of his jacket, and he’s met with a glare that is pleading and dare he say… petulant? He’s wanted to kiss you for a long time, and he’s thought about it a lot. More than is healthy for him, he thinks, but oh, does he want to tease you just a little bit longer.

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“Yoongi, kiss me.”

When Yoongi first kisses you, he does so chastely. He nips delicately at your lips. His own are soft, unhurried and teasing - a tender shadow of a kiss. You can tell he's relaxing, savoring the moment, and like a fog settling in, your world grows hazy with the smell, taste and touch of him.

"There's my girl." Yoongi whispers as he pulls away, his breath mixing with yours. Unintentionally you shift, moving forward for another kiss because he's kissing you but not really kissing you. And unsurprisingly, he stays where he is, just out of reach.

"Kiss me. Properly ", you repeat.

He moves his lips slowly to your jaw and lower; you can feel his laugh through his chest. You crane your neck and let out a breathy "oh god" when Yoongi takes his own sweet time to suck a deep pink bruise into the creamy expanse of skin there. He appraises, with satisfaction, the way his mark looks on you before soothing it with his warm lips and tongue.

"Come on princess," he murmurs against your skin in between licks. "Try again."

The term of endearment he uses on you is your undoing, and he makes a mental note with emphatic exclamation points to revisit this tidbit of information at a later date.

"Yoongi. Kiss me. Please."

And just like that he continues where you two left off, this time with no ounce of teasing or flirting. It's hot and shameless and wanton. Yoongi is no longer gentle. The hand around your waist drops to the curve of your ass, gripping hard and pulling you onto your tiptoes. He slips a thigh between your legs, your hips now flush against his - a delicious pressure you can't get enough of. The other hand palms your breast, rubbing a pebbling nipple through your clothes and the sudden friction makes you gasp. He takes the chance parting of your lips to lick into your mouth, swallowing your soft moans eagerly. You run one of your hands up to the nape of his neck. Carding your fingers through the hair there earns you a low groan, and a heavy, languid swipe of his tongue against yours.

You don’t know how long you spend memorising the taste of him, his hands claiming every possible inch of your skin, but eventually the kiss slows. Yoongi takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently as he pulls away. For a moment all you can hear is the the blood roaring in your ears.

As the both of you catch your breath, Yoongi is just watching you now. The hand that rests on your waist moves up your belly, up your chest. It comes to rest at the base of your throat, thumb one one side and four fingers on the other. Silently, you revel in its weight. The feeling of his rings on your skin makes you shiver a little. Unable to help himself, he squeezes ever so slightly. Like this, he can feel your hummingbird pulse under the pad of his thumb.

Your eyes flutter shut momentarily, but not before you see his eyes light with desire.

You look up at him, and he decides he likes you like this. He really, really likes you like this - soft, pliant, all pressed up against him with your moans and kiss-swollen lips, and for the love of god, begging.

It’s a bit pathetic how you’ve got him all wrapped around your little finger but he's had enough of teasing and he gets to kiss you now, so he doesn’t care. He smiles widely, closing the distance between his lips and yours again.

Six months down the road is the first time he lets you listen to that piano track when it’s finished. You don’t remember it at first, but he’s quick to jolt your memory with a very in depth and very realistic re-enactment.

When you finally get down to listening to it, he plays it off as cool and nonchalant, but you’re attuned to his little mannerisms by now, and the way he’s picking at the skin on his thumb told you this was important. He’s nervous to let you listen to it.

It’s beautiful - a soft piano backing track compliments his husky rap in an unexpected but flawless manner, and the way it builds into a crescendo fills you with raw emotion. Your eyes are wet by the time the last few notes play.

“Yoongi, it’s beautiful.”

He smiles at you, but continues picking at his thumb.

“You don’t think it’s too… different?” He frowns a little. “From my other stuff? Will people like it?”

You walk over to take his face between two of your small hands. You’re looking at him like he’s your entire world and his heart is going to burst. “ Don’t worry. It’s going to be amazing. It is amazing. You’re amazing.”

In that moment, Yoongi feels invincible. He presses a long, sweet kiss to your lips.

“Some day, I’m going to write a song about you.” he breathes when he pulls away. You beam quietly.

“Music is my first love but you - “ there is a pause as he takes a moment to run a finger across your cheek, so gentle, as if he might break you if he wasn’t careful enough.“ - you are my forever love.”

#joonclouds writes #yoongi #bts yoongi #yoongi fic #bts fic #suga fic #yoongi fluff #producer yoongi makes me feel things

80 notes · View notes