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mrworldwideshoulders · 11 months

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all the wrong places || reader x myg

After getting separated from your friends during a night out, you get stuck with a hefty bill – one that you can’t pay. So when a handsome, emotionless stranger covers your tab in a random act of kindness, you’re determined to track him down and pay him back. inspired by 24K Magic by Bruno Mars.

‣ Pairing: reader x yoongi (dual pov; feat. JK and Jimin) ‣ WC: 6.1k ‣ Genre: slight angst, fluff, strangers to lovers ‣ Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader and jimin joke about her being an alcoholic 🤪 (psa fr tho, please drink responsibly), credit card debt, yoongi (gently) manhandles the reader, bouncer!jungkook and his tattoos, jeon jungkook being freaking annoying, unrealistic scenarios that could only happen in a fic (is it fate, or is it just fanfiction?), reader in her dumb bitch era (said lovingly) ‣ a/n: same yoongi from my fics bang bang and give me novacaine; different y/n tho. i’d def recommend checking those two out first (though for this one i don’t think you really have to unless you’d like more backstory). i like this fic a lot and i think it’s cute so i hope you enjoy it too! as always, bannered and beta’d by the amazing april aka @onmypillow-onmytable, plus credit for the general idea of this story! 😘 thx! ly – robyn ‣ P.S. I do not own BTS, their likenesses, or the music of Bruno Mars, they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

This might actually be the worst night of your life. Or at the very least, one of the most embarrassing ones.

Your friends, who were supposed to be splitting the bar tab with you, have all but evaporated into thin air, and you’re so far gone you can’t even remember when you saw them last. And it’s starting to dawn on you, as your credit card declines for the third time, that you may have overdone it – in more ways than one. Declining once, that’s normal. Two times, that’s just bad luck. Three times declined, however, that’s just embarrassing. If there were ever a time you wished you were more proactive about budgeting and keeping your credit card paid off, it would be now. It’s not the end of the world, of course. You just won’t get your credit card back tonight, and you’ll have to come all the way back over here to retrieve it at some point – after you go home and recover enough of your senses to pay off some of the balance on your card. But going without your credit card for any length of time makes you anxious for some reason, and having to come back over here just for that doesn’t particularly fit into your already busy schedule.

“Are you sure you don’t have another card?” The bartender that’s trying to close out your tab looks at you pointedly as you’re rummaging through your bag. You can feel the weight of his judgmental gaze all over you.

“No, but, listen,” you ramble, face hot with a mixture of shame and too much alcohol. “I wasn’t supposed to be the one paying for everything. My friends, they stuck me with the bill, and I really need—”

“Sounds like you don’t have very good friends.” He stares you down unsympathetically. “Either cough up or get out.”

“Can’t you just…give me my card back?” you manage helplessly. You feel tears of frustration starting to form behind your eyes. “I’ll come back and pay you tomorrow. I’m good for it. Really. I just have to—” Rearrange my entire bank account, pay off my credit card, reevaluate my whole life, and promise to stick to a budget from here on out, no matter how much Jimin and Nayeon want to go out drinking. Yeah. That’ll last about a week.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” grumbles a low, irritated voice from behind you. You turn to find a man dressed completely in black, with dark eyes and an expressionless face shrouded under a heavy curtain of black hair. He hands the bartender a sleek black card. “Here. Will you leave her alone now? Go back to pretending to do your job or something.” Your eyes widen. Who is this guy? And what is he doing?

The bartender eyes you sullenly and hands you back your card. You turn to the man to thank him, but he’s already walking away, being swallowed up by the crowd. “Hey!” you call. “Wait up!” You push clumsily after him, jostling people left and right as you try to catch up with him. He’s at the front door before you’re finally able to tap him on the shoulder.

“Now what?” he snaps.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you say breathlessly, taken aback by his brusque reply. “For what you did back there. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it. I was about to cry because of that guy, and then you just appeared out of nowhere to save the day. You must be my guardian angel or something.”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Trust me, I’m no angel.”

Your cheeks seem to flush all over again and you almost forget the other reason you chased after him in the first place. “Oh! Money! I can repay you.”

His face doesn’t change. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“But…it’s money.” Your face falls in disbelief. “Of course it’s a big deal. And I don’t like owing people anything. Especially money.”

“Well, I’m not big on people feeling like they owe me anything either.” He shrugs. “So consider it forgotten. And stop following me.” He pushes through the front doors and out onto the street.

You start after him again, but you stumble on your way out the door, falling almost directly into the bouncer’s well-muscled arms, one of which is adorned in a full sleeve of tattoos that recedes under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. “Careful,” he says, steadying you on your feet.

“Um – thank you,” you manage. “That guy I was following. Did you see where he went?”

“Down there.” He points you toward the taxi stand. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No, it’s just – I need to talk to him, but he keeps running away from me.” You march wobbily toward the man from before. “Hey! You!”

He sighs resignedly and turns around. “Do you make a habit of following random men out of nightclubs?”

“Only when they do me favors and won’t let me pay them back.” You plant yourself in front of him, arms crossed.

“Look, I told you not to worry about it.” He scowls. “Do you really want to do something for me? Go home, pay your credit card bill, and forget you ever met me. You’ll only hurt yourself if you don’t.”

“Suppose I don’t want to.” You gaze defiantly into his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a warning. I’d listen if I were you.” A taxi pulls up, and he grabs you by the arm, firmly, but loose enough that you could break away if you needed to, and pushes you inside. “Go home.” The door slams, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk.

“Well?” says the driver impatiently. “Where to?”

You stammer out your address, still too stunned to think about anything else. Who was that guy? And what was that about a warning? He doesn’t seem like a bad person – why else would he have paid a stranger’s bar tab?

Forget you ever met me. You’ll get hurt if you don’t.

Why did he say that? You don’t know why, and you’re still far too drunk to figure it out tonight, but one thing is for certain.

You’re going to track him down. And you’re going to pay him back.

Jungkook whistles as Yoongi heads back toward him. “That was a close one.”

“Too close,” mutters Yoongi. “She could have blown the whole thing.”

“What did you do, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be blending in?”

Yoongi shrugs. “The bartender was harassing her about her tab and her card wouldn’t go through, so I paid it for her. She wanted to repay me.” He thinks back to the look on your face, like you were about to burst into tears at any moment. A strange, unfamiliar surge of protectiveness in his chest, one that he hadn’t felt since he’d recruited Jungkook all those years ago. ”I told her she didn’t have to, but.”

“Aww.” Jungkook slaps Yoongi good-naturedly on the shoulder. “See, hyung? You’re a good guy after all.”

“Hah,” he scoffs under his breath. “No. I’ve just gotten soft, that’s all. I’ll probably regret it in a day or two. No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“You say ‘soft’ like it’s a bad thing.”

“Maybe not, maybe so.” Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We should get back to work. We’ll stick around here until closing, then debrief in the morning.”

“All right.” Jungkook nods, resuming his post near the front doors, despite the sidewalk in front of the club now empty at one o’clock, an hour before closing. “I’ll be here.”

Yoongi heads back inside, his head still filled with thoughts of you, that defiant expression on your face when you’d asked him what would happen if you refused to forget him. Anyone else would have just accepted this good deed and carried on as if nothing had even happened, or worse, they would have screamed at him, told him he was overstepping and a creep, to fuck off and leave them alone. Why hadn’t you screamed at him? He’d even grabbed you, a stranger – and a woman – by the arm to push you into the cab. Yoongi knew for sure he’d overstepped there. You just didn’t do that when you were a man, not in this day and age – especially not when you were a man with a past like his. Even someone as supposedly stupid as he was knew that much. Why, he wondered, were you so intent on repaying him? Had no one ever done anything nice for you before? Purely for the hell of it, never expecting anything in return? The two of you must have something in common, then. No one had ever done anything like this for him – with the exception of Hoseok – but that was different. Hoseok was his friend, for one thing, and didn't understand the concept of taking no for an answer. At least Yoongi knew to just say thank you and get on with his life, instead of trying to push it. A chuckle rises in the back of his throat before he can stop it, and he swallows it down almost as quickly as it came, shoving aside the thoughts of you along with it.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he forges back into the depths of the club. There was something about you, something that made you want to insist upon repaying a random man that had just done you a favor, something innocent, idealistic, even, that made him want to protect you. Something that made him want to know you, even if it was only as friends, to explore your thoughts, to live inside your head for just a day, to find out just what, exactly, was going on in there. But he would never allow himself to get close enough to discover what that was – or risk you doing the same. Someone like him and someone like you – that could be dangerous.

Especially someone like you.

As it’s beginning to turn out, tracking down your angel in black – that’s what you’ve been calling him – is far easier said than done. Somehow you’d stumbled up to your apartment after the cab dropped you off, and from there you’d somehow managed to let yourself inside and fall face-first into your bed, where you’d slept soundly until late the next morning, awakening with a pounding head and a foggy recollection of the man from last night, convinced the whole thing had to have been a dream and that your credit card, at this very moment, was probably stashed behind the counter of that bar. Or so you thought, because it’s definitely there when you go to check your wallet. That man, the angel in black – he was definitely real – and that means his warning was real too. The only problem is…you don’t have his name, and the only thing you can remember was that he was dark-haired and wearing all black – which could be literally any man in Seoul. Now it’s Wednesday, a week later, and you’re staring at your screen, open to a browser window that’s now littered with the failed remnants of your search, and rest your chin on your hand with a sigh. Ugh, what was I even thinking? How am I going to find some guy on the internet when I don’t even know his name and I can barely remember what he looks like? Talk about a needle in a haystack. You’re supposed to be working, as in, doing your actual job, but you haven’t been able to focus all week, and you've been off your game since that night.

“What are you so laser-focused on over here?” comes Jimin’s lightly chiding voice from over your shoulder. His sudden appearance makes you jump and knock your hand into your half empty mug, causing a small wave of tepid coffee to slosh onto your desk.

“Damn it, Jimin, you scared me!” You hurriedly reach for the wad of napkins you keep in the top drawer of your desk. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You know I startle easily.”

“Sorry.” Jimin grins mischievously and leans in to take a closer look at your screen. “Y/n, are you seriously still looking for your mystery man? It’s been a week. You know, if he wanted you to find him he would have at least told you his name. Or slipped you his number. He was probably just being nice. People do that sometimes. Like on those hidden camera shows where little kids will ask you to help them cross the street or tie their shoes. Just accept it and move on already. He’s clearly not that worried about it. You said he had a black card, right? That kind of money is probably nothing to him.”

You finish mopping up the coffee and heave another sigh, sitting back in your chair. “I know It’s stupid. And I’m definitely wasting my time. But he saved my ass in a really big way. I can’t just move on like nothing happened. There has to be some way for me to pay him back. And besides…” You debate whether you should tell Jimin what he told you before he shoved you into a taxi. “He told me to just forget I ever met him, that I’d get hurt if I didn’t. I know it’s a bad idea to keep looking at this point, but you can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget about it. It only makes me want to find him even more.”

"That’s a weird thing for anyone to say," says Jimin, leaning against your desk, "but I suppose that's your choice, even if I do think you’re only setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Thank you for the vote of support." You run your hands backwards through your hair and hum thoughtfully. "I guess I could always not pay my credit card bill and hope that it summons him out of the abyss to save my ass again."

"Then he'll think you're trying to scam him instead of repaying him.” Jimin pats your shoulder. "Cheer up, y/n. Maybe you'll find him. Maybe you won't. But we've got a meeting about the new skincare line in about…" He checks his watch. "...two minutes? And they'll kill us if we're both late so maybe put a pin in that for now?"

Of course, your actual job, the main reason you're able to have a credit card in the first place. "Shit, you're right. I completely forgot about that." You stand and gather your meeting materials into your arms. "What would I do without you, Park Jimin?"

"Mm, probably lose your job?" He straightens up and smirks.

"Mean." You slap him lightly on the arm. "I wouldn't even be looking for this guy if you and Nayeon hadn't ditched and left me with your billion dollar bar tab."

Jimin chuckles. "Okay, true, but need I remind you that you were responsible for most of it anyway?" He makes a tutting noise as you're walking down the hall. "Honestly, it's unnatural how much alcohol you can put away.”

"Please," you scoff, pushing open the door to the conference room. "I just have a high tolerance. It takes practice. You’ll get there one day."

“God, I hope not.” Jimin looks horrified at the prospect. “No offense.”

The meeting drags on, well into the afternoon, and your mind continues to wander in the direction of your angel in black, no matter how hard you try to pay attention to the subject at hand. Normally you’d be rapt with attention – skincare is your area of expertise, after all, and it’s been your dream to work at a cosmetics company ever since high school – but for the life of you, you just can’t seem to shake him from your memory and focus on your work.

Wait. The bouncer. He was standing there the whole time you were arguing with the guy. That sleeve of tattoos was pretty distinctive-looking; you’d definitely remember it if you saw it again. It would be way easier to find him than the guy in black. And he works there. He’s more likely to be there than the other guy. Maybe he remembers something you don’t.

As soon as the meeting ends, you hurry back to your desk, intent on getting all of today’s work finished by the time it hits six o’clock so you won’t have to work late, and spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of hyperfocus, only noticing that time has passed when you see that most of your coworkers are getting ready to leave. “Jimin.” You sidle up to him as he’s shrugging into his coat. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Probably just going to head home and—” He stops and narrows his eyes. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Is this still about that guy?”

“I was thinking we could go back to that club,” you say earnestly. “There was this bouncer outside, and – well, I don’t really remember what he looked like either, but I’d know him if I saw him. I’m sure of it. I want to ask him if he remembers anything from last week. Maybe he knows something about this guy.”

“Y/n, it's Wednesday." Jimin says. “That place is going to be dead. I doubt anyone will be there, let alone your mystery man.”

You make your best pouting expression. “You’ll come with me, right? For moral support?”

“Fine.” Jimin sighs. “If it'll get you to stop fixating on this guy, I'm all for it. But you're buying me dinner.”

You throw your arms around him. "Jimin-ssi, have I ever told you you're my favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"On multiple occasions.” He smirks. “This is the first time you've ever been sober, though."

“Wow. See if I ever buy you dinner again.”

The club, as Jimin predicted, was nearly empty, with only a few clumps of people dancing here and there, a handful of people at the bar, and a completely different, tattoo-less bouncer working the front door, who seemed to think the man with the tattoos was a temp.

“There’s nobody like that working here!” he bellowed back to you, over the thumping music. “Your guy’s probably a temp!”

“No, I’m positive!” you shouted. “It was here. I tripped going out the door and he caught me. I’d know him if I saw him. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” he said. “Would you mind stepping away from the door? People are trying to come inside.” You didn’t hang around much longer after that, figuring that if neither the bouncer nor your mystery man were there now they probably wouldn’t be there later either.

“Well, that was a bust,” comments Jimin, once you’re back in a cab on the way home.

You blow out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. Sorry to drag you all the way over here for nothing.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “That’s what friends are for, right? At least I got dinner out of it.”

“Ha, ha, ha.” You roll your eyes. “I knew I should have just waited ‘til the weekend. I was just so excited to test my theory that I jumped the gun a little.”

Jimin frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on making another special trip back over here to look for this guy.”

“Well…I was.” You turn to look at him, taken aback. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Y/n…” Jimin sighs. “I'm your best friend and I love you, but…don’t you think you’re going too far with this? You don’t think maybe it’s time to move on? I mean, what if this guy really is dangerous, like he said? What if you get hurt?”

You scoff a little. “Would a dangerous person really come right out and say they’re dangerous?”

“Yes. That’s absolutely what a dangerous person would say. Please let this go, y/n. I’m begging you. For your own good. The universe will forgive you this one time for not paying that guy back.”

"I know, but…" I won't. You sigh. "One more time, Jimin. I have to try one more time before I can tell myself I did everything I could."

"Okay. One more time." Jimin's face softens. "But I'm going to hold you to that. No more midweek club nights, internet searches, whatever. You have to let this go because it’s weird that you’re still hung up on this."

"I promise. One more time, and then no more. If I don't find him this time, I'm done."

"Good. Be careful, okay?"

"When am I not careful?" Your best friend raises an eyebrow and squints at you with the most skeptical of sideways glances, probably armed and ready with at least a dozen examples of how you’ve most decidedly not been careful in the past few years you’ve known each other. "That was rhetorical, Jimin. Drop the judgy look, please."

“What judgy look?” he demands. “This is just my face.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

If Wednesday night’s visit was bad, then Saturday’s is even worse. It’s crowded, almost as crowded as it was the very first night the man in black saved your ass, with barely any good vantage points to park yourself and people-watch in hopes of catching a glance of your mystery man. You should have taken the other bouncer’s inability – or reluctance – to tell you anything about his tattooed coworker the other night as a warning – because it’s obvious that no one else is going to tell you anything about him either, for one reason or another. You’ve asked bartenders, waitresses, anyone who looks like they work there, and all that’s gotten you is in trouble with management.

“We’re not allowed to give out that kind of information about our employees.” The manager’s eyes narrow. “Stop nosing around before you get yourself banned. Permanently.” With one final scowl he stalks off.

I guess that’s it, then, you think. You let out a sigh as you sit back down at the bar. God, what was I thinking? I never had any chance of finding this guy, not in a million years. Jimin was right. Why did I drag this out so long? It's time for me to move on. As soon as I finish this drink, I’ll walk out of this club and I’ll never think about him again. I’ll go home, and I’ll catch up on all that work I’m behind on because of him. No, I’ll get ahead. Yeah. That’ll show them. Part of you wants to feel relieved, but the realization only makes you feel dejected. Damn. I really wanted to meet him. You get to your feet, and collect your things, taking one last glance around the room.

That’s when you see him.

Your angel in black, drinking whiskey in the corner. Same black suit, same heavy bangs, same blank expression. Right as you’re about to leave and never look back, you just happen to see him? It’s too coincidental to be anything other than fate.

You draw a deep breath, steel your nerves, and march up to his table. “And to think I was just going to walk right past you and out of this place forever. It's almost like the universe wanted us to meet again." You pull out the chair across from him and sit down. “You know, I never did catch your name.”

“That’s because I never dropped it,” he says dryly. “What are you doing here again? Didn’t I tell you to mind your own business?”

“What, can’t a girl drink where she likes anymore?” You lean in. “Who says I’m here to mind your business? I’m busy minding my own. Which, as it turns out, happens to involve you – and making sure you get something in return for covering my ass that night. Thank you, by the way. You barely let me get it out last time.”

He scoffs, sitting back. “I told you to forget about it. I didn’t spot you because I expected you to pay me back.”

“Why did you do it, then?” You cock your head to one side. “There must have been some reason you felt like rescuing a damsel in distress. Nobody does anything without a reason.”

The question seems to catch him off-guard for a moment, before he quickly regains his composure. “Why does it matter?” He stares down into his glass. “You don’t know anything about me. I could be dangerous for all you know. Like I've been trying to tell you this whole time.” Dangerous. There’s that word again.

“Well, you can’t be all that bad, or you wouldn’t have helped me out. And besides,” you muse, “if you were going to do anything to me you probably would have done it already.”

“Suppose that’s true.” One side of his mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly.

“Then again, maybe it is like you said. Maybe you aren’t a good person. But I don’t think that necessarily makes you a bad person. And I don’t think you would have done anything to me, even if you did have the chance. Which you did, the other night.”

A hard laugh escapes from his lips. "Clearly you haven't been listening to anything I've been saying. Because you definitely wouldn't be saying that if you really knew me.”

You purse your lips thoughtfully. “Well, you know, I have this theory. Everyone has a color, right? Some people you can just tell whether they’re one way or another, black, white, whatever. But you…well, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Hah. I’ve heard that one before.” The man avoids looking at you and stares down at the table, features set in an unreadable expression. “So, what color am I, then?”

“Mm.” You grin. “First impression? Silver.”

“Silver, huh?” He smirks. “Why silver?”

“On the surface you’re a very gray person. Kind of an enigma. You’re not black and you’re not white, you’re somewhere in between, which makes you gray. But on closer inspection, anyone can see there’s something different about you that sparkles a little bit. Something that shines.” His face doesn’t move. “It’s just a theory, anyway,” you say hastily. “I’d have to get to know you a little better before I could really say for sure.”

“What makes you think that’s going to happen?” An eyebrow quirks just slightly.

“Hm. You seem like the type who would have gotten up and left already if you weren’t at least a little bit interested in me, even if you came off as rude. And you’re still here, so you must be somewhat intrigued, right?”

“That’s a compelling theory – but you're wrong. I might be an asshole but I'm not that kind of asshole.” He leans back, an arm draped over the back of the booth. “Anyways, before I answer your question, let me ask you one of my own: why are you so hellbent on paying me back to the point where you thought you had to track me down?”

“You know, I’m not sure myself.” You rest your chin in your palm. “It just feels like the thing to do, that’s all. Most of the time strangers tend to either ignore me or glare at me when this kind of thing happens. You probably think I’m a mess. I know I do. I also know from experience that I can only ever count on my friends to have my back, so imagine my surprise when you, a random stranger, had my back the other night. You did something only my friends ever do for me.” You shrug nonchalantly. “And I always repay my friends.”

“All right,” he says after a moment. “I won’t say I’m not at least a little impressed that you even found me. And now that you have…I’m guessing you’re not going to leave me alone until I give you what you want.” The whiskey swirls in his glass, resting in one long, slender hand. “Which is?”

“Dinner,” you say, boldly, without hesitating. “Or drinks, at least. I know I probably can’t afford what you’re used to. Obviously, considering the other night…but let me treat you sometime. Just to say thank you. Honestly, I’m a great date. Really. Or I should be." You sigh. "I've been on a lot, so I've had plenty of practice. But I promise I’ll make it worth your while. I even paid off my credit card. Just for you.”

He releases a resigned sigh and sets his glass down. “Okay. Say I agree, even though you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and I definitely shouldn’t indulge you any further than I already have. Will you stop following me around if I do?”

“That depends. Are you going to ghost me as soon as it’s over?”

“Now that,” he says, “depends on whether or not you’re as good of a date as you say you are.”

“Oh, I’m positively delightful. Excellent conversationalist. Top-notch table manners. I won’t even stick you with the check this time. Best night of your life, guaranteed. Or top-ten, at least.”

He pauses, looking like he might regret what he’s about to say. “Fine. We can have dinner. On one condition.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You really have to stop following me around.” His expression turns dark. “It’s not a good idea for you to get involved with me. You could get hurt.”

“This again?” You sigh. “Let’s just see how dinner goes, and then I’ll decide if you’re worth any more of my time.”

“You’ll decide, huh?” He eyes you. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t know your name yet,” you correct him, “and that’s only because you haven’t told me what it is.”

“Yoongi,” he says finally, after a moment of hesitation. A tinge of amusement plays across his features. “Min Yoongi.”

“Yoongi,” you repeat. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yoongi. I’m Y/n. Y/n L/n.” You extend a hand across the table.

“Y/n,” he says, giving your hand a firm shake. It’s cool and dry, and you spot the barest remains of a scar on his palm as he pulls his hand away. “Only time will tell whether I’m going to be able to say the same for you.”

“Mm.” You shrug. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Like I said.” Yoongi gets to his feet, taking his glass with him. “Anyway. I have some business to take care of. Can you get out of here on your own, or are you going to be needing my help again?”

“I’ll be fine, but – wait, I didn’t give you my number. How are we going to get in touch?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He looks down at you and smirks, the unmistakable hint of a sparkle somewhere in those soft, dark eyes. “You seem to think we’re fated, so I’m sure we’ll run into each other again if we’re really meant to. We’ve exchanged names now.” Yoongi raises his glass slightly. “You can find out a lot about a person from just a name.”

“Hey, wait a—” Yoongi is gone before you can finish your sentence, swallowed up by the dense crowds of the club. “He still didn’t answer my question,” you mutter.

But despite all that – you have a hopeful feeling about the whole situation.

"Yoongi," you repeat. "Who are you, Min Yoongi?"

The silence in Yoongi’s office the next morning is nearly palpable, the air between him and Jungkook filled with the sounds of clicking keys as they’re finishing up their paperwork on the case at the club. Even without looking he can sense the younger man eyeing him over the top of his laptop screen. Yoongi heaves a resigned sigh. “Spit it out, Jungkook. I can practically hear the gears grinding inside that giant head of yours.”

Jungkook stops typing and leans forward, grinning in a suspiciously sunny manner. “I was just noticing how good of a mood you’re in today, boss,” he says. “Better than you’ve been in months.”

"Bullshit I am." Yoongi’s eyes don’t move. “You're imagining things."

“You are too!” Jungkook insists. “I told you good morning on my way in and you didn’t even tell me to stop bothering you and get to work.” He squints at Yoongi. “You said it back to me. And you weren’t even being sarcastic about it.”

“So I said good morning to you. Once. Big deal. I’ve been known to be cordial every once in a while, haven’t I?”

“But you’re never cordial with me,” insists Jungkook. “You're cordial with clients. And people who are gonna give you money. Normally it’s all grunts and scowling when you talk to me. Something good happened last night, didn’t it? I saw you chatting with that girl, the one you paid the bar tab for last week. She managed to track you down, huh?” He’s not going to let this go easily. He’s like a dog with a chew toy whenever he finds an interesting enough tidbit to hang onto.

Yoongi suppresses a sigh and presses his fingers to the sides of his temples. “Yeah, and? What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing.” He plasters an innocent-looking expression on his face. “She went through all of that trouble to track you down when most people would have just let it go. She must like you. Seems like you like her too.”

Yoongi snorts. “Y/n? Flighty, irresponsible, doesn’t even know her own limits, so impulsive that the first thing she thinks of when a man does something nice for her is to follow him out into the street y/n? No way in hell.”

“And you, a guy who’s so cautious, practical, and down to earth that he never does anything without thinking about it for weeks?” notes Jungkook. “All I’m hearing is that you’d be perfect for each other. Opposites attract, you know?”

“The worst thing she could do would be to get involved with me,” Yoongi scoffs. “Trust me. It’s not happening.” He rolls a pen back and forth in his hand. “It’s not like that, anyway. She said she’d leave me alone if I let her do this. She doesn’t like me, she just feels like she owes me. That’s all. I’m just humoring her so she’ll leave me alone.”

“Uh-huh.” Jungkook smirks. “You do like her, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that,” grumbles Yoongi. “Why don’t you mind your own business for once?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, hyung,” says Jungkook, still grinning, “you left me in charge of minding your business for the past six months. You know, while you were off the grid camping in the middle of nowhere?”

“Yeah, and I’m starting to regret it,” he mutters. “Humor me and let it go. It’s too early for this shit.”

“All right, fine.” Jungkook turns his eyes back to his screen, but it doesn’t last for long. “So when are you going to see her again?”

“We didn’t set a firm—” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, pinning Jungkook with a searing glare. “Hey. I’ll fire you if you don’t watch yourself.”

“Ah, go ahead and fire me, then,” Jungkook says cheerfully. “I’d like to see how well you manage without me covering your ass.”

Yoongi flings the pen in his hand across the table, aiming for Jungkook’s head, who easily dodges it. “Aish, you’ve gotten cocky since I left. I managed just fine on my own before you got here, thank you. You were the one who came bitching to me about how much you needed me to come back, weren’t you? This case that you just couldn't handle by yourself, even though you've probably handled about a dozen of the exact same type of cases all by yourself?”

“Come on!” snorts Jungkook. “We both know you were ready to come back. I just needed to make you feel good about yourself so you’d actually get off your ass and do it. You should be thanking me, hyung.”

“Thanking you?” demands Yoongi. “What the hell should I be thanking you for?”

“I think you know.” Jungkook’s eyebrows dance suggestively, eyes twinkling. “Y/n – she’s pretty, isn't she?”

“That’s it. You’re getting demoted.”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook falls silent suddenly before he speaks again. “I missed you, boss. Good to have you back.”

“Ah, shut up,” Yoongi snaps. “And get back to work. These reports aren’t going to write themselves, you know.”

Jungkook turns his attention back to his computer screen again, eyeing Yoongi’s scowl with a knowing smirk. Yeah. He totally likes her.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x reader #bts au #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #reader x myg #mrworldwideshoulders #i hate tags lol

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mrworldwideshoulders · 10 months

Text

i choose you || reader x knj

When your best friend abandons you at a wedding with a bunch of strangers and the guy she’s trying to set you up with is just not that into you, you decide to have some fun instead of sulking in the corner, which earns you the attention - and the affection - of a stranger named Kim Namjoon.

✓ Pairing: reader x Namjoon (very briefly feat. Jin) ✓ WC: 4.5k ✓ Rating: rated T / PG-13 ✓ Genre: mostly fluff, smidgen of angst, strangers to lovers-ish, love at first sight-ish ✓ Warnings: alcohol consumption, foul language, minho slander (he’s choi minho, he can handle it), seokjin is drunk, loud, and in love, bad descriptions of making out, dimple descriptions, reader is a hoe for namjoon’s forearms, namjoon is a big awkward cutie ✓ a/n: hehehe it's another wedding fic sorry lolololol. this is the prequel to where love finds us and the way you look tonight, if ya wanna check those out afterwards. i meant to have this out last month but oh well, here it is in july :) i like this one a lot because it's a lil bit goofy and i hope you enjoy it too! as always beta’d and bannered by teh amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn ✓ P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

“Remind me again why I’m here?” you complain as your best friend, Ji-eun, pulls you by the arm into the reception hall. “When you asked me if I wanted to do something this weekend, crashing someone’s wedding reception was not what I had in mind.”

“It’s not crashing if you’re invited,” shrugs Ji-eun. “I was invited. And then I invited you. Ergo, you were invited.”

“That is absolutely not how weddings work. Who invited you, anyway? I don’t recognize anyone here.”

“The bride?” says Ji-eun, as if it should be obvious. “We’re co-workers, or something. She invited everyone from our department.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’m totally underdressed.” You eye all of the women around you dressed in semi-formal gowns and you elbow Ji-eun in the ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a dress code?” The strapless cocktail dress you thought was such a good idea earlier suddenly seems like the worst decision you ever made, and you didn’t even bring a sweater to save face either, all because the only instruction Ji-eun could bother to give you when she texted this morning was “wear a dress” and “something with lots of cleavage.” Ji-eun, you’ve decided, is bound and determined to drag you into trouble at every opportunity. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive – and not cellmates in jail – with all of the questionable situations she’s been pulling you into since middle school.

“You look hot,” she says. “Don’t even worry about it. You’ll blend right in.”

“Did you just say ‘hot’ and ‘blend in’ in the same sentence?”

“Ugh, you’re so self-conscious. You are hot. I think it’s time you embraced that.” She pouts at the look on your face. “Come on, y/n,” she wheedles. “Minho will be here, and I’ve been wanting to introduce you guys for ages. He’s such a great guy. Did I mention he’s hot? And dying to meet you? Please let me play matchmaker. Then later when you’re happily married to the love of your life, you can say it was all thanks to your best friend in the entire world who loves you enough to set you up with her hot guy friends.”

“Yeah, well, the position of ‘best friend in the entire world’ might be opening up sometime soon if you keep setting me up with these duds.”

“You’re so mean!” she whines. “I told you the last one was just a misunderstanding.”

“He ditched and left me with the check, Eun. It was not a misunderstanding. It was a calculated move.” The guy even had the audacity to call you later that night to see if you wanted to go out again, claiming “bathroom trouble” as the reason for sticking you with the check. As if you were dumb or desperate enough to fall for that – especially since he’d conveniently been hit by “bathroom trouble” once he was mostly done eating, not to mention your waitress had been kind enough to let you know that she’d seen him slipping out through a side door – apparently completely fine.

“Stop complaining. Come on. Sparks are going to fly between you two, I just know it.” She resumes tugging on your arm and you reluctantly allow her to pull you along as she weaves through the crowd, finally stopping you in front of a man who must be the fabled Minho. “Oppa!” coos Ji-eun. “This is y/n. You remember, don’t you?” She shoots him a knowing look.

“Ah, Ji-eun!” he greets her. “I remember. The one you were telling me about, right?” Minho glances at you. “Eun, she’s gorgeous. Where have you been keeping her?” He takes your hand and plants a kiss on it. “Choi Minho.”

“Y/n,” you reply, somewhat taken aback at his outward display of affection. “I’ve heard a lot about you, so it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Have fun, you two,” teases Ji-eun in a sing-song voice. “I’m off to snag myself a drink or a handsome groomsman, whichever one comes first.”

“She’s really something else, isn’t she?” you say, looking to break the awkward silence that falls once Ji-eun is gone. “So how do you two know each other? I don’t think she said.”

“University,” says Minho. “We were in the same major. Same year, too, but she insists on calling me oppa.” He shakes his head and chuckles. Minho says it like it’s something that bothers him, but it clearly doesn’t, or else he would have corrected her before now.

“Oh, I guess you were a business major, too.” You nod. “Explains why we never ran into each other. I barely saw her the whole time, and we were roommates.”

“We went to the same university?” Minho seems surprised. “I never would have guessed. What major were you in?” Something about the incredulous look on his face rubs you the wrong way.

“Uh, yeah. We did.” You narrow your eyes. “I was a graphic design major.”

“Graphic design. Wow.” Minho inhales sharply through his teeth. “How’s that going for you? I hear it’s pretty competitive. You know, if you’re ever looking to change fields I’m sure I could find something for you at my company. A favor for a friend of a friend, yeah?

“Oh, um,” you say, “I…have a job. And I kind of like it, so I’m not really planning on moving any time soon.”

“Well, you let me know if you ever change your mind.” He winks and touches your bare arm. “Any friend of Eun’s is a friend of mine. And I’m sure we could take much better care of you than wherever you’re working now.” Minho’s eyes wander from your face down to your chest and then somewhere over your shoulder, where something – or someone – else seems to catch his eye.

“Uh…thanks,” you say, unsure how else to respond, feeling a little uncomfortable. You wish you had a drink to settle your nerves and a sweater to cover your chest. Why did Ji-eun have to leave? you curse internally. She knows I’m not good at this. “So,” you say brightly, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. “What does your company do?”

“We’re in transportation, mostly,” he says, his eyes still somewhere behind you, “but we’ve got our fingers in a lot of pies.”

A few more minutes of conversation with him pass, and it’s already obvious that you and Minho don’t exactly have a lot in common – nor does it seem that you’re really his type, because he keeps glancing at a pretty bridesmaid in a lavender dress somewhere behind you. You’re beginning to wonder what exactly Ji-eun expected the two of you to talk about, because the two of you are polar opposites, and not in the endearing, meet cute, opposites attract sort of way, in the way that even if you did decide to date you’d probably end up butting heads over anything and everything. You steal a covert glance the next time Minho’s eyes wander away from your face and over your shoulder. The bridesmaid is chatting animatedly with what looks like another bridesmaid, cutting glances every so often in your direction – or Minho’s direction, more like. You sigh internally and try to hide your frown. Of course. Minho looks like he could be an idol or an actor; it only makes sense that he wouldn’t be interested in you. He probably only even agreed to meet you as a favor to Ji-eun. Well, if he’s not even going to pretend he’s interested – then why should you? “Minho?” you say sweetly. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.” He grins.

“I’ll, uh, do my best.” You find your way over to the bar and watch as Minho approaches the bridesmaid he was making eyes at, any thoughts of you surely already forgotten. You shake your head and sip your wine. He’s probably better suited for her than he is for you. You blow out a long breath and order a glass of white wine from the bartender. Why does it have to be like this? Every guy, every date, every time you even attempt to put yourself out there – it just never works. Sure, part of it is probably your fault for having unrealistic standards. And part of you doesn’t even really want a relationship, not after watching your parents tear each other to pieces every time they set foot in the same room together. It’s not like it’s always been your dream to fall in love and get married, either. The only thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself is to be happy. If that’s with a man in your life – then so be it. Everyone always says that you’ll know when the right one comes along, but you’re starting to think that has about as much likelihood of happening as you becoming president.

You throw back half of your wine in one gulp. Ah, should I just leave? you wonder to yourself, scanning the room for Ji-eun. There’s no point in me staying if Minho isn’t interested and nobody else is either. What else am I here for other than that? You debate slipping out the front door, flagging down a taxi, and going home, but eventually decide against it, feeling a twinge of guilt at the idea of abandoning Ji-eun at this wedding by herself – even if she did technically do the same thing to you. Really starting to question who’s putting the most effort into this friendship, you gripe internally.

You finish the rest of your wine and request another from the bartender. What am I doing? you think suddenly, the first glass of wine beginning to hit you as you start on the second. Am I really just standing here drowning my troubles at a wedding, of all places? This is so dumb. You scan the room. The dance floor is crowded, with people moving back and forth, dancing, reveling in the moment, the music pounding all around. Instead of lingering by the bar, feeling pitiful and alone…the realization dawns on you that you should be out there, having fun. Or, at the very least, keeping your mind occupied enough to forget the disappointment of yet another man having no interest in you.

“Dance like no one’s watching, right?” you say to yourself, downing the rest of your second glass of wine and hopefully, washing away the nerves that normally plague you, the fear of being perceived when it comes to doing anything in social situations. As the wine hits you, you begin to feel pleasantly warm and tipsy, and you move toward the crowd, the lights bouncing off the lacquered wood floor. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you close your eyes and feel yourself start to move with the beat of the music. You don’t even know the happy couple, but you silently thank them for hiring such a good DJ.

Minutes pass, though it feels much longer, with you tossing your hair, moving your hips and head back and forth to the beat of the music, forgetting about the fact that your best friend is a terrible matchmaker, and the fact that it feels like she’s genuinely trying to set you up for failure, making you question everything about yourself, forgetting about the fact that you couldn’t even hold a man’s attention for longer than ten minutes, even in a stupidly revealing cocktail dress that your friend made you wear under false pretenses. And in those moments, it’s just you, and the music, remembering that you are pretty, and one guy’s stupid opinion of you doesn’t matter. Love will come, or it won’t, and you’re determined to be happy with your life either way.

The strappy heels you’re wearing prove to be your downfall, and you eventually decide to extricate yourself from the throng of wedding guests, limping back over to the bar. Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re exhausted, but there’s a sense of exhilaration pumping through you, feeling somewhat revitalized by making yourself do something you wouldn’t normally do on your own. You steady yourself against the bar, standing on one foot while you rest the other, and request another glass of wine from the bartender.

“Looks like you were enjoying yourself out there.” A low voice materializes next to you. Your head swivels in the direction of the voice to find a man standing just feet away from you, holding a bottle of beer and watching you with interest. He’s much taller than you, but not intimidating, with an approachable air about him, and warm brown eyes that remind you of autumn. A dark blazer is slung over one shoulder, leaving him in a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the folded cuffs tugging at his muscular forearms. His friendly smile accentuates the dimple in his cheek.

“Oh!” you say, cheeks flushing. You put your other foot back on the ground in surprise. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t normally do that kind of thing, but my friend dragged me here because she wanted me to meet this guy, but they both disappeared, and then I was just standing here all alone feeling sorry for myself.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. ”I don’t even really know anyone here, but I figured I might as well make the best of it and have some fun.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat,” he says with a chuckle. ”I sort of got dragged here too.”

“Well, from one wedding crasher to another, let me introduce myself.” You hold out a hand jokingly for him to shake. “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats, taking your hand. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Namjoon.”

"There, now we both know at least one other person." You smile, taking a sip from the glass of wine that the bartender has just set in front of you.

“So this guy your friend wanted you to meet,” he says. “You didn’t like him?”

"No?" You make a face. “I mean, he was all right, I guess, but I don't think we had very much in common. Besides, he was making googly eyes at some bridesmaid the whole time I was talking to him." A rueful sigh huffs through your lips. "I’ve got to stop listening to Ji-eun. She means well, but one thing she doesn’t have is a talent for matchmaking.”

“Sorry to hear that," says Namjoon. "About the guy.”

“It’s okay. At least we didn’t waste too much of each other's time.” You smile. “Anyway, why aren’t you out there? Isn’t everyone supposed to be dancing? It’s a party, after all.”

“Oh, no.” He chuckles. His laugh feels affable and warm, just like his smile. “I’m a terrible dancer. It's better that I don’t. I’d probably end up breaking something, or someone. I’m just here for the atmosphere.” He sets his bottle down on the bar top. “Besides, I was having more fun watching you.” His brown eyes twinkle.

Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself trying to hold back a laugh.

“Not buying it?” he says teasingly. You shake your head, still smiling. “Sorry. I’ve never been very good at this. Whatever this is.”

“I’ll give you a point for trying.”

“Ah, good. That means I didn’t fail completely, right?”

“Right. Something like that.” You laugh. “So who dragged you here? Are your friends equally as annoying as mine?”

"My friend, Seokjin, who's been bugging me to get out for weeks. He claims to know the groom or something. No, wait, it was the best man…or maybe it was the best man’s friend? I’m actually not sure.” He scans the crowded dance floor and points. “Him, right there, with the shoulders.” You follow his line of vision over to a tall, broad-shouldered man, flailing his arms and virtually towering over his dance partner, who, come to think of it, looks a lot like…Ji-eun? "He might actually be more dangerous on the dance floor than me.”

“Funny,” you say. “That's my best friend he's dancing with.”

“Really?” Namjoon looks at you, then back at them. “Wow. I guess it’s only right that our annoying best friends found their way to each other.”

“No offense to your friend, but I don’t think it’ll last very long. Ji-eun’s not known for committing long-term. She’s a walking contradiction. Convinced she’ll be the one to introduce me to my one and only, yet has no interest in finding one of her own.”

“As luck would have it, neither is Jin. They’re a perfect match.”

You raise your glass. “In that case, may the Seokjins and the Ji-euns of the world always find their way to each other.”

He clinks his bottle with your cup. “Hear, hear.”

Namjoon is easy to talk to, and he's especially interested in your job illustrating book covers for a publishing house. "It's nothing special." You wave your hands. “It’s a really small company. And I’ve only been doing it for about a year, so I’m not very good at it yet.”

"Are you kidding?” he says, awestruck. “I’ve never met anyone who does that. And you must be good, or you wouldn’t be doing it professionally.”

“Well, it pays the bills,” you say, dipping your head modestly, “and it gives me plenty of free time to work on my own art.”

“Really?“ Namjoon looks intrigued. “What medium do you prefer?”

“I’m a painter. Mostly. But I like to experiment with a little bit of everything.”

“Wow. She designs book covers. She paints. And now I’m wondering where you’ve been all my life.” A tinge of pink colors his cheeks. “Uh…I just meant…” He rubs at his neck self-consciously. “Anyway.”

He’s awfully cute when he’s flustered.

The conversation takes a slight turn, and you find yourself listening with interest as he tells you about his work as a grad student, his dissertation on the intersection of art and philosophy, his plans for the future after he finishes his doctorate. Tenure, professorhood, the papers he wants to write. The art he'd like to buy if he had the money. If it were anyone else, you know you'd be starting to zone out by now, but there's something about Namjoon's low, even voice that draws you in and keeps you paying attention. Like a documentary narrator, or a radio host.

"You're staring at me," he says, his tone light and teasing.

You were listening so intently that you didn't even realize what you were doing. "Was I?" You turn away slightly, hoping to hide the blooming patches of pink on your cheeks. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Namjoon's eyes crinkle into a smile. "It's all I can do to get the freshmen in my courses to look at anything other than their screens, so trust me, I don't mind it at all. I'm just glad you don't think I'm boring."

"Boring?" you say, surprised. "Are there people out there who think you're boring?"

"Oh, definitely. You'd be surprised. Jin, for one. He swears up and down that he doesn't think so, but a few minutes in and his eyes are already starting to glaze over. You, on the other hand…well, I've been monologuing for ages, but you've just been standing there with that mesmerized look on your face the whole time."

"Mesmerized?" You chuckle. "I don't know about that."

"No, it's true," he insists. "Admit it. I fascinate you."

"And?” you ask. “What about it?”

“What do you say we get out of here?” he says, barely blinking an eye. The corner of his mouth quirks. “This party’s almost over anyway. We can continue this conversation somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think.”

You hesitate. You barely know this guy. But he likes you – you can tell. He’s the first guy in a long time to express genuine interest in you or your job or your personal life in general. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy to look at, either, with his striking brown eyes and easy, dimpled smile. There’s just something about the way he looks at you that makes your palms tingle and you heart feel like it’s about to explode. And what is it about rolled up sleeves and exposed forearms that just drives you absolutely insane? Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the letdown from Ji-eun’s unsuccessful attempt to set you up with Minho – but you have to see where this goes. “Okay,” you say finally. “Where should we go?”

He’s about to speak when Seokjin and Ji-eun stumble up, arm in arm. “Namjoon-ah! My best friend!” Seokjin exclaims drunkenly. He throws his long arms over Namjoon’s shoulders from behind, pink-cheeked and grinning. “I think I’m in love.”

“Oh, really?” Namjoon eyes his friend with a dry expression. “Who is she, then?”

He looks at Ji-eun blankly, then back at Namjoon. "Ah, well, her name isn't important. What matters is…I'm in love." Seokjin pokes a long finger into Namjoon’s cheek. “And I’m going to marry her.”

“Oppa!” squeals Ji-eun, pulling him back toward her. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll bet.” Namjoon’s gaze cuts in your direction. “Sorry. Normally he’s better at holding his liquor than this,” he whispers. “I should really get him home before he gets any louder – and gets us uninvited from future events.”

“Same here,” you say apologetically. “If we can manage to split them apart again.” Seokjin and Ji-eun are once again furiously making out, hands in places you’re not even sure you’re supposed to be looking.

“They’ll have to come up for air sometime. I think we might have a chance then. You grab yours and I’ll grab mine?”

“Deal.” The second Ji-eun pulls away from Seokjin to take a breath, you take her firmly by the arm and pull her toward the door of the reception hall, ignoring her protesting about being separated from the love of her life, while Namjoon tugs Seokjin along behind you. There’s a line of people outside already waiting for taxis, given that you’re in the middle of the city, so you join the queue behind another couple, still trying to prevent Ji-eun and Seokjin from devouring each other whole on the sidewalk.

“Nicely done,” says Namjoon, the dimple in his cheek reappearing alongside his grin, while he maintains a firm grip on Seokjin's arm. “I take it you have experience with this?”

“Only every Saturday night since university.” You chuckle. “Between the two of us I’m definitely the responsible one.”

“Eonni!” whines Ji-eun. “Don’t tell him that! He’ll think you’re boring!”

You plant an elbow firmly into the side of her ribs, sending her into silence.

"That's okay." His smile doesn't waver. "I'm a little bit boring myself, so what's one boring person to another?"

Boring? you think. You're not boring at all. You’re passionate about what you love. You’re the first man to look at me that way: like I’m the most interesting person in the world to you, when really it’s the other way around. You’re sweet. You’re adorably awkward. You’re bad at flirting – but something about you draws me in anyway. And I know we’ve only just met…but I want to know everything about you. What makes you happy, what inspires you, what intrigues you…I want to spend hours listening to you tell me all about it.

The crowd waiting for cabs disperses until it's just you and Namjoon. "I guess this is it, then,” he says as a taxi finally pulls to a stop in front of you. “We should do this again sometime. Minus the drunk people, of course. Not that I don’t enjoy dragging a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight around with me, but it does put a damper on things, doesn’t it?”

“Yah, you bastard! I’m not that heavy!” Seokjin bellows, as he's struggling to stay upright, his words still slurring together.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’d like that. Maybe we can actually finish that conversation we were having before we got interrupted.” You nudge Ji-eun, who seems determined to make herself as unwieldy as possible, not so gently into the cab, sending her tumbling into the backseat, and turn back to him. “By the way…I really appreciate it. You talking to me. It made me forget how totally out of place I was.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “As a fellow wedding crasher, I’m happy to have helped. Thanks for putting up with me rambling all night.”

“Please.” You smile, waving your hand. “Nothing to put up with. I had a good time.”

“Well…good night, y/n.” Namjoon closes the car door after you. “Get home safe. Until next time?”

“Until next time.” You look up at him. “Good night, Namjoon.” You sit back in your seat, allowing the flutter of excitement that’s been slowly building in your stomach to take flight. This guy…he likes you. He really likes you. You’re going to see him again. And for the first time, in a long time, if not ever…you’re excited. Really excited. Your hand goes to your mouth, barely concealing the grin that’s forming on your lips.

As your taxi pulls away from the curb, a hand suddenly appears in the half-open window, causing it to jerk to a stop. Namjoon appears next to the car, shaking his hand ruefully and wincing. "Damn, that hurts. Guess that'll teach me, won't it?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to yours. "Sorry about that. You were just about to disappear when it dawned on me that I forgot to ask you for your number, and I knew I had to do something before I lost you."

“Oh! My number.” Your heart flutters again. “Yeah, you’re going to need that, aren’t you?”

Namjoon watches as you tap your number into his phone. “Good thing I remembered when I did. That could have been a disaster.”

“A disaster, huh?” you ask, handing his phone back to him.

“Catastrophic.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How else would we have found out if we were meant to be if we didn’t go on an actual first date?” He gazes down at you with a teasing grin. “Anyway – I’ll call you?”

“Soon, I hope.” You smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.” Namjoon’s eyes meet with yours momentarily before he turns away, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Well…good night, y/n. I mean it this time. Really.”

“Good night,” you say, stifling a giggle. “Get home safe.”

The taxi finally pulls away from the curb, and you can’t help looking out the window after him as he walks back toward Seokjin. He’s handsome, even from behind. Ji-eun flops against you, and you shift her to a more comfortable position against your shoulder. “I knew dragging you along was a good idea. Did I call it, or what?” she mumbles proudly. “You know, I saw the way you were looking at that guy just now.” She pokes teasingly at your arm, eyes half-closed. “Like you wanted to dive right in and take up residence in his dimples. And sparks like a fireworks show. It’s so obvious! You are smitten.” Ji-eun sing-songs the last part.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, pressing your lips together to hide your smile. Ji-eun might not have introduced you to the love of your life – but it’s the first time in a while that you’ve felt this way about anyone – and you suppose you do have to thank her for that.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #bts series #bts x reader #bts au #bts fluff #reader x namjoon #reader x rm #reader x kim namjoon #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon #mrworldwideshoulders #namjoon x reader

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mrworldwideshoulders · 1 year

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can’t take my eyes off of you || reader x kth

Pairing: reader x KTH Word count: 5.1k Rating: M / R (18+) Genre: one night stand, smut, pinch of fluff Summary: It was supposed to be a girls’ night out. So what are you doing here by yourself, and why has the guy across the bar set his smoldering gaze on you of all people? Inspired by Runaway Baby - Bruno Mars. Warnings: alcohol consumption, penetrative sex (protected of course), orgasms, big dicc!tae (my god), reader is a blushing mess (and so am I jfc) A/N: this took forever for some reason (even though it was totally supposed to come out sooner T_T) but it’s finally here (and just in time)! first attempt at real smut so this is probably a mess but enjoy anyway >.< as always beta'd and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable). thx! ly - robyn P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they simply inspire me.

inspo playlist here

part of the doo-wops, hooligans, and unorthodox magic collection (masterlist)

“Should we take this somewhere more…private?” That deep, velvety-smooth voice again, a whisper that brushes lightly against your ear.

You awaken with a start, eyes roving around, attempting to make sense of your surroundings. That is definitely not the ceiling of your apartment above you. Everything is unfamiliar: everything from the sheets to the art on the walls to the handsome stranger in bed next to you. He’s asleep, a flop of messy hair sweeping over his delicate, almond-shaped eyes. His arms wrap around you, as if he’s hugging a pillow to his chest – as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. You only have to look at him to remember that it was his voice in your head. Who is he? And how did you get here? Memories of what must have happened last night flood into your brain, though somewhat obscured by the fog that comes with heavy drinking and other bad decisions.

The bar. You remember getting to the bar. What happened afterwards? You were supposed to meet your best friend Hyejin, but she cancelled on you at the last minute, something about how her younger brother was visiting on surprise leave from the military. "I'm sorry, y/n!" she'd wailed into the phone. "I had no idea Jun was going to pull something like this. I was literally walking out the door when he showed up, and he's only in the city this weekend, so our parents will kill me if I don't take him out to dinner at least once."

You sigh, only slightly annoyed. "It's fine, Hyejin. He's your brother. I understand."

"Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but aish, I could just kill him sometimes. Will you be all right by yourself?"

You glance around the bar, which is starting to get noisier as more people fill in. "I'll be fine. I'll probably just have one drink and then go home. Since I’m already here."

Hyejin blows you a raspberry. "Boring! And we were going to get you laid tonight, too. Finally break that dry spell of yours. All because my brother decides he just has to surprise me this weekend."

"Jin!" you hiss, cheeks flaming. You’ve never been the casual hookup-one night stand type, and she knows that. Why is she so hellbent on getting you laid?

"It's true!" she insists. "It’s been months since you’ve gotten any. Y/n, please promise me that you won't just have one drink and go home. Have two drinks. Three, even. Give excitement a chance to unfold. Maybe get yourself something – or someone – special?" You can almost picture her waggling her eyebrows on the other end of the phone.

You roll your eyes. “I’m hanging up on you.”

“Okay, okay. Promise you’ll tell me all the gory details at lunch tomorrow?”

“I doubt they will be in any way gory or interesting, but fine. I’m really hanging up on you now, Jin. Have fun with your brother.”

“Be safe, y/n. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and don’t forget to use protection!” You can hear the mischievous grin in her voice.

You let out a disgusted groan, and hang up without another word, sighing as you stare down into your nearly empty cosmopolitan. Hyejin is right. It's been what, almost six months since you found your boyfriend in your bed with another woman? You still miss the sheets you’d had to throw out after you kicked him out of your apartment. The whole experience was enough to put you off dating permanently – but you can’t deny you have your own needs. You’re a grown woman, after all, and there’s only so much your vibrator can do for you. You finish off the last of your cocktail and order another, fully intending to leave once it’s gone. There will be other nights, and other men, and you’d much rather do this when Hyejin is around to keep you from embarrassing yourself too much.

The bartender sets a fresh glass down in front of you. “Compliments of the gentleman over there.” He nods toward the end of the bar, where what may very well be the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on is sitting. Dark hair falls in a swoop over one eye, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal a set of toned forearms. An expensive-looking watch rests on one wrist, completing the full image. He nods at you, winks, and raises his glass of red wine. You raise your own in return.

First and last time that’ll ever happen, you think to yourself, sipping on your drink. The clamor of the bar builds, and you sit there alone, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You tug at the hemline of your dress: short, spaghetti strapped, uncomfortable, thinking of the sweatpants you’re going to change into immediately upon returning home, the shows from this week that you need to catch up on, and then maybe you’ll fall into bed at a reasonable hour, waking up just early enough to squeeze in a workout and a shower before you have to meet Hyejin for lunch and tell her all of the non-details of your non-adventurous evening. Boring, routine, and comfortable. A glance tells you the man at the end of the bar is still staring at you. You try to ignore him, but his eyes are still laser-focused on you. You shift uncomfortably.

Just who does this guy think he is?

You down the last of your cosmo and vacate your stool, making sure not to wobble in your heels as you march toward him. He watches you approach with what seems to be great interest. "You," you demand, pointing a finger at him. "Why do you keep staring at me?"

He holds your gaze, almost defiantly. He doesn’t even flinch at your accusing finger. "I like looking at pretty things," he says, his mouth quirking up at the corners in a smirk. "Can you blame me?"

You're not sure whether to feel flattered or creeped out, but your mouth speaks for you before you can even think about it. "What, so I'm a thing now?"

"Is that so bad?" he questions. "To be the object of someone's admiration?" His eyes darken as they look you up and down.

You feel bare. Exposed. Like he's seen something about you that you've never even seen yourself. “What if I don’t want to be an object?” you challenge. ”What then?”

“Hm. I don’t know,” he says. He seems amused. “I’m sure we could figure something else out.”

“Who are you, anyway?” you ask, narrowing your eyes.

"I'm Taehyung." The name rolls off his tongue. "But you can call me Tae. Yours?"

You hesitate. "Buy me another drink and maybe I'll tell you," you say finally.

Taehyung smiles. Challenge accepted. He motions the bartender over, who looks between both of you questioningly. "You heard her," he says. "Whatever she's having."

You slide onto the barstool next to him, and the bartender sets another cocktail in front of you. "So," you start. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to stare at people?"

"They have. It's never stopped me before, though." Taehyung takes a sip of his wine. “You still haven’t told me your name, by the way.”

“Y/n,” you say after a momentary pause, debating whether or not you should give him a fake one. “It’s y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats. Your name sounds different when he says it. “A pleasure.”

Your cheeks warm, though you’re not sure if it’s the liquor or his gaze. "What brings you out by yourself tonight, then?" you ask. “Surely someone like you has plenty of places he could be on a Friday night, instead of sitting by himself in a bar, staring at unsuspecting women.” Handsome. Seemingly well-rounded. Fairly charming.

"Hmm,” he muses. “I’m an artist of sorts, but I’m feeling a little…blocked at the moment, so I guess you could say I'm looking for inspiration."

“You’re an artist?” you say. “I never would have expected that.” A closer glance at his hands reveals a few stray flecks of paint around his nails.

“I get that a lot.” He chuckles. “I guess I don’t really look the part, do I?” The corners of his eyes crinkle with the boxy smile that emerges from his laugh.

“Well,” you say, resting your chin on your palm. “Mr. Artiste. How’s the search for inspiration going?”

"Between you and me," he says, turning to you, one elbow leaned against the bar, "I'd say it's looking fairly promising. But…” Taehyung looks you straight in the eyes. “I could ask the same of you. Y/n, what’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing alone at the bar on a night like this?”

“You flatter me.”

“It’s true.” He shrugs. "Anyone can see that you're positively captivating."

Your ex never would have told you anything like that, not in the months before things ended. Your ears tingle. "At least someone thinks so."

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“Where do I start?” You stare down into your glass, running a finger around the rim. You shake your head. “Ah, don’t listen to me. I don’t want to bore you with complaining about my asshole ex.”

“Whoever he is, or was,” says Taehyung, gently turning your head to look at him, “it’s his loss. He has no idea what he’s missing out on.”

"You just met me five minutes ago," you say. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Well," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching, "I get the feeling I'm about to find out."

Oh my god. Oh. My. God. You take a deep breath in an attempt to keep yourself from panicking. What did you do last night? What are you supposed to do now? Your memories are still blurry, but one thing is for certain: you’ve got to get out of here before he notices you’re gone. Hoping he doesn’t wake up, you extricate yourself gingerly from his grip and edge gently to the side of the bed, holding one of the blankets to your chest while you scan the floor for your clothes. As you’re about to stand up, a hand suddenly locks around your wrist in a firm grasp. You look over your shoulder. Taehyung’s eyes are open now, his gaze fixed on you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands. His voice stops you in your tracks. Even half-asleep he sounds like the type of person who’s used to getting what he wants. "Did you think I wouldn't notice you trying to disappear on me?"

“I was just…” You clear your throat. Your cheeks burn. What exactly are you planning on telling him? Leaving? Looking for the bathroom? Going on a coffee run and never coming back? You can’t make yourself finish the sentence. It's as if his gaze has caused your brain to short-circuit.

Taehyung sits up, the bedsheet draped tantalizingly low across his hips, the firm planes of his lower abdomen taking your mind somewhere it shouldn’t. “Don’t tell me you’re getting shy on me now.” He dips his head at the blanket covering your breasts. “Especially not after everything you begged me to do to you last night.” He smirks.

Your face flames even hotter. “Um – I…I don’t —”

“You don’t remember?” he says. “Hm. And what should we do about that?” An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “Should I give you a refresher?” he whispers into your ear. “I’m ready whenever.”

“I can tell,” you say breathlessly. You can feel him pressing against you – every inch of him.

Taehyung kisses you, just behind your ear, letting his teeth graze the outside of it, planting a trail of blooming kisses down your neck and across your shoulder. “Anything?” His voice is low and dark, filled with lust. “Or should I continue?”

“It’s coming back to me,” you exhale. Don’t stop. Please.

The brick wall outside scrapes against your shoulder blades, the cold night air making you shiver slightly. His lips are on yours, on your neck, trailing down across your bare collarbone, each one burning more than the next until you’re completely aflame. The front of his shirt is clenched in your fists, the only thing keeping you from sliding down to the pavement. But he pulls away, and you let out a frustrated huff. A crowd of people leaving the bar walks past, chattering loudly, and Taehyung’s hand is suddenly on the wall next to your head, his arm out to shield you from anyone’s view. He’s biting his lower lip, dark eyes glinting. “You have no idea how much I want to just take you right here, right up against this wall.”

“So do it then,” you breathe. "Take me. Fuck me right here in this alley.” You don’t know what you’re saying. All you know is that you want his hands back on you, right now, so you guide them toward your waist.

“So eager.” He smiles. “But not here. I want to be the only one who hears you scream tonight.” Taehyung’s voice lowers to a whisper as he leans in. “Should we take this somewhere more…private?” He tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. “Last chance to say no.”

“Is there a reason I should?” You look up at him through your lashes.

“Not in my opinion.” Taehyung smirks. “So what’s it going to be?”

You're barely inside the door of his apartment before his hands are on you again, fumbling for the zipper of your dress, eventually giving up and yanking the whole thing over your head. "Hey, be careful," you giggle between kisses, working at unbuttoning his shirt. "That dress was expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one," he says, flinging it away so you don't see where it lands, nimble fingers moving to unhook your bra, an uncomfortable strapless push-up you only ever wear to make your tits look good. “I’ll buy you ten new ones." He tosses the bra over his shoulder as well. "God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He hoists you up, palming your ass with those massive hands of his, letting your legs wrap around his waist. You buck against him, needing the friction to lessen the ache between your legs. “Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “I can’t control myself around you.”

“I don’t care,” you say, gasping as he presses you up against the wall. “I don’t fucking care.” You’re moving again, down a hall to another room. The bedroom.

Taehyung tosses you down roughly on the bed. He looms over you, his eyes nearly black with desire. “Stunning,” he says. “Absolutely stunning. Now that I’ve got you all to myself…I might never let you go. I’m going to ruin you, y/n.” He snaps the waistband of your underwear. “Are you all right with that?”

“Why are you still talking?” You pull him down toward you and kiss him, pushing the unbuttoned shirt all the way off his shoulders. “Go ahead and do it already. Ruin me. I’m all yours.”

"That's right," he says, dropping another kiss on your lips. "You're all mine, baby. Just for me.” His lips trail down, a waterfall of kisses running through the valley between your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above your hips, where he deftly slides off your underwear and tosses them aside. “Are you ready?”

You nod wordlessly. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He’s gorgeous, standing there in the moonlight. He leans over you, reaching for something in the bedside table, enveloping you in his scent: sandalwood and bergamot, hints of pine. You hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper.

“Wait.” You stop him before he can put it on. “Let me. Please, Tae. I want to.”

“You want to touch me?” Taehyung smirks. “Even better.” He hands you the unwrapped condom. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

You draw in a breath and roll the condom up his cock: thick, heavy, already wet with precum. It’s bigger than you imagined, especially in your hands – in fact, massive might be a better word for it.

He groans as you move slowly up the shaft. “Y/n…”

“What?” you tease. “Something wrong?”

“It’s not every day I have your pretty little hands wrapped around my cock.” He grins. “I’m just enjoying the ride.”

"Oh, these hands?" you ask innocently, running a finger down his length.

"Fuck," he exhales. He leans down, bringing his face inches away from yours. “You trying to kill me?” God, this man knows how to use his mouth. And his fingers. He traces one long index finger down your drenched center, teasing at your entrance. “So wet for me already,” Taehyung marvels. “It won’t be long now.”

“Tae…” you whine, biting your lower lip.

“Say please.”

You inhale sharply. “Please.”

“Good girl.” He slips another finger inside you, circling your clit. It’s so swollen and sensitive he barely has to touch it before you let out a soft moan. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what you need."

"I need you," you gasp. "Need you inside me. Right now."

Taehyung gently touches your face. “Not yet, baby,” he coaxes. “Wait for me. Just a little while longer.” He settles himself between your legs, the tip of his cock pressing against your core. You close your eyes, sucking in your bottom lip, gasping slightly as he slips inside, feeling yourself stretching to accommodate him, shifting your pelvis to take on even more. You feel full. Warm. Good. It feels good.

“Fuck,” you breathe. He’s huge.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Can I move?”

You nod earnestly. “Move, Tae. For the love of god, fucking move.”

He rocks into you, slowly at first, then faster. “God, you feel amazing. How is it possible that you’re so amazing?”

“Show me,” you demand. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

“Whatever you want, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

“Harder,” you pant. “I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t see straight. I want to see stars. Constellations. The whole damn solar system.”

“Happy to oblige.” Taehyung smiles. His thrusts intensify, leaving you teetering on the edge, fists clenching the sheets underneath you. You cry out, the pressure of your impending orgasm nearly too much to bear. He touches your cheek. “Wait for me,” he commands. “Almost there. Almost.”

“I can’t,” you whimper. “I’m going to –”

He silences you by touching a finger to your lips. “Shh,” he whispers.

That moment seems to last forever, building, building – until finally, the dam bursts. Pure, white hot adrenaline, the passion, the desire, all setting off fireworks behind your eyes. Your nails dig into his back as you hang on, seemingly for dear life. He comes undone with a groan, spilling himself inside of you as the force of your climax hits you like a tidal wave.

He collapses onto the mattress, panting slightly, and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead. “Fuck. That was…”

“Really something,” you finish. Your heart is still racing.

“You could say that.” Taehyung chuckles.

“I haven’t come that hard since…ever.”

“Never?” He turns his head to look at you, one eyebrow raised.

You think back. “Maybe once. But it’s been a really long time.”

“So definitely better than your ex?” he teases. “I’ll take it.”

“That’s it? You’re easily satisfied.”

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you toward him. “No. I’m not. Not usually. So you’d better be careful or…”

“Or what?”

Taehyung smiles, eyes closed, almost half asleep already. “Hmm.” He hums gently. “I just might fall in love with you.”

“So,” he says, his low voice bringing you back to the present. “Where were you running off to in such a hurry just now?”

“Uh…” What was it you were about to do? You were looking for something. Clothes. You were looking for your clothes. “My dress. I need my dress.”

“Oh, that,” Taehyung says dismissively. “I think we left it somewhere near the kitchen. Along with, well…” He peers around at your face, grinning. “Everything else.” He’s still pressed up against you.

Your senses come rushing back, and you pull away. “Look,” you babble. “I don’t normally do this kind of thing, and last night was…great, but —”

“I’d like to think it was more than just great,” he shrugs. “Phenomenal. Earth-shattering. Damn near amazing. But call it what you like.”

“I’ve really got to go,” you blurt. “I have an…engagement.” Lunch. With Hyejin. Right. What time is it, anyway?

“Ah.” If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. “Of course. Don’t let me stop you.” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow wolfishly. “Unless you’d like me to.”

"Uh, no. That’s all right." How does he do that? How does he know how to fluster you with a single look? You keep the blanket wrapped around you while you pad into the kitchen, where you find your dress in a mound on the floor. Wrinkled. Of course. You sigh and pick it up. The daylight allows you a better look at the rest of his apartment, one that you didn't get the night before. The front room is high-ceilinged, exposed brick and tall windows overlooking the street below. Your eyes linger on the canvases leaned up against one wall, the easel with the cloth-covered painting on top of it. Or you would assume there's a painting under there; you can't exactly see it, but it would only make sense. "So he is actually an artist," you say to yourself.

"Of course I am," he says, appearing behind you out of nowhere. "Not exactly the kind of thing I’d lie about."

You whip around to find him standing there, clad only in boxers and an amused expression. "I don't know. You could have just told me that to make yourself seem more interesting. You wouldn't be the first guy to do it. Women love a man with depth."

"So did it work, then?" He presses his lips together, obviously trying to hide a smile. "Do you think I'm interesting?"

"Hm." You smile and look down. "Not sure yet. I'll let you know."

"Please. By all means."

You seem to remember there was something else you were supposed to be doing. "Uh…bathroom?"

"Down there." He points you back in the direction of the bedroom.

"Thanks." You gather up your things into a pile and shut the door after you, letting out a breath as you lean against it. You dress quickly and fix your hair as much as you can with the comb you keep in your purse, splash some water on your flushed cheeks, then head back into the kitchen. He’s there at the island, scribbling something on a piece of paper. “What’s that?” you say as you approach, still fiddling with the back zipper on your dress that seems to have jammed itself on its way off last night.

“My number. I realized I didn’t give it to you last night.” He smirks, pushing it toward you. “Just in case you need me.”

God, he's cocky. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little into it. “Who says I'll need you?” That’s what you say – but you tuck it into your bag anyway.

“If you change your mind. Here, let me.” Taehyung gets the zipper unstuck and finishes zipping up the back of your dress. He presses a final kiss lightly against the shell of your ear. “You should go. You have your engagement, don’t you? Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

"Are you rushing me out?" you say, glancing over your shoulder.

"Oh, you can stay as long as you like," he says. “Just trying to be considerate of your time.”

"I appreciate that." Suddenly you don't want to go. You’d rather stay here, in bed, in his arms. But that’s not what that is. You don’t know what this is, but you know it’s not how this kind of thing works. You pick up your shoes and walk toward the door. He follows closely behind you. You hesitate, turning back toward him. “I guess this is it, then?” you say.

“I suppose it is,” he says.

“Well…thanks,” you say, unsure what to say next. “I had a good time.” You recall the stiff, sore feeling between your legs and sigh internally. You’re going to be feeling this for the next day or two – but regret doesn’t even begin to cross your mind.

“Until the next one?” He’s still smirking.

Next time? “Who says there’s going to be a next time?” You cross your arms and look up at him.

“Just wishful thinking. I would like to see you again, but we can discuss that when the time comes.” He smiles down at you. “Enjoy the rest of your weekend, y/n.”

Wishful thinking indeed.

You hurry home with just enough time to take a quick shower before you have to go and meet Hyejin for lunch. Your mind wanders to Taehyung several times while you’re waiting at the restaurant: the way his hair fell across his eyes, that squinting, boxy smile of his, his hands, exploring every inch of your body. The way it felt when he—

“Y/n? Y/n, hello? Are you there?” Hyejin is looking at you pointedly.

You jump. “Yeah. Sorry. My brain stopped working for a minute. Were you saying something?”

“What happened last night?" Her eyes narrow. "Please tell me you didn’t just have two drinks and go home. Did something happen?” Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

You consider telling her about Taehyung, but you’re not sure if you could do him justice. “Nothing happened, Jin. And that’s exactly what I did. Two drinks, went home, fell asleep watching Bridgerton.” You redirect your focus to your lunch, the smell of which makes you a touch nauseous.

She crosses her arms and stares you down. “I don’t believe you. You definitely had more than two drinks. You’ve got that look in your eyes that you get when you’re hungover. I’d know it anywhere.” She squints at your right shoulder, right in the crook of your neck and gasps. “Y/n! Is that a hickey?”

You nearly choke on your water. Shit. How could you have not noticed that? You tug at the neck of your sweater. “Not so loud! I don’t need the entire restaurant knowing I have a hickey! Which I don’t. Because it’s not a hickey. It’s, um—”

“Oh my god, it is! It totally is. Y/n! You got some, didn’t you?”

“No comment.” Your face burns red hot.

“Okay, well, based on the fact that you don’t want to tell me, your best friend, about it, it was probably either really good or really bad. And judging by the way you’re blushing…” She leans her chin on one fist. “I’m going to guess that it was really good.”

"Stop it. You're the worst. The absolute worst." There might as well be steam coming off your face. You lower your voice. "Yes. It was really good. He was hot, thorough, and not clingy at all. The consummate hookup. Are you happy now?"

"Overjoyed." Hyejin looks far too pleased with herself. "Does this guy have a name?”

“Taehyung.”

“Taehyung,” she repeats. “So. Are you going to see him again?"

You think about his number written on the scrap of paper currently sitting in the change pocket of your purse. In case you need me. "I don't know. Probably not. I mean, that's how one-night stands work, isn't it? Kinda defeats the purpose of the whole ‘one-night’ thing if you see them more than once."

Hyejin shrugs. "They can. There's no rule that says they have to. You said he's hot. Would you want to see him again?"

"Well…maybe?” You think about it. The man hasn’t left your mind since you left his apartment. “If the opportunity presented itself? He did give me his number. And he did say he wanted to see me again."

She sighs. "Y/n, I love you. But you might be the dumbest person in the world when it comes to this kind of thing."

"What?" you demand. "What is that supposed to mean? He was probably just being flirty. I doubt he really wants to see me again."

"Of course he was being flirty. He wants to see you again. He made it a point to give you his number, y/n. Opportunity is literally pounding on your door. Are you just going to let the best sex of your life slip past you when you could seize the day and do something you’ve never done before?” Hyejin leans in. “Look. I know what you’re going to say. You’re not looking for anything serious right now, and I totally get it after what that piece of shit did to you. But why not have a good old-fashioned no strings attached fling? You deserve it. You’re practically a saint for putting up with that asshole for so long. And if this guy isn’t on the same page, then you cut your losses and move on. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that, huh?” You cross your arms and stare pensively at the table.

“Honestly.” She shrugs. “If you don’t text him, I will.”

“Jin, you’re engaged.”

“Yeah, but I’m not dead, am I?”

You: Hi. It's y/n. You: From last weekend? You: This is Taehyung, right? Taehyung: It is. Taehyung: I was wondering when I’d hear from you. You: And I was wondering when I could see you again. Taehyung: That depends. You: On what? Taehyung: How bad you want to see me.

You rap three times and wait, the silence in the hallway almost unbearable. For a moment you think you’ve made a mistake coming back over here, but then the door swings open, and there he is. Barefooted, in shorts and a baggy, paint-stained t-shirt. A far cry from the way he looked when you met him last weekend, but at this moment you don’t think you’ve ever found anyone more attractive.

He looks you up and down, a satisfied smirk creeping across his mouth. “So you came.”

“Yeah. I did.” Your heart is pounding. “This is probably a bad idea.”

“Uh-huh.” Taehyung nods, leaning against the frame of his front door. His crossed arms draw attention to his rolled-up sleeves, accentuating his biceps.

“A really bad idea.” Your nails are digging into the palms of your hands.

“So you’ve established.” He tilts his head to one side. “Still time to leave. Although I won’t say I’m willing to forget it ever happened.”

You shake your head. You’ve already spent way too much time thinking about this. “No. I want this.”

“Good, because I do too.” He holds out a hand. “Are you going to come in, then?”

You put your hand in his, and he immediately tugs you toward him, until you’re mere inches away from each other. His touch is magnetic. Like perfect polar opposites. “Yeah,” you breathe, inhaling his scent. Sandalwood, bergamot, and pine. “I’m coming in.”

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mrworldwideshoulders · 1 year

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on thin ice || part 1 || reader x ksj

Kim Seokjin is the image of the perfect figure skater – and he knows it. He’s got the skills, the talent, the looks – the only thing he’s missing is the matching gold medal. There’s nothing he can’t do. But when singles skating turns out to be too much for him to handle after an embarrassing mistake and a knee injury at the World Championship, his coach decides that his best chance at taking gold will be skating with a partner. That's where you come in. There’s only one problem: he’s damn near impossible to work with.

❅ Pairing: skater!reader x skater!Seokjin (feat. coach!Hoseok); dual pov ❅ Part 1 wc: 5.3k ❅ Rating: M (18+) ❅ Genre: figure skating au, enemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut ❅ Chapter warnings: knee injuries, cringe ice-related wordplay, tsundere!jin, alcohol consumption, foul language, angry!hobi, far too many descriptions of jin’s shoulders, at least one (1) mention of jin’s ass in spandex ❅ T/N: seonbae = used to refer to one’s superior

a/n: welcome to my very first collab fic! on thin ice is presented as part of the catch of the century collab to celebrate the one and only worldwide handsome jin’s 30th birthday! definitely go check out the other authors and their stories on the masterlist! i am very very late to posting T_T but it’s here now, yay! also i’d like to apologize in advance if i’ve gotten anything wrong about figure skating; i tried to do my research but it’s almost hard to describe in writing since it’s so visual. i was originally going to post this fic all at once but i decided that breaking it into three chunks would be easier for some reason. parts two and three will be coming out soon, but for now, here is part one, beta’d and bannered by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! thx! ly - robyn

PS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses; I just really love em a whole lot.

Present: “I like you,” Seokjin blurts.

His words come so suddenly you’re not sure if you’ve heard him right. Because if you did hear him right, that would mean that the Kim Seokjin, the same man who’s been making everything about your life difficult for the past six months, the man you thought, at one point, might even hate your guts – actually has feelings for you. And that’s only if he’s serious and not pulling your leg right now. “What did you just say?”

“I said I like you, all right?” He’s definitely being sincere. His cheeks are flushed and he can barely look you in the eye. “Really. I think I might even be in love with you. So…please don’t leave me, okay? I know you said we’d play it by ear, but I don’t want to anymore. Don’t make me look for another partner, because the only one I want to skate with is you. I’m asking you to stay. Forever, if you want.” Seokjin trains his eyes downward while he picks at the side of his thumbnail. “Are you going to say something or are we just going to stand here in awkward silence until one of us takes the hint and leaves?”

“Sorry,” you manage finally. “It’s just…I don't know what to say." He likes you. He might even love you. How exactly were you supposed to react? In your wildest dreams you couldn’t have expected those words to come out of Kim Seokjin’s mouth.

“I know I’ve been an asshole.” he mutters under his breath. “Guess I couldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel the same way.” He sighs. “All right. I get it. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course you don’t feel the same way. You don’t like me anyway. It’s fine. I’ll go.”

"Wait," you say, catching one of his hands in yours as he turns to leave. You pull him back toward you, until the firm planes of his body are flush against you, your lips reaching up to meet his in a kiss, hoping to convey all of the words tumbling around inside your heart, everything you want to say but can’t seem to put into words. I forgive you. I won’t leave you. And I think I might love you too.

Seokjin seems startled, like he’s not the one who just told you he might be in love with you, but he doesn’t push you away; instead, he leans in further, deepening the kiss. God, he’s a great kisser. You’re the one who initiated, but he clearly knows how to seize the moment. You feel it all over, tingling down your back, in your fingers, in your ears, in your legs, until you tear yourself away, breathless. His face is inches away, shuddering breaths intermingling with yours. He exhales a chuckle. “Not that I’m complaining, but…what was that for?”

You cup his chin and turn his face toward you. "Actions speak louder than words, Ice Prince. Didn’t you know that?"

Six Months Ago: You didn’t have many regrets in your life. The ones you did have were boring, basic, like not being wilder in your teens and early twenties, or not confessing your feelings to the cute guy you used to train with before he quit skating and disappeared from your life. No. Those were nothing compared to the decisions that had brought Kim Seokjin, the biggest asshole in professional figure skating, into your life. Agreeing to skate with him – now that was regrettable. Maybe the most regrettable thing you’d done. The man was gorgeous, of course: tall, broad shouldered, a tiny, trim waist any woman would kill for, an ass that didn’t quit even in spandex, sparkling brown eyes, a head full of dark hair. His face looked like it belonged in a museum, for crying out loud, in a painting or gracing the head of some sculpture. By anyone’s standards, and especially his own, Kim Seokjin was perfect, if not a little wounded after his fall from grace – literally – at the World Championship in France almost half a year ago now, where he’d torn his ACL and blown his knee along with his chances at gold and the Olympics, the reason he supposedly needed a partner. To anyone with a passing interest in dramas this only made him more perfect: beautiful and slightly tormented, like their favorite male lead, or a fallen young demigod from a Greek epic. His horde of adoring (mostly female) fans even referred to him as “Worldwide Handsome Jin.” You had to wonder just how much of his public persona was real. You knew a thing or two about it; you used to be one of his fans, though more of a casual observer than anything. You’d seen firsthand how he interacted with them: all winks and smiles and air kisses and finger hearts. It had all seemed so believable then, that Kim Seokjin was not only a world-class figure skater, but a total sweetheart in addition to being the most attractive man in the sport. The complete package, as it were. It would be a dream come true – no, the chance of a lifetime – for someone like you to get to skate with the Kim Seokjin. But that was before you agreed to work with him.

They always say don’t meet your heroes, right?

Right from the start he’d been a pain in the ass, from the moment his coach, Jung Hoseok, had offered you the position as his partner. During your tryout you could hear him picking at you from the stands, but you’d come far enough to believe that you were something of a professional, and could work successfully with most people, even the difficult ones. Kim Seokjin was not most people. He took being difficult to an entirely new level. Within the first ten minutes of your practice together he’d knocked you over, then blamed it on you. Okay, fine – in his defense, not that he deserved it, it kind of had been your fault. You should have known better than to skate up behind him without saying anything. But did he have to be such an ass about it? You were willing to let it go for the first week or two, figuring he was just nursing his wounded pride from blowing his chance at Worlds gold, but it had been weeks, and he was still the same old jerk. You supposed it only made sense that he was a dick. No guy could be that attractive without also being a total jackass. The man hated you. You were convinced of it. Nothing came out of his mouth that wasn’t critical or dismissive. That same mouth always seemed to be etched in a permanent scowl. And you, who had been practicing for years, perfecting your signature moves, were suddenly an amateur again. In his eyes, anyway.

“First time on ice, huh, Twinkle Toes?” he mutters into your ear, hand on your waist as you both freeze in your ending positions. Twinkle Toes. Where did that nickname even come from?

“With all due respect,” you hiss, teeth gritted in a feigned smile, “kiss my ass.”

“Ooh. Feisty.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Who do you think I got it from? Shut up.”

"Cute," he says. "I'd love to see you try and make me."

You scoff irritably and yank your hand out of his grasp.

A short whistle blast brings you both to attention. “Well, that was fucking terrible.” Hoseok is glaring at the two of you with a withering expression and you wince internally. It only took a few weeks to find out that Hoseok never minces words when it comes to criticism. “Really. It’s ungodly how awful that was. You two need to get over yourselves, stat, because I’ve had enough of this shit. We've been running the same program for weeks and it hasn't gotten any better. In fact, I think it's gotten worse. You’re both barely making the lifts, you're sure as shit not sticking the landings, and your arms are all over the place, all because you can’t stop picking at each other long enough to focus, when neither of you are in any position to be complaining about the other. If you don’t put a lid on it and start acting like the professionals you’re supposed to be, then it’s suicides until the end of eternity for both of you. Is that clear?”

“Fine,” says Seokjin. He crosses his arms and gives you a sidelong glance. “I will if she does.”

The audacity of this guy. “I never wasn’t, Ice Prince. Check yourself, or I will do it for you.”

“Great idea, Hobi.” Seokjin looks pointedly at his coach. “I think it’s already working.”

“Don’t Hobi me!” Hoseok snaps. “I’ve had it up to here with your bullshit! Go get to know each other somewhere outside of this rink. Go get food or something. Talk about yourselves. Don’t you dare talk about skating. And try not to kill each other. Yeah? Awesome. Get out of here. If either one of you calls me to complain I’m blocking you.”

“How do you know that the second we get out of here we’re not both going to go our separate ways?” demands Seokjin.

“Because,” says Hoseok. “I’ll know. And I swear to God I will kill you. I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Don’t think I can’t make that happen.” The barely-concealed fury simmering in Hoseok’s eyes is enough to keep either of you from protesting any further.

That was how you’d wound up in a barbecue restaurant, with perhaps the most unlikely dinner guest you’d ever faced. Seokjin sat stoically across from you, scowling, saying nearly nothing, except to insist upon grilling the meat himself. “I’m sure your cooking is about as good as your skating, so I’d rather not take my chances,” he said, curling his upper lip. You sighed resignedly, and waved the waitstaff back over to order several bottles of soju. If you were going to get through dinner with him, you were going to need it, even though you weren’t supposed to since you were in training.

An awkward silence falls over your table like a blanket, almost heavy enough to fold. You watch him as he methodically turns the meat over on the grill. “Do you… like cooking?” you say, hesitantly, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes laser-focused on the meat. “Hoseok keeps me on a pretty strict diet during training season, so I don’t get to do it very often, but it’s nice when I get the chance.” There’s a teasing grin on his face. “Let me guess. You’re a terrible cook?”

You scoff. “I get by just fine.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” One eyebrow quirks. “Is ramyeon and convenience store tteokbokki still as good as it used to be?”

“Bite me.” You scowl. “If you must know, I don’t have to cook for myself because my mom brings me food. Every week. So I can focus on training. Balanced meals every night, and all I have to do is wash the dishes.”

“Congrats,” says Seokjin sardonically. “Eat up. Those are done.” He points to a still sizzling batch of pork belly with his chopsticks.

You glare at him as you reach for the meat. It’s perfect. Damn him, you think angrily. Is he just good at everything? You down your glass of soju and pour yourself another, under Seokjin’s disapproving gaze. “What?” you demand.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Just thinking you might want to pace yourself a little.”

“Why don’t you stop judging me and loosen up?” You pour a fresh glass and push it toward him. “Come on, we’re supposed to be getting to know each other. And having fun? We can’t exactly do that if you’re just going to sit there and be a stick in the mud.” You nudge the glass closer.

“Yah, stop it! I don’t know why I’m even listening to you.” He picks it up and downs the whole thing in one gulp. “There. Happy? I can keep going.”

“How about a game of Truth or Dare? Only, if you don’t want to answer you have to drink. What do you think?” You lean on the table, resting your hands in your palms and looking up at him.

“No.” He turns over a piece of meat. “I have no interest in getting to know you. I’m only here because I’m trying to not give Hoseok an actual reason to murder me.”

“Isn’t he younger than you? Why are you so afraid of him?”

“I’m not afraid of him,” he says dismissively, “it’s Hoseok. He may threaten to murder me like twice a week, but he knows what he’s doing, most of the time. We’re contemporaries, sort of. Which makes him a better coach than some retiree who hasn’t skated in years and has no idea what it's like anymore.”

“Do you think you’ll coach after you retire?” You’ve thought a lot about it yourself, and it’s probably what you’ll do once you decide it’s time. You like the idea of molding the next generation of future potential Olympians and World Cup champions. It feels honorable. Rewarding. A way of paying the universe back, somehow.

Apparently Seokjin doesn’t think so. His eyes narrow and his jawline goes taut, like he’s gritting his teeth. “Who says I’m retiring anytime soon, Twinkle Toes?”

“No one, Ice Prince. It was a simple question. Just forget it.” So he’s not the coaching type. Certainly not surprising, based on what you know so far.

“I can’t imagine anything worse, anyway,” he grumbles. “I mean, anyone would be lucky to get to learn from me, but who has the patience for that? Who’d want to spend all of their free time with a bunch of people who don’t know what they’re doing?”

“Well, someone has to, don’t they?

“Sure, I guess, if you’re a sadist or something.”

You toss back another shot. Maybe that’s what gives you the courage to ask your next question. “Ice Prince, with all due respect, weren’t you an amateur once? What’s with this burning hatred for beginners?”

“Me? An amateur? Ha!” he scoffs. “Not once in my entire life have I ever been an amateur at anything. Do you know how I got to where I am? Talent. Raw talent. Not everybody has that.”

“Well, maybe that’s your problem, then.” You shrug. “You’ve been coasting on your looks and your talent your whole career, so you don’t know how to handle it when things actually get hard. Is that why you’re so insufferable? I mean, I knew it was bad, but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Seokjin demands.

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “Whatever could I possibly mean by that?”

“As if you’ve never wanted to quit when it’s gotten hard,” he mutters, returning his attention to the grill in front of him. “No, because Twinkle Toes is perfect, isn’t she?”

Oh yeah, Hoseok, this was a great idea, you think, rolling your eyes. We might just kill each other first and save you the trouble.

The evening wears on, and you debate pretending to go to the bathroom so you can sneak out of the restaurant and go home, where you could be eating one of your mom’s premade meals prepared with love, with a TV show or a movie for company, instead of eating barbecue prepared with loathing and waging verbal warfare with a man who’s made it his life’s purpose to test your limits. You blow out a breath and order yourself another few bottles of soju, determined to make it through this as painlessly as possible, and attempt to refrain from hurling any more insults in Seokjin’s direction.

Time slows and speeds as neither one of you speaks, and you slip further and further into your stupor, losing track of how many drinks you’ve had. You slam your empty cup down next to your mostly empty bottle of soju – the third one. Or is it the fourth one? His face swims before you, his features blurring into a big round blob, then back into Kim Seokjin. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” he demands. His voice sounds distant. “You know if you drink too much you’ll get us both in trouble. Your coach already hates me, and Hoseok will look for any excuse to smack me across the head.”

“Shut up,” you burst, jabbing a finger in his general direction. “You shut your beautiful mouth, Kim Seokjin. I wouldn’t be drinking if it weren’t for you. This is your fault.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault.” If your brain is still working the way it’s supposed to, you’d swear he sounds amused. “Okay. How is it my fault?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “It just is, okay?”

“Nope.” He crosses his arms. “You can’t prove it’s my fault if you don’t have any solid evidence.”

“You’re annoying. That’s why.” You prop your head on your fist. “God, you’re so annoying. Ugh. Why did I ever agree to this? You obviously hate me. Nobody’s doing me any favors. I’m just suffering at this point having to deal with you every day.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“I don’t even remember anymore.” The memory seems so distant now. You sigh. “My coach said it would be good for my career. And I admired you. I always have. I really thought I could learn something from you, you know? That skating with you would make me a better skater. I wanted to get along with you. But I guess it was naïve of me to think we could be friends. I mean, I get it. You’re Kim Seokjin.” You’re rambling. “Years of experience, a bajillion gold medals, hordes of screaming fans. And you hate me. I know. You don’t have to like me. But of course you hate me. So why do I even feel bad for you? You’ve got everything you ever wanted, don’t you? What do you care about some little nobody like me?” You sniffle, allowing a few tears to plop onto the table. It’s the most honest you’ve been with him since you met, even if it is because you’re drunk.

Seokjin doesn’t say anything, just releases a heavy sigh. “You’re not a nobody, y/n.” A napkin appears in your line of sight, extended between two long fingers. You look up, and he smiles wryly. “I’ll let you in on a secret, but only because you’re so far gone I know you’ll probably forget it by tomorrow.” His voice softens. “It might look like I have it all. But I don’t. Everything I’ve worked for, everything I’ve built in the past fifteen years, it’s all been for one thing. With one mistake, all of it could disappear in an instant, and I might never achieve what I set out to do. If I don’t have any of that…I have nothing. And that terrifies me.”

Kim Seokjin…is scared? You don’t know what to say. “What do you want?” you ask. “This thing you’ve been working for the whole time. What is it?”

“What everyone wants, obviously.” Seokjin avoids your eyes. “Greatness. Recognition.”

You prop your cheek on one hand and gaze at him. “There are things other than greatness, you know. Love. Contentment.” Your mind goes blank trying to think of something else. “Other stuff.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of that’s in the cards for me.” He laughs, a goofy one that sounds sort of like a windshield wiper. It’s the first time you’ve heard a genuine laugh out of him. “Ah, why am I telling you this, anyway? It’s not like you care. Don’t you hate me? Didn’t you say I was insufferable or something like that?”

“Hmm.” You consider it. “No, I really don’t hate you. You’re a pain in the ass and I don’t particularly like you, but I don’t think I’d say I hate you.”

“So where does that leave us?"

"Wait." You hold up a hand. "You don't hate me?"

"Did I ever say I did?"

"How do you feel about me then?" You lean in, wobbling slightly. "You like me, don't you, Ice Prince?"

Seokjin scoffs and rolls his eyes. "I didn't say that either, Twinkle Toes.” He leans back and crosses his arms across that impossibly broad chest of his, gazing at you imperiously. “I tolerate you because I have to. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, come on. Humor me. We were having such a nice moment, y’know?”

"All right. Fine.” He huffs in mock seriousness. “You’re a little bit more than tolerable, and you’re actually decent when it comes down to it. There. Are you happy?”

“Hmm,” you hum, closing your eyes. “Kim Seokjin thinks I’m decent. That’s something, I guess.” A warm feeling washes over you. You rest your cheek against the surface of the table. It’s cool and flat. “Maybe I should call you seonbae now.”

“Whatever floats your boat, y/n.”

He doesn’t hate me. Kim Seokjin doesn’t hate me.

It’s your last thought before your mind goes blank.

Seokjin wasn’t betting on any of this. Blowing his knee in France, having to hit pause on singles skating to take on the entirely new challenge of skating with a partner: a partner he never wanted and had set his mind on hating – none of it. He’d returned from six months of rehab for the torn ACL, against both Hoseok and his physical therapist’s warnings that it was too soon, hoping against hope that he’d find that everything in his world was still as he’d left it. He’d been sorely disappointed to find that nothing was the same and would probably never be the same again. It was the most he could do to stay upright on the ice. Jumps were no man’s land. Spins weren’t much better. Fifteen years of training, conditioning, and careful practice, gold medals and world-class athleticism, all shot because he had to have his ten seconds of glory at Worlds, ten seconds that had turned into months of pain and embarrassment. It swelled when he used it too much, swelled when he didn’t use it at all, and went stiff overnight, making him limp like an old man in the mornings. Why did he bother, really, when he could barely swing any of the fundamentals anymore? Quitting and taking early retirement sounded more likely than taking home bronze at Worlds – or even placing at all.

Then Hoseok suggested he try skating with a partner. For some reason he seemed to think, since Seokjin couldn’t handle singles, at least for the time being, that somehow he’d be better off skating with someone else. It was a terrible idea, in his opinion – there was nobody even close enough to his level, especially before he’d fucked everything up, and not now, either. But Hoseok was his coach, even if he was two years younger than him, and the best course of action was usually for Seokjin to let these things play out until Hoseok realized for himself what a shitty plan it was and righted the course on his own.

He already knew you were going to be a problem, the second you arrived for practice that first day. Your coach, Coach Lim, also happened to be Hoseok’s old coach, hence how he’d managed to get a hold of you. Seokjin already knew she hated him. She was an old friend of Hoseok’s mother, who had medaled or at least gone to the Olympics for figure skating at some point years ago, had envisioned the same thing for Hoseok, and both had been particularly disappointed when Hoseok had decided to quit competing in favor of replacing Seokjin’s coach. But it wasn’t like he’d held a gun to his head; the timing was just right and Hoseok liked the idea of ordering someone older than him around, so that was Coach Lim’s problem, not Seokjin’s. He wasn’t sure how long you had been training with her, but she’d probably been shit-talking him for years. It would only make sense for you to hate him too. He couldn’t have asked for an easier way out of this if it had been handed to him. If you hated him, and your coach hated him, then there was no possible way that this could work out, right? It really was too bad. You weren’t the best by any means, but you had potential, just as he had all those years ago when someone had spotted him doing figure eights at the rink near his grandmother’s house and suggested he take lessons. With time, you could even be great. That, unfortunately, was exactly what he didn’t need: someone else who just needed time. That was all anyone had been telling him since he’d torn his ACL. One step at a time. Take it slow. These things take time. God, he couldn’t stand it any more. Clearly he was no longer the wunderkind he’d been fifteen years ago, when a fall like this would have set him back a month or two, not a whole damn season of competitions. He didn’t have time for that. He was a 24-year-old with a knee injury, for fuck’s sake, with 25 fast approaching in December. He didn’t exactly have time to waste on someone like you, someone who just needed time, when the average age of retirement for figure skaters was 26. He might as well have an expiration date stamped on his forehead. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that, once he reached that imaginary expiration date, someone, it didn’t matter who, would take one look at him and toss him out on his ass. He couldn't let that happen, not without something to show for it.

Unfortunately, you were going to be harder to get rid of than he thought. You hated him, he could tell. But you hadn’t quit yet. You were a formidable opponent, and he’d even come to enjoy picking at you. However, that was before. Before the two of you had been forced out to dinner together under the guise of getting to know each other. The dinner where you’d gotten three bottles deep in soju and practically started sobbing at the table, all because you were convinced he hated you, when the truth was that he didn’t. Seokjin didn’t even have to think about it that hard. He’d set out to hate you, and he did, at first. You were a representation of his failure at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at. It meant he no longer had what it took to make it on his own, meant that he should get comfortable waiting for nothing to happen. But he didn’t hate you anymore. Somewhere along the way, he’d done what he promised himself he wouldn’t: he’d come to like you. He liked having a partner – liked having you as a partner. Skating was already a solitary sport, especially for him, and the only person who’d ever wholly supported him in it had been his grandmother; his parents had been too busy complaining about him wasting time that he could be studying to come to any of his competitions. He hadn’t minded that at first. He preferred his own company to anyone else’s. But in working with you, he’d come to find that it was nice having someone else around – someone he didn’t necessarily have to consider competition – because he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Though he couldn’t have you knowing that. You would be even more insufferable than you already were. So he didn’t say so. He’d simply handed you a napkin to wipe your eyes.

You didn’t hate him either, though you didn’t particularly like him. He didn’t hate you, not anymore. So what did that mean? You hadn’t answered him when he asked, either too surprised by his response or too drunk to think of one. Seokjin ponders the question as he struggles down the dark, almost empty streets to the address he’d managed to squeeze out of you before you passed out for good, with you riding piggyback behind him, ignoring the shooting pains trying to creep back into his bum knee. At least he’d only really had to carry you to and from his car, he reminds himself. It could be worse. Which he’d found out was true when he realized he’d have to carry you up three flights of stairs. Seokjin sighs. You let out a groan and wrap your arms even tighter around his neck while he eyes the first set of stairs in front of him.

“Hey, knock it off,” he grumbles, jostling you roughly to see if it’ll loosen your grip. It doesn’t – but he starts up the stairs anyway, his knee throbbing painfully with each step. He’ll have to ice it later for sure. Why is he doing this, exactly? Really. He could have just left you sleeping on a bench somewhere near the restaurant. It’s cold, for one thing, so you probably would have gotten sick, then Hoseok and Coach Lim probably would have teamed up to kill him or something. There were certainly ways he could have gotten you up the stairs without further injuring himself. Simply dropping you on the ground, for one, and forcing you to walk on your own. That would definitely sober you up. As much as he would have liked to, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Generally speaking, Seokjin tried not to concern himself too much with what other people thought of him; it never ended well when he paid too much attention to what people were saying about him. This time, for some reason…he rather enjoyed the thought that you didn’t completely hate him, although even if he’d left you outside to sleep on a bench it probably wouldn’t change your opinion of him much.

He sighs in relief when he finally reaches the third floor and manages to finally pry you off his back, setting you on unsteady feet to steer you down the hall towards your apartment. You flop against the wall next to your door, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor while he unlocks the door with the keys he confiscated from you back at the restaurant. Seokjin crouches down in front of you. “Aish, what is this? What are you doing on the floor?”

“Mm,” you grumble sleepily, waving him off with a sloppy hand gesture. “I’m tired. You can just leave me here.”

“Yah! You want to sleep in the hall like some drunk? Get up and go inside.” Slipping his hands under your arms, he pulls you back upright and nudges you into your apartment, ignoring your protests.

Once he’s gotten you inside, you seem to realize where you are, and you stumble off down the narrow hallway, bumping noisily into corners and the edges of things. Seokjin watches from the doorway of your room as you finally collapse face-first into your bed, a muffled snore escaping from your mouth. He can’t help but chuckle looking at you, snoring, completely dead to the world.

“Shameless,” Seokjin mutters. “How can she be so shameless?”

I thought I could learn something from you. I thought, maybe, skating with you might make me a better skater. He considers what you said earlier as he drags a blanket over your sleeping form and lets himself out of your apartment, wondering if you really meant it. You really weren’t so bad, he thought, and maybe there was something to be gained from skating with you, too. Maybe gold wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed.

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mrworldwideshoulders · 1 year

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give me novacaine || reader x myg

Lost and spiraling, Yoongi can’t stop himself from thinking about what he could have done differently to keep from losing you - if he'd been a better man, if he'd spent more time with you, if he'd been more affectionate, maybe he would have known sooner…and maybe he could have kept you from betraying him. Inspired by When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars.

Pairing: reader x MYG (if you can call it that); feat. JK and Hobi Word count: 5.6k Rating: M / R (18+) Genre: angst, breakup au Warnings: descriptions of cuts, blood, and broken glass, (extremely) foul language, hobi being an angel as usual, jk being kind of a badass A/N: hey there and welcome! this is the sequel to my fic bang bang (shameless plug) so i would definitely recommend reading that one first because you will probably be a bit confused if you don’t :) actually really enjoyed writing this one, so i hope you enjoy reading it just as much. beta’d and bannered as always by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the unorthodox jukebox collection (masterlist)

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” A soft touch on Yoongi’s cheek draws him out of his slumber and back into real life.

“Hmm,” he grumbles, reluctantly opening his eyes to find you next to him, smiling gently, pale morning sunlight illuminating you from behind like a halo. “You couldn’t let me sleep a few minutes longer?”

“I couldn’t help it,” you say. “I like seeing you right when you wake up, all grumpy and half-asleep. Like a cat.”

Yoongi can’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I’ll get you for that.” He reaches out a hand to pull you toward him, bringing your face mere inches away from his.

“Good morning,” you say softly, staring into his eyes.

“Good morning.” He presses his forehead against yours.

“I was just thinking…” You hesitate. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Min Yoongi.”

“Oh? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

You lean in suddenly, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “A good thing, of course. A very good thing.”

A crack of thunder sounds, jolting Yoongi awake. Rain beats against the full picture windows, fat drops streaming down like tears. He blinks, the insides of his eyelids feeling like full-grit sandpaper scraping against his corneas.

He wasn’t dead.

He was still very much alive. And on top of that, still dreaming about you, even though you were gone and every part of him that had once held love was filled with his hatred of you, his empty apartment still echoing with the sounds of your betrayal.

How unfortunate. Especially the part where he was still alive.

He sits up slowly, peeling the side of his face from the leather couch, and his head throbs so sharply and violently that his vision clouds. “Fucking hell,” Yoongi mutters, fingers digging into his pulsing temples, as if that would solve anything. He takes a glance around the room. The place is a mess. He struggles to his feet, swaying unsteadily as his vision starts to swim again. It’s dark still but just light enough to indicate that morning is on its way, ready to remind him that he’d been just stupid and just desperate enough to be taken in by your ruse. Something crunches underfoot as he’s feeling his way out of the room. He reaches down, feeling blindly for the source of the noise, and a sharp stabbing pain pierces into the soft, fleshy part of his hand. “Shit!” he snaps. It’s glass. Of fucking course it’s glass. The remnants of a whiskey bottle lay in pieces on the floor, and he remembered now, that he’d thrown it at the wall last night. Blood pools in the dip of his palm, the cut apparently deeper than it felt. “Perfect,” he says under his breath. “Just perfect.”

The water in the sink runs red for what feels like forever, but it finally stops long enough for him to disinfect it and wrap it in a swath of gauze and medical tape. The wrapping is sloppy, but it’ll keep everything in place for as long as it needs to. He’s struck suddenly by another memory.

“Ah, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. That hurts!” You’re supposed to be chopping vegetables for stir fry, but he looks over to see you gritting your teeth, a bloodstained dish towel wrapped around your hand.

“Let me see.” Yoongi reaches for the towel, but you nearly yank your hand away from him.

“No! I can’t.”

“Why not?” He reaches for it again.

“I’m afraid to look.” You squeeze your eyes shut while he unwraps the towel from your hand. Blood still oozes from a small but seemingly deep cut on your middle finger. “My finger is still there, right?”

“What finger? I don’t see a finger.”

Your eyes shoot open. “Yoongi! Come on.”

“Made you look.” He grins, pulling you over to the sink. “It’s just a little cut. Here, rinse it off first, and I’ll bandage it up for you.” You wait silently, wincing slightly as he dabs disinfectant on the cut. He wraps the bandage securely but not too tightly around your finger. “There.” Yoongi lifts your hand and kisses it gently. “Better?”

“Much,” you manage, cheeks coloring.

Could he have done more? He knows he should have – definitely could have – been better. On one hand, he’d tried, hadn’t he? He’d tried to be gentle and attentive, to go against all of his past experiences with women and relationships; his mother, for one, and her incessant stream of boyfriends, an array of different faces that were all the same, faces who would all sneer at him on his way out of the house and tell him to straighten up and respect his mother. He’d ended up something like her anyway, for a time, an near-ceaseless series of one night stands and unattached partners filtering in and out of his apartment for a good part of his early twenties – but that was different. You were different. He hadn't ever loved any of them the way he loved you. He'd tried to never let you see the side of him that could be angry and sometimes violent. On the other hand – he should have known better. It wasn’t like you were his first anything. He should have known that some women wanted more than just your time. They wanted to be doted upon, made to feel special, surprised with the occasional gift or dinner out on a random Tuesday – and he hadn’t done a very good job of that. He wasn’t good at giving gifts, unlike Hoseok, who somehow seemed to be able to intuit the perfect gift for someone within minutes. He hadn’t ever gotten the impression any of that was something you wanted, and it certainly wasn’t something he wanted, either. He hated those types of little grand gestures. They were sappy. Cringe-inducing. Unoriginal. All qualities he’d never considered himself to possess.

Was that really all it would have taken for you not to stab him in the back? A surprise date at the nicest restaurant in the city? Could a bouquet of flowers on a random Wednesday make you call it off with every other guy you were seeing? There was no way it could be that simple, could it? If it was, then maybe all of his teachers were right, and he really was the biggest idiot in South Korea, if he hadn't managed to figure that one out. Yoongi closes his eyes and lets out a short laugh, his bandaged hand still humming with pain. “I really must be a dumbass, huh, y/n?” he mutters. “Stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Is that what you wanted? Fucking flowers?”

He checks the time on his watch. Quarter to six. Too late to go back to bed and too early to go to work. Not even go-getter Jungkook shows up to work that early, and despite being in charge Yoongi is never there before eight or nine unless he has to be. Well, someone has to clean up the glass in the front room, and he can’t show up for work still reeking of whiskey. Jungkook does pretty much nothing but eat and work out in his spare time; he’ll throw Yoongi over one shoulder like a sack of flour and carry him back home to sleep it off if he so much as catches a whiff, so a shower is in order before he can go anywhere. It may not be much but he’s got to do something to keep his mind off you and all of the little things he did wrong.

The shower does little to improve his mood or his raging headache, but the show must go on, as they say, and he forces himself out the door shortly after eight. As glad as he is to have you and your lies out of his life, he has to admit his apartment feels empty without you, silent in a way that it hasn’t felt since the first time he invited you over. Once he’s at work he quickly sequesters himself in his office, the door shut firmly behind him, and an hour or so in only confirms what he knows already but doesn’t want to acknowledge: he’s not going to be getting much of anything done today. The rain is still beating a lull against his windows, the task at hand is long forgotten, and a nap is sounding more and more appealing by the second. His mind is already starting to drift, eyelids dropping shut like window shades.

There’s a quick rap at the door, and whoever is out there doesn’t even wait for a response before it opens. “Yoongi-ssi?” Jungkook's looming figure hovers tentatively in the doorway.

“Hm?” Yoongi barely lifts his head from where it’s propped on his good hand. “What, Jungkook?” He can’t even muster up the energy to bark at Jungkook like he usually does when he hesitates a second too long; he can only turn his head slightly and squint in the younger man’s direction.

“Is…everything okay?” Jungkook says finally, stepping further inside. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks for that,” mutters Yoongi, eyes still half-closed. “I’m fine. Go away.”

Jungkook ignores him. “You really don’t look so good, Yoongi. Are you sure you should be here right now?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snaps, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through his head. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So get out of my office and go do it, then.” Yoongi scowls. “I’m not paying you for your company.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says, eyebrows pinching in concern, “but, you know, I would understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day. We don’t really have a lot going on at the moment, just a couple of small cases. I can take care of things for a day or two. That’s kinda why you hired me, isn’t it?”

“I’m fine, Jungkook.” Yoongi lets out a heated sigh. “What I want is for you to leave me alone. Please,” he adds as an afterthought. “Just go away.”

Jungkook doesn’t budge, instead staying firmly rooted in front of the desk. “What happened, hyung?”

Yoongi doesn’t speak right away, knowing exactly what Jungkook is asking. “It’s over,” he murmurs. “She’s gone. That’s all you need to know. I don’t want to talk about it.” No need to tell him how you tried to defend yourself, even with the photographic evidence right in front of you, or any of the horrible things you both said to each other, or about the deafening silence that fell after you stormed out, the long night of beating himself up over every little regret that followed and trying to drown out the voices in his head.

He eyes Yoongi skeptically, gaze twitching from his face to his bandaged hand. “You didn’t do anything…crazy, did you?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles, shoving the injured hand under his desk. “Y/n L/n is still out there walking around on her own two hooves, I promise. Jesus, Kook, who do you think I am, huh? I may be impulsive but I’m not stupid enough to kill anyone.”

“Then…what did you do to your hand?”

“Broke a bottle. Sliced my hand open while I was trying to clean it up. Any more questions, or can we move on? I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“No, I guess not,” Jungkook says quietly, dropping his head to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry. I know how you felt about her, but…it’s for the best.”

A rush of anger floods through him. No, you don’t. You don’t know how I felt. You don’t know what it’s like at all. Being unwanted, everyone, yourself included, wishing you would just disappear, then thinking finally, here’s someone who accepts you, someone who loves you, despite every bad thing you’ve ever done, only to have it all blow up in your face because she never loved you, she was only stringing you along for her own amusement. It’s mortifying. You don’t know anything. And I hope to God you never do. I hope you stay blissfully ignorant of the way real pain and heartbreak feels, because it’ll make you want to crawl into a hole and die. He doesn’t say any of what he’s thinking and simply shrugs. “What’s done is done. Like I said, I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s get to work, huh?”

“Yeah. For sure.” Jungkook turns to leave, then hesitates. “She wasn’t a good person, Yoongi. I wouldn’t lose too much time thinking about her. There’ll be someone else one day. Someone who’ll be a better match for you than she ever was. I guarantee it.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says, though it isn’t. “I’m already past it. Just go, okay? Close the door on your way out.” What is it with Jungkook and making promises he can’t keep? That’s his problem right there, guaranteeing this and that and hoping for the best when the only thing anyone’s guaranteed in life is death. For all Jungkook knows Yoongi is destined to die alone, just like you said, and even that would be more than he could have hoped for. Maybe you’re right, and no one will ever love him but you, not that you had ever really loved him anyway. He knows he’s hard to love: stubborn, ornery, a little too private for most people's liking. Spend most of your life getting knocked around the way he has and it's no wonder no one wants anything to do with him. He's damaged goods, after all. Scratches and dings everywhere. Too much baggage for even the most sainted person to deal with. Maybe he is better off alone. It’s lonely, but no one gets hurt that way. Hearts stay guarded, hearts stay intact. Is that the secret?

Almost as soon as Jungkook leaves, his phone vibrates on his desk. His number is private, which means it can only be one person. He sighs and allows the call through. “Yeah?”

"Yoongi-ah!" Hoseok's exuberantly cheerful voice breaks through the speakers. Yoongi has always wondered how one person can be in such good spirits all the time. "I'm glad I caught you. I was wondering, did you mean to call me last night?"

"No," says Yoongi. "Just an accident. Sorry.” What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Huh. Okay." Now he sounds skeptical. He can almost see Hoseok’s face pursing into a frown. “Because I could have sworn I heard—”

“It was nothing, Hobi,” he says firmly. “I was drinking and I must have bumped your number or something. That’s all.”

“Drinking on a weeknight? Is everything okay?”

Damn it. Why does Hoseok have to know him so well? “Everything’s fine. Had a rough day at work yesterday. You know how it is.” Hoseok doesn’t know exactly what it is he does for a living, but he has some idea.

“Well…okay.” He can tell his friend still doesn’t believe him. “I guess I was imagining things. But, you know you can always talk to me, right? If there’s ever something you want to talk to me about. I’m here to listen.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Yoongi swallows hard, the words sticking in his throat.

Hoseok continues. "Anyway, while I’ve got you, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over for dinner sometime. It's been forever. Hyorin and I would love to see you. And when are you going to come see your godson? Junho has grown so much, you’d barely recognize him if you saw him.” Junho is what, six months old now? Hoseok and Hyorin had insisted on making him Junho’s godfather when he was born, despite Yoongi’s protests, saying there was no one better for the job than him. “Bring y/n with you. We’ve been dying to meet her. And I have to see for myself the woman who managed to crack through that tough outer shell of yours so quickly.” Hoseok likes to claim that it took a year’s worth of his mother’s lunches for Yoongi to crack even slightly, while for you it only took a matter of months to get right to the heart of things.

His words stab at Yoongi's chest like knives. “Uh…yeah. We’ll have to get together sometime.” Coward. The word floats in front of his eyes again, the same way it did last night when he hung up instead of talking to Hoseok. What kind of coward are you that you can’t even tell your best friend that it’s over, that she’s gone, that she played you for a fool? How long are you going to go on dodging him and letting him think everything is fine when it’s not? “About that,” says Yoongi. “Y/n and I – we broke up. Yesterday.”

“What?” Yoongi can tell Hoseok is genuinely floored by this. “Are you — really? What happened? Didn’t you say you were about to ask her to move in with you? Officially?”

Yoongi chuckles bitterly. “We discovered some, uh, irreconcilable differences. And she cheated on me. With multiple people.”

"Yoongi..." Hoseok sighs. "I'm sorry. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known. You doing okay?"

“Oh, I'm fine,” Yoongi says dismissively. "I'll get through it, I always do. You know me. Anyway, better to have that all out in the open now than later, right?” He can’t even force himself to imagine what it would be like if they’d been married. At least ten times worse, probably. Would he have ever even wanted to be married to you? He’d barely even begun to think about the possibility, to picture what it would be like to have you as his wife, to start a family with you. A happy little family, something he’d never had before. The very idea repulses him now.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know.” Hoseok seems to know something he isn’t letting on. “It’s okay to be upset. That was a shitty thing for her to do. It’s a shitty thing for anyone to do. You wouldn’t be the only one to—”

“Aish, seriously, I’m fine.” Yoongi rubs at his forehead in frustration, unwilling to admit that Hoseok is absolutely right. “I knew it was all going to come to an end sooner or later. Everything does for me. It just came sooner than I expected.”

Hoseok pauses momentarily, and for a second Yoongi wonders if maybe he’s gone too dark on him. ”Listen, why don’t you come over tonight instead?” Hoseok says finally. “Hyorin is making dakgalbi. I know it’s your favorite, and she always makes enough to feed the entire military. You should come. We can catch up. What do you think?”

Yoongi lets out a humorless laugh. “Your wife, who likes me for some reason, just so happens to be making dakgalbi the day after I find out my girlfriend has been cheating on me for the better part of our relationship? Almost sounds too good to be true.” Just as it had been for someone like you to have any real interest in him at all. Too good to be true.

“It must be fate then.” He pictures Hoseok shrugging. “And you shouldn’t argue with fate, right?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll take my chances. I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?” Managed to screw everything up and drive everyone who matters away from you, he thinks. “I don’t think I’d be very good company right now, anyway.”

“Okay, well, if you won’t come over for dinner, I’ll bring you leftovers tomorrow. How about that?” Hoseok is just the same as he’s always been: trying to take care of Yoongi when it should really be the other way around. He must have had such a glowing, happy childhood to end up this kind and caring as an adult. How had a fuckup like Yoongi ever managed to become friends with someone as pure as Hoseok?

“Fine,” he relents. “You do that. But call first, okay?”

“Of course.” Voices sound behind him on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk tomorrow, all right? And Yoongi?”

“What?”

“It’s not your fault. I know it hurts right now, but she chose to cheat all on her own. You didn’t make her do it. So cut yourself some slack, okay? Someday it’ll all work out.” Why does everyone keep trying to tell him that? It’s all just empty platitudes anyway. Nothing works out for him. It never has. In fact, it’s surprising that his own company hasn’t crashed and burned yet.

He hears your scornful voice in his ears again. If you’d paid more attention to me, you would have figured it out sooner. You don’t care. You never cared. Would Hoseok still be saying that if he knew the whole story about what I was doing back then? Yoongi wonders. Would he still choose to see only the good in me? Would he still be willing to call me his friend? Godfather to his firstborn child? Anything at all? “Yeah, right. I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”

“I’m your best friend. It’s what I’m here for.” Hoseok hangs up.“You’re my only friend,” mutters Yoongi dryly, long after the line has gone dead.

He should not be doing this. Not today. But he’d insisted to Jungkook that he was fine, and being fine meant leaving the office for a few hours to do some surveillance for a case they were working. It wasn’t as if Jungkook had forced him; if anything he’d basically told him that he could handle it on his own, as he’d been saying all morning, but that it was easier for two people than one, just in case anything happened. Yoongi had decided to come anyway, his headache having tapered off some, and the distraction would – hopefully – keep his mind off everything, namely you. He was beginning to regret that decision, almost as soon as he’d made it. The rain still hadn’t let up, and the guy they were supposed to be tailing hadn’t moved from his table at the cafe where he’d been sitting for the past forty-five minutes. It was hard to believe that the client thought that this guy was even a threat to their personal safety – but a job was a job, and a paranoid client with deep pockets was better than no client at all.

How things had changed in the past ten years of his life. Ten years ago he was still pickpocketing people like his client, on top of working long, miserable hours in the kitchen of some god-awful restaurant, having to scrape just to put food in his mouth and pay the rent on his tiny shithole of an apartment. Of course his mother had been no help; she’d been the one to kick him out in the first place, claiming she’d already done her duty by allowing him to live rent-free under her roof for nineteen years, as if he were just some freeloading roommate and not her son. Yoongi’s thievery had started innocently enough, as innocent as lifting wallets off unsuspecting people could be. A means to an end. That was all it was ever supposed to be, a way to supplement his measly paycheck when things were tight. Then the wrong people had taken notice of his talents, turning it into something far bigger and far darker than he had ever intended for it to be, and sending him hurtling down a path he’d never wanted to venture down, but found himself unable to stop until it was almost too late. Was it his fault, then, that things had ended up this way? All of his past transgressions, everything he’d done and regretted now, falling in love with someone who would never truly be his in any capacity - had all of that been preordained the moment he lifted that first wallet in Gangnam Station? Yoongi was starting to think you might be right, that no matter how much good he did, no matter how many people he protected and thefts he prevented, he would always remain the same on the inside. He could put on an expensive suit and cut his hair and act like he was doing it all for the greater good, but deep down he’d always know it was just that: an act. He was, in the purest sense of the word, a fraud. Just as you had said. A fraud, a liar, and a thief.

What if you did decide to go back on your word? What if you told everyone – his clients, his colleagues, his friends – about how he’d gotten to be where he was? Would it make any difference? He’d threatened to reveal it himself – but would he? Could he allow everything he’d so carefully built to come crumbling down like a house of cards? If any of that happened he would be right back where he started ten years ago. Alone. Hoseok probably wouldn’t want anything to do with him if he knew what Yoongi had done to get by, certainly wouldn’t want him anywhere near his wife and son. Jungkook, perhaps, could be counted on to stick around, but Yoongi wasn’t holding his breath. Maybe that would be a good thing. No more secrets. No more lies. No friends or associates. A fresh start.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jungkook’s voice crackled in his earpiece, startling him back into reality. “Status report?”

Yoongi glanced up at the man’s table, which was currently being bussed – because it was empty. “Fuck!” he swore under his breath, hurrying out onto the street.

“Something happen?” says Jungkook.

Yoongi sighs angrily. “Something happened, all right. I lost him, Kook.” The guy might not have been dangerous, but he’d walked away right in front of him – and Yoongi hadn’t even noticed because he was lost in his head, daydreaming about the past. How stupid did he have to be to let that happen? “He was there two minutes ago, I swear.”

“Shit,” he hears Jungkook mutter. “Well, he’s on foot, he can’t have gotten far. I’m in the area. Let me see what I can do.” Jungkook goes silent.

Yoongi paces on the sidewalk, unsure what to do with himself. He’s never lost a tail before, not like this. Not even someone trying to lose themselves in a crowd could shake him off. He’s useless. Especially today. The rain pours, pelting painfully against his skin.

Pathetic, sneers your voice in his head again. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.

“Got him.” His colleague’s triumphant voice finally breaks through after what seems like an eternity. “Headed for the subway station. We’ll probably lose contact once I’m underground, so I’ll touch base once I’m topside again.”

He used to wonder where Jungkook would be without him – probably still working for the gangster his father owed money to, still under the guise that he’d be dismissed whenever the debt was paid – but now Yoongi wonders where he’d be without Jungkook. The kid is too good for this business, he thinks, and should really be doing something more honorable with his skills. Police work, maybe, or working in intelligence, not private security. Something entirely unrelated, even. He’s far too talented to waste his life working for someone like Yoongi. “Good.” He exhales a sigh of relief, pinching at the space between his eyes. “Stay on him.” Jungkook doesn’t need him, not anymore. Maybe he never did. Maybe that was just something he’d always told himself to make himself feel better about essentially hijacking the trajectory of Jungkook’s life. “You going to be alright if I head home? I don’t think I’m going to be much use here.”

“I’ll be fine, but…” Jungkook sounds like he wants to say something else but holds back. “Okay. Have a good night, boss. I’ll update you when I get back to the office.”

“Thanks.” says Yoongi gruffly. “And…I’m sorry.”

"Don't worry about it," says Jungkook. "I've been telling you to go home all day. Go on, I've got this covered."

Yoongi chuckles wryly before he pulls his earpiece out. Home. That might be the last place on earth he wants to be right now. But where else is he going to go?

It’s been a long day. A very long day. One with a lot of thinking, and still more to go. The front room is back in order and dark shadows are beginning to fall around him as the rainy afternoon gradually fades into night. He's staring out at the city skyline, lights blinking on one by one like stars, contemplating his next move when his phone vibrates. Jungkook, presumably with an update on today's subject. "Nothing too interesting to report. You were right, the guy’s harmless."

"Hah," Yoongi scoffs. "I wouldn't take my word for it."

"I'll keep an eye on him," says Jungkook, "and let you know if anything else comes up."

"Sounds good." Yoongi hesitates. "Listen, Jungkook…about earlier. I'm thinking about taking some time off work. Do you think you could handle things for a while?"

"Of course I can. But how long is a while?"

"I don’t know. Indefinitely?" The line goes silent and Yoongi is momentarily afraid that he's lost him. "Kook, you still there?"

"Yeah. Still here." Jungkook sounds stunned. "I was trying to figure out if you just said what I think you just said. You said indefinitely, right?"

"As in, I'm not sure when I'll be back? No, you heard me right."

"Well…why?" He pictures the puzzled look on Jungkook’s face, eyes widening, eyebrows scooting together in confusion.

Yoongi lets out a sigh and stares down, examining the bandage on his hand. “Got some things to sort out. I’m not sure that I can trust myself right now, and I don’t think I should be doing this when I can’t even trust my own judgment. It’s risky for all of us. Someone could get hurt.” That’s all he wants. Just once in his life, for people to stop getting hurt because of him.

“Right. I understand that, and I recognize what you’re doing, but Yoongi, you know what you’re asking, don’t you? A couple of days is one thing, but I have no idea how to run things for that long. Especially when I don’t know when you’ll be back. You know I don’t mind doing it, it’s just…a really big ask.”

“I’ll be back, Jungkook. It’s not like I won’t.” Yoongi chuckles. “You’re the only one that’s qualified. And you’re the only one I trust to do this. I can trust you, right?” The question is almost rhetorical. The kid has more than proven himself in the whole time he’s known him.

He hears Jungkook take a deep breath. “Of course. You can count on me, hyung. I’ve got this.”

“That’s good to hear.” Yoongi does feel bad about leaving it all on Jungkook to pick up the slack, but he knows he can handle it. Things will be just fine without him, at least for a while. Everything always has been. Black Swan might even be better off with Jungkook at the helm instead of him. “I’m sorry for dropping this on you at the last minute.”

“Please,” Jungkook scoffs. “I told you, I’ve got this.” His voice changes, growing softer, less brash. “So…what will you do while you’re gone?”

“Hm. Not sure yet.” Yoongi smiles faintly. “You know, I’ve never really been on a vacation. Maybe I’ll leave the city, go somewhere sunny. Tropical and warm. Maybe the mountains.”

“That’ll be nice.” There’s a beat of silence. “So…this is it, then,” Jungkook says. “You’re really going.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Kook,” says Yoongi briskly. “I’m your boss. We’re not really friends, are we?” They’re not friends, not just colleagues. They’re partners. Is that really any different?

“Yeah. Sorry. Well, good luck, boss. I’ll be here, as long as you need me to be. I hope you get everything figured out.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi heaves another sigh. “Me too. Goodbye, Jungkook. I’ll be in touch.” He hangs up before Jungkook can get any sappier on him and stares down at his hands again. He’ll leave town, maybe in a few days or so, go somewhere far away and stay there until it feels right to come back. But there’s one last thing he has to do tonight before he can go anywhere.

The door in front of him swings open, and the savory smell of stir-fried chicken wafts out. “Yoongi?” Hoseok looks him up and down, taking in Yoongi’s rain-soaked appearance. “What are you – did you walk here? It’s pouring out. You’ll get sick.” Same old Hoseok, the mother he never had.

“Hobi,” he says, ignoring his friend’s fussing. “Sorry I didn’t call first, but I was in the neighborhood and I got to wondering…does that dinner invitation still stand?”

“Always, but…” Hoseok falters. “I thought you said—”

“You know I can’t resist free food.” Yoongi smirks. “And…” He hesitates. His past is dark, littered with thorns and broken glass, winding paths to hell built upon good intentions. He can’t change that. But he can change his present – his future, too. And it starts with being honest with the people around him, whatever the fallout may be. No more secrets. No more lies. Especially to the people he cares about. “I decided I could really use someone to talk to.”

“Okay, well – get in here, then.” Hoseok pulls him inside, where it’s warm and bright and filled with life. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Things will be better without you. Not now, but eventually. Maybe someday it will all work out like everyone keeps trying to tell him. Maybe there is still happiness to be found in this life.

#mrworldwideshoulders #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts series #bts x reader #bts au #reader x yoongi #reader x suga #reader x min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #breakup au #bts x you

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mrworldwideshoulders · 1 year

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where love finds us || reader x knj

Pairing: reader x KNJ Word count: 5.4k Rating: PG-13+ Genre: established relationship au, fluff (like a lot), (light) angst, the teensiest implied smut for good measure Summary: An evening with your fiancé's parents to celebrate their anniversary has the two of you reflecting on how lucky you both are to be in each other’s life – even if it took a long time for you to get there. Inspired by If I Knew by Bruno Mars. Warnings: discussion of ~feelings~, discussion of pregnancy, cute romantic moments, joon keeps trying to touch reader’s butt (hehe), tongue kissing (bleurgh), reader is a child of divorce and has ~trauma~ A/N: hi! this fic is a giant sticky sweet glob of sap. please forgive me (or don’t) and be sure to check your blood sugar at the end to make sure you haven’t gone into diabetic shock. i know it’s out of order but this is the same couple as the one from the way you look tonight (shameless plug) though both can be read as standalone oneshots if ya want. i freakin love this fic so i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing. beta’d and bannered as always by the amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn T/N: eomeonim = used when speaking to one’s mother-in-law, specifically on the husband’s side; abeonim = the same thing but for father-in-law. PS. i’ve been getting a lot of new followers lately (eeeeee) – thanks for joining me! if you’d like to be added to any taglists, just ask in the notes or in my dms or the ask me a question thingy :) PPS. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the unorthodox jukebox collection (masterlist)

You check your reflection and fidget nervously while you're waiting for your fiancé to get out of the car, making sure the skirt of your dress is laying the way it's supposed to, that the clasp of your necklace hasn't shifted around to be in the front instead of the back the way necklaces do sometimes, checking in the mirrors to make sure your lipstick hasn't smudged. You were supposed to be here earlier – much earlier – but the festivities are already in full swing, due to the unexpected obstacle of trying (and failing) to drag Namjoon out of the house in a timely manner. His parents' anniversary party has been on the books for weeks. He knows that. It's like everything goes in one ear and out the other these days, no matter how often you swear you've reminded him. It's frustrating, really. Namjoon is practically a genius. He can remember the most obscure bits of trivia to insert randomly into casual conversation and quote long passages of literature verbatim – yet he can never seem to remember where he's supposed to be or when he's supposed to be there. His best friend Jin keeps making cracks about how he’ll probably be so immersed in whatever it is he’s doing beforehand that he’ll end up being late to his own wedding – which would be funny if it weren’t one of your exact fears. Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths, you tell yourself, exhaling, envisioning all of your irritation drifting away like dandelion fluff.

"You almost forgot this." Namjoon hands you a carefully wrapped box as he gets out of the car. He looks you up and down and smiles. Damn that smile. It's almost enough to erase all of the morning's frustrations. "Gosh, you're beautiful. Have I ever told you that?"

"You may have mentioned it a time or two," you say, tilting your head with a sly smile. "You're not so bad yourself." You reach up to straighten his collar. "That’s a nice suit. Dressing to impress?" Your fiancé always looks ten times better in a blazer, as opposed to his more relaxed everyday style, despite him always complaining of being too hot in suits.

He glances down sheepishly. "Ah, you know. Just threw on the first thing in my closet."

"I like it. Did your girlfriend buy it for you?"

"My fiancée picked it out, actually. Her taste is very discerning.” Namjoon chuckles, giving you a quick flash of that adorable dimple in his left cheek. "She chose me out of all people when she’s so amazing she could have had anyone.” He leans in and drops a kiss on your forehead. "Kind. Intelligent. Great kisser. Too wonderful for words. I can't even hold a candle to her."

“Sappy.” You give his lapel a tug. “Come on. We’re already late.”

“Hey, it doesn’t matter when you come, you’re never late for a party.”

“Says the man who’s late to every party.”

The atmosphere inside is lively, filled with party chatter and the sound of music playing from somewhere. “Ah, y/n, Joonie, you’re here!” exclaims Namjoon’s mother, pushing her way through the crowd to wrap you tightly in a hug. “Welcome! It’s about time.”

“We were beginning to wonder,” adds Mr. Kim, “but then we remembered who you were dealing with here.” He pats Namjoon on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Be careful, son, or y/n might decide she’s tired of putting up with you before you’re even married.”

“I’m…working on it,” mutters Namjoon, rubbing the back of his neck.

Looking for a way to change the subject, you remember the box you’re holding. “Abeonim, eomeonim, this is for you.” You hold it out to them. “Happy anniversary.”

Your mother-in-law takes it from you and pulls you into another hug. “Oh, y/n, thank you! How lovely! You shouldn’t have.” She cuts a knowing glance at Namjoon. “Joonie, why did it take you so long to ask this one to marry you? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“I have no idea,” sighs Namjoon.

“Anyhow, you two enjoy the party,” she continues. “There’ll be toasts later, so stick around.” Your mother-in-law winks and disappears with her husband.

You peer around at your fiancé's face. He looks a touch dazed. “You okay?”

“Oh…yeah,” he says. “I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting all that as soon as we walked in. Well…shall we?” Namjoon motions in the general direction of the party.

“Absolutely.” You loop your arm through your fiancé's and look up at him, as the pair of you weave through the mass of party guests. "Do you think they'll like it?”

“Hm?” says Namjoon absently. “Like what?”

“The present, Joon. The one you handed me not ten minutes ago?”

Realization appears on his face. “Oh, sure. Definitely.”

You poke him in the arm. “You don't even remember what we got them, do you?”

“Of course I do. We got them, that, uh, thing. For the kitchen. It’s a kitchen thing. Right?”

“No.” You sigh. “It’s a vase. For decoration. Namjoon, you were sitting right next to me when I ordered it. And you helped me pick it out. How could you have already forgotten what it was?”

“Because that was like a month ago, and you know I can’t remember anything unless I’m reminded about it a million times? And if it’s remotely breakable, like I know most vases are, you wouldn’t let me anywhere near it anyway.” He leans over to plant a kiss on your cheek, before you can open your mouth to chide him. “They’ll love it, y/n. I know they will. My parents adore you. You could gift-wrap a rock and they’d love it because it’s from you. Me, on the other hand…" Namjoon makes a tsking noise with his tongue. “It'd just be a rock in a poorly-wrapped box if it came from me. You know, I’m getting the feeling they might like their future daughter-in-law better than their own son.”

“Of course they like you.” You reach up, patting him on the chest. “I mean, how could they not? You’re their pride and joy, Doctor Kim.”

“It’s still just Professor Kim for now,” he corrects you gently, though he looks amused. “I won’t be finished with my dissertation for another year, and I still have to defend it before anyone can call me Doctor.”

"Even so. You're already Dr. Kim in my eyes."

He smiles and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but gets interrupted by another party guest approaching. The interloper is one of Namjoon’s aunts, who can’t stop gushing over the two of you. “You make such an adorable couple, it would have been such a shame if one of you couldn’t make it,” she exclaims warmly, beaming from ear to ear. “When’s the big day again?”

“Second week of May,” you answer, glancing bashfully at Namjoon, who squeezes your hand and smiles.

“Oh, not long now! It’ll be here before you know it.” She pats Namjoon’s arm with a knowing smile. “You’d better behave yourself until then, Joonie.”

The faintest hint of a blush finds its way onto his cheeks. “I always do, Auntie.”

“Tch! I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Namjoon sighs as she disappears back into the crowd. “What a piece of work.”

“She’s just happy for us.”

“I know. Everyone is. Of course I am too. But I haven’t heard the end of it from any of them since they met you. It’s all, ‘don’t let this one get away,’ and ‘behave yourself, Joonie.’ As if they think I’m going to scare you away months before I finally get to marry you.” He leans over, his voice a low whisper in your ear. “If they only knew what we get up to when no one else is around. I wonder if they'd still be telling me to behave myself.”

“We’re in public,” you whisper back, cheeks burning. “Maybe you should listen to them.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” His hand drifts to rest on your ass, giving it a small pinch. “You know I can’t help myself around you. And everyone knows you drive me crazy.”

Now your ears are burning too. “Well, try.” You gently move his hand and give him a pointed look. “Please? Your parents are right there.” You look pointedly in the direction you last saw them.

“Y/n, they’re not even looking at us. Nobody is. And you can’t seriously think everyone expects us not to touch each other just because—” Namjoon starts, but stops at your slight frown. “All right, fine. I will attempt to contain myself if it bothers you that much.” If you’re not mistaken you’d say he almost looks wounded. “You do realize we will have to kiss each other at the wedding, right? In front of people? We could do a lot worse than a few public displays here and there.”

“Yeah, well, let’s test that theory another time.” Your voice comes out harder than you mean for it to.

“Okay. Duly noted.” His tone is clipped. “Am I allowed to hold your hand, at least? Or is that off-limits too?”

“If that’s the way you feel about it, then maybe you just shouldn’t hold it at all.” You pull it away, letting out a frustrated huff. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I’m just nervous, that’s all. You know I get uncomfortable around lots of people. Even if they are lots of people who know and love you, because they’re people I haven’t met yet.”

“Yes. I get that.” Namjoon sighs. “But you got so touchy all of a sudden, and when have we ever been shy about that kind of thing?”

“Never,” you murmur.

“Exactly. I just have to wonder if everything’s okay, that’s all.” He takes both of your hands, his large ones nearly covering yours. “Everything is okay, right? I know I’ve been busy lately. We both have. That’s no excuse, but—”

“No, everything’s fine.” You shake your head, despite feeling like it’s the opposite. “Forgive me. I don’t know what my problem is today.”

“It’s okay. I worry about you, that’s all.” Namjoon smiles, but it seems a touch forced. “We should make the rounds, yeah? Say hello to everyone?”

You plaster on a smile to match his. “Yeah. Let's do that.”

His hand stays firmly tucked in his pocket the whole time, except for the few times it brushes against yours, which makes him pull it away as if he’s been shocked. You find yourself missing all of his little touches: a hand on your waist, on the small of your back, your neck, your shoulder. You’d forgotten just how physical he is with his affection, and you’re beginning to wish you hadn’t snapped at him and just let him touch your ass like he wanted, relatives be damned.

Kyung-min, Namjoon’s sister, eyes the two of you suspiciously the whole time you’re talking to her. “What’s going on with you two?” she demands, mostly addressing Namjoon. “You’re both acting super sketchy. Are you in a fight?” Her gaze turns to you. “Y/n, you can tell me if he’s being a jerk. I can handle him. Seriously.” She glares back at her brother.

“No!” You shoot a glance at him. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine, right, Joon?”

“Right!” He smiles, almost imperceptibly. “Just some…pre-wedding jitters. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” She narrows her eyes. “Sure. Let me know how that works out.”

You sigh softly and watch Namjoon for a moment. He’s watching Kyung-min leave, his one free hand still tucked in his pocket, a drink in the other. You pull gently on his sleeve to get his attention. “Joon, I think I’m going to step outside for a minute. Get some air. It’s a little hot in here.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Uh – do you want me to come with you?”

You shake your head and feign a smile. “No, that’s all right. You stay here. Have fun.”

“Okay, well…I’ll be here.” He raises his glass slightly.

The lanai is deafeningly quiet compared to the clamor inside, giving you a chance to finally sort through your jumbled thoughts. It’s nearly dusk already and you stare distractedly at the sun gradually beginning to sink behind the trees and houses in the distance. “Oh, why did you have to go and snap at him over nothing?” you mutter to yourself. “So what if he touched your ass? You’re about to marry the man. Is this what we do now? Blow up over nothing?” Your hands clench anxiously at the sides of your skirt. Sure, he’s busy. So are you. You could just chalk it all up to the very fact that weddings are just stressful. Exciting – but stressful. But is it really just the stress of planning the wedding that’s getting to you? Or is it something else? We’re happy…aren’t we? Is this how it starts? Does every relationship have the potential to end in anger? Resentment? No matter how happy and well-intentioned things are at the beginning? Am I just doomed to be unlucky in love because of the way I watched my parents’ marriage unravel? You close your eyes tightly and try to calm your breathing the way you did before – deep breaths, in and out – but it doesn’t work this time.

The sliding glass door opens behind you, and you turn around quickly, startled. It’s Namjoon’s mother, looking puzzled. “Y/n? What are you doing sitting out here by yourself? I would have thought you and Namjoon would be attached at the hip this close to the wedding.”

“Eomeonim,” you say, standing up. “Hello. I just…needed some air, that’s all.” And some space, from my fiancé, who loves me. Sure.

She sits down on the bench and motions for you to join her. “What’s wrong?” she says. “Are you not enjoying yourself? Do you not feel well? Should I go find Namjoon?”

“Oh, no.” You wave your hands. “I’m all right. And the party’s lovely. Nothing to bother Namjoon with.”

“Just between us girls, then. What’s the matter?” She narrows her eyes. “Did Namjoon do something?”

"No!" You shake your head. "Nothing like that. It's just…" You draw in a breath. "I see him every day. I talk to him every day. But I feel like we haven’t really spoken in weeks. He might as well be a million miles away, even though he’s right there in front of me." Your fingers twist together in your lap. "He didn’t even remember we were supposed to be here today until I reminded him an hour before we were supposed to leave. After that I snapped at him over such a small thing that I don't even remember why I was so annoyed with him.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” she asks.

You shake your head. “I know he’s got a lot on his plate with his paper, and I thought I could handle some of the wedding stuff on my own so he wouldn’t have to worry about it. I didn’t mind that too much. But there were some things I just wanted his input on, small things that wouldn’t take all that much thought, but no matter what I ask him he just says whatever I pick is fine and that he trusts my judgment. So I started to wonder, does he even care? Would he even notice if I didn’t show up? The wedding is two months away and I'm scared that we aren't on the same page anymore, that things have changed – and that maybe we're not meant to be together." Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being silly. Look at me, making everything about myself.”

"Oh, y/n. Sweetheart." She pats your hand. "It's not silly. Lots of couples feel this way sometimes, especially right before the wedding. Marriage is a big commitment. It's natural to question whether it's the right thing to do. You love him, right?"

You nod. "More than I've ever loved anyone."

"And I know for a fact that Namjoon loves you too, even if he's not very good at showing it sometimes. So just talk to him. Clear the air, and tell him how you're feeling. He'll understand. The two of you will work it out, whatever it is." She tucks you into a soft hug. “I should be getting back to the party. Come and join us whenever you’re feeling better, all right?”

You nod and manage a watery smile. “Thank you for listening, eomeonim. And congratulations again. Thirty years – that’s special.”

“Thank you, dear.” She smiles kindly. “It takes two. You’ll get there someday.”

“Yeah.” You fiddle with your hands, smiling to yourself. “I hope so.”

You wait a few minutes after she’s gone to compose yourself before you go back inside, weaving through the crowds of people to find your fiancé. He’s easy to spot, lingering by himself near the front corner of the main room, hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jacket. He cuts a handsome figure standing there by himself, staring off into space, with the light of golden hour glowing behind him, and you have to stop for a moment, struck suddenly by how good-looking the man you’re going to marry is, on top of being one of the kindest people you’ve ever known. His face brightens noticeably when he sees you approaching. “There you are.” Namjoon smiles softly. “I was starting to wonder if I should come looking for you.”

“Oh, Joonie.” You wrap your arms around him in a quick hug, resting your head against his chest. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

“What’s all this?” He sounds surprised but wraps his arms around you anyway. “Is everything okay?” His brown eyes search the insides of yours, crinkling with concern.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just wondering…would you take a walk with me? The sun is about to set, and I thought we could find a place to watch it. And talk, while we’re at it.”

“That sounds nice.” Namjoon takes your hand, twining his long fingers through yours. “Let’s go, then.” He guides you outside to a small walking trail behind his parents’ house that runs along the side of a creek. “I used to come down here all the time when I was a kid,” he says. “Mom would practically have to drag me inside for dinner when the weather was nice.”

“Aw. I bet you were cute when you were little.”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “I was. But I’m much cuter now.”

“That’s different.”

“I’ll just have to show you the pictures, then. Maybe we can get Mom to dig them out later.” Namjoon’s sleeve brushes against your bare arm. He glances down. “Those shoes aren’t hurting your feet, are they?”

“My feet are fine, but thanks for asking. These shoes are actually pretty comfortable.”

“Really? They don’t look comfortable. I’m happy to carry you. Or the shoes. Either one. I don’t mind.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll live. What about you? You're not too hot, are you?”

“Well, I might boil to death, but it’ll be worth the sacrifice, I think, if my fiancée thinks I look nice.”

You manage a smile, but it doesn’t last for long. You take a deep breath and drop your head. “I’m sorry, Joonie. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.”

“Baby, is that still bothering you?” Namjoon turns to you and lifts your head to look at him. “I told you it was okay.”

“Is it really?” You watch his face. “You looked so hurt when I yanked my hand away that I thought—”

“Yes, y/n. I meant what I said. Of course I was hurt, but it's not worth staying mad over. Not to me, anyway.”

"But…" Your mind goes back to earlier. "You didn't touch me the whole time we were talking to everyone." Your voice almost sounds petulant.

Namjoon laughs suddenly. “I was trying to behave myself, like you asked me to. And do you know how difficult it was for me to keep my hands to myself for that long when the most beautiful woman in the room was standing right next to me the whole time? So difficult. I might actually deserve some kind of compensation for it.”

“How was I supposed to know that?" you demand. "Since when have you ever listened to me when I tell you not to do something?”

He folds you securely into a hug and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Aw. You missed me, didn't you?”

“Maybe a little,” you say, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Thank you for apologizing.” He kisses you on the forehead. “But it's not necessary. Consider the whole thing forgotten, okay?”

“Okay,” you say. “Sorry for being annoying. I was just overthinking, I guess. Being a child of divorce will do that to you.”

“Annoying? No, of course not. No one could possibly find my fiancée annoying.” Namjoon wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you further into his warmth. “Y/n, are you cold? Do you want my jacket?” He sighs. “I should have expected it would still be cool now. I would've reminded you to bring your sweater.”

“No, Joon, it’s fine,” you start, but he’s sliding out of his blazer and draping it over your shoulders before you can finish talking. It still radiates warmth from his body heat and smells overwhelmingly like him. “You’ll look for any excuse to take your clothes off, won’t you? Or is it just that you like seeing me wearing them?”

“Can’t it be both?” He grins playfully. “I really was about to boil to death, you know. Seeing you look all small and cute in my jacket is just a plus.”

“I’m so sure, you goofball.” You reach up to cup his chin.

Namjoon’s face softens and his eyes drop. “I’m sorry, too, by the way.” You look at him quizzically. “If it feels like I haven’t made a lot of time for you lately, then you’re probably right. I haven’t been very present at all, to be honest. We were supposed to be planning this wedding together, but it dawned on me that with the edits on my paper and everything else that’s going on, I let most of the planning fall on you without even asking if you were okay with it. You even asked me if I was going to be okay planning a wedding when I was this far into my thesis, and I swore up and down that it wouldn’t be an issue, but here we are, two months out, and look at that – it’s an issue. You have your own responsibilities outside of the wedding, and it was selfish of me to just expect that you'd take care of it.”

You feel relieved. “How did you know that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about?”

“I’m just that smart. But also incredibly dumb at times, because I have this very bad habit of taking the people I love for granted. Oh," he adds, "and Kyung-min overheard you talking to Mom and came to yell at me, so I put two and two together and figured it out from there.”

"That sounds like your sister."

"She even pinched me. Hard. I’d forgotten how painful her pinches are." Namjoon rubs a hand against the top of his head. "I never meant to upset you, y/n. I just get so lost in my own little world sometimes that I forget that it’s not just mine anymore, because you’re a part of it too. It's our world. You and me. So when it happens again – and I know it will – I’m counting on you to pull me back out and keep me grounded in reality. Okay?"

“I will.” You press a soft kiss to his mouth. He leans in to deepen it further, fingers twisting into the hair at the nape of your neck. His lips become more pressing, more insistent, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. Your lips part gently, allowing him in deeper.

“I’ve missed this," Namjoon sighs between kisses. “I'm going to be happy when life settles down again, you know? Then I can go back to having you all to myself." He looks down at you, his eyes glinting mischievously. “And I can give you all the attention you deserve.”

“Is that so?” you say, as he’s leaving a trail of kisses down the side of your neck. “All the attention?”

“Mhm,” he says, face nearly buried in your shoulder. He pulls away suddenly. “You know, maybe we should just get married already. Are you sure you don't want to just call it all off and elope? Didn’t you say you didn't care how it happened as long as we ended up married at the end?"

"If I’m remembering correctly, I believe that was you." You smile. "We met at a wedding, remember? It's only right that we give someone else the same opportunity.”

“A wedding reception,” he corrects you. “We barely knew those people, and we didn’t even go to the ceremony. We can always just elope and still have a big party.”

“It’s only two more months,” you say, pouting slightly. “I’ve already bought the dress and everything. We're too close to call it off now. Can you imagine how disappointed your mother would be if her only son ran off and got married without telling her? She'd never forgive you."

"You can still wear the dress if we elope. And we'll make it up to her by giving her a couple of grandkids to spoil." Namjoon shrugs. "What do you think? The sooner the better, right? We could get started right away if we go ahead and make it official." His hand sneaks toward your ass.

"I think," you say, catching his rogue hand in yours, "there’ll be plenty of time for that in a year or two, once you finish your dissertation. If I got pregnant, oh, say a month from now—”

“A month?” he protests. “I don’t think it would take me that long to get you pregnant.”

“Hypothetically, Joon.” You poke him in the arm. “Think about it. You’d be signing yourself up for a hormonal pregnant wife during the first half of the school year, and then a screaming baby keeping you awake during the second half. You barely managed planning a wedding. Do you really think you could handle that?”

"Hm, when you put it that way, I guess I can wait a little longer," he muses. "Oh, well. I suppose I just really like the idea of someone that’s a little bit you and a little bit me running around.”

"Someone that has your eyes and nose? And a sweet little smile with a dimple to match?" you tease.

"Or maybe a little carbon copy of my beautiful wife?" Namjoon bumps his forehead against yours, grinning. "I could get used to that." He stands in silence for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Whenever we decide the timing’s right…I think you’ll make an amazing mother.”

“You think so?” You chuckle. “As long as their childhood isn’t anything like mine I’ll be satisfied. I don’t think I ever heard my parents have a conversation that didn’t end in a screaming match.” Your parents did nothing but fight for fifteen years before they got divorced. Your mother, for one, is much happier now that your father is out of the picture, but his seemingly never ending reserve of anger and resentment toward your mother has left you with some pretty deep scars and a fear of commitment that plagued you throughout most of your dating years. Your relationship with your fiancé is the only one that’s ever come close enough to having marriage on the table as a possibility, and it took months of him being patient, slowly working his way past all of the walls you put up for yourself over the years, to even get there.

“It won’t be,” says Namjoon firmly. “It’ll be different. We’re different. You told me your father changed once they got married, right? I’d never do that to you.”

“Everyone changes, especially once they get married. You don’t think you will?”

“Well, of course I’ll change.” He tilts his head to one side pensively. “I think everyone does, at least a little. I just hope it’ll be positive change. For example, the way I love you is never going to change, but how much I love you is just going to continue to grow every day.”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it.” You smile. “I like that. I hope it’s the same for me, too.”

Namjoon smiles down at you and takes your hand. “What we have is special,” he says. “We’re so lucky to have stumbled across each other when we did. I couldn’t have found a more perfect match in anyone else. We’re made for each other. It’s like…the stars and the planets and the whole universe lined up just for us.”

“You believe we were meant to be?”

“Exactly. It was destiny. Fate. It was meant to happen exactly the way it happened. If Jin hadn’t dragged me out of my apartment that weekend, and Ji-eun hadn’t tried to set you up with that guy, who knows where we’d be right now?”

"Probably on another terrible blind date that Ji-eun set up because she swore up and down that this guy is the one and totally perfect for me, and so much better than the last few that she also thought were totally perfect for me."

“And I would probably still be sitting in my apartment buried in papers, with Jin trying to convince me to come out drinking with him again.” Namjoon smiles ruefully and looks down. “Can I say something dumb really quick?”

“Your ‘something dumb’ will probably still end up being something thoughtful and well-said, so by all means, go ahead.”

He hesitates. “I wish I’d known it was going to happen. That I was going to meet you when I did. I spent so much time thinking about my ex, everything I did wrong with her, what I could have done to keep her from breaking up with me, that I didn't even give a second thought to the fact that there might be someone better out there. Someone…like you." Namjoon tilts his head forward, pressing his forehead against yours. “If I’d known it was going to be you,” he continues, “I guess, I don’t know, I would have tried harder. Worked on myself more. Tried to be better. Something like that." He’s still smiling, but there’s regret in his eyes.

“Oh, Joon.” You put your hands on both sides of his cheeks. “You know that’s one of the things I love the most about you? But you’ve always been enough for me. Ever since we met. You were enough for me then, you’re enough for me now, and you always will be. I love you, Kim Namjoon, just the way you are. You’re my perfect fit. Always and forever.”

"Thank you." He takes your hands in his and squeezes. "For trusting me. I know you’ve had a lot happen that would scare anyone away from commitment. I know you worry all the time about ending up just like your parents. But you overcame that. You looked past all of my flaws and agreed to spend forever with me. And every day you’re by my side you get even stronger. That’s a huge deal. I’m grateful for that. And I’m so proud of you.”

“How could I not, when you make it so easy? When you’re so willing and patient with me?” You reach up and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m excited. To be your wife, to start a family with you, anniversaries, old and gray, the whole deal. I don’t want to be like my parents. I want us to be like yours. I want to build a life together. Something that will last forever.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles and hugs you closer. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He kisses the side of your head. “We’re going to make it, y/n. We’re going to go so far together, and I can’t wait. It won’t always be easy, but I’m ready to try.”

“And I’ll be right there next to you.”

“I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “Thank you for saying yes.”

“Thank you for asking,” you whisper back. “It sure took you long enough, didn’t it?”

Namjoon tosses his head back and laughs. “No one’s ever going to let me live that down, are they?”

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

Text

Easy Does It || reader x KSJ

Pairing: reader x KSJ

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: M / R (18+)

Genre: established relationship au, slice of life, fluff (and lots of it), just a dash of smut

Summary: Lazy weekends are always the best, and getting to spend a whole lazy Saturday in bed with your boyfriend only makes them even better. inspired by The Lazy Song by Bruno Mars.

Warnings: copious amounts of cozy cozy fluff; a very handsy Jin; tickle attacks; light smut/sexual content

A/N: this is lowkey corny as heck and I am here for it because I love fluffy boyfriend seokjinnie so much :') I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. this one was a lot of fun. shoutout to @onmypillow-onmytable for beta-ing, banner creds, and whatnot! thx! ly - robyn

T/N: yeobo = a Korean term of endearment meaning honey or darling

P.S. As always I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars, lol, they simply inspire me.

inspo playlist here

Sunlight floods into the room, through the cracks of the curtains, with the promise of another beautiful spring Saturday morning. You blink open your eyes, slowly, adjusting to the brightness, and gradually becoming aware of your boyfriend’s arm, wrapped around your waist. You smile, turning around to look at him. Jin is still asleep, eyes closed, breathing slow and even. He’s even more handsome when he’s asleep, if that’s even possible. You start to slide out from under his arm without waking him up, wanting to run to the bathroom while he’s still out, but as you’re about to get up you feel his grip tugging you back towards him.

“Hmm,” he says sleepily, eyes still closed. “Not yet.”

“I’ll be right back,” you say, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I just need the bathroom. Promise.” You try to leave again, but another tug keeps you from going anywhere, this time pulling you flush against his bare chest. “Come on, Jinnie, let go of me. I really have to go.” You try moving his arms from your waist again, but they won’t budge.

“No!” he says firmly, a smile making its way onto his half-awake face. It’s hard to argue with a face like that, as if it were sculpted by one of the Greats themselves. It’s even harder to argue with the call of nature, though.

“Thirty seconds,” you plead. “All I need is thirty seconds.”

“Okay. Fine.” He releases you. “But I’m holding you to that.”

You hop up quickly, do your thing, and then scurry back to bed. Jin is fully awake now, leaning on one arm. “That was way longer than thirty seconds,” he says accusingly. “What are you going to do to make it up to me?” He’s attempting to look serious, but his still sleep-rumpled hair doesn’t do much for the effect.

“It was not,” you insist, tucking yourself back under the covers. “But, well, if you’re really set on me making it up to you…” You pull him in for a kiss, locking your lips with his plush, full ones, surreptitiously tangling your tongue with his. “How about that? Am I forgiven?”

“Hmm,” Jin says, smirking mischievously. “Not quite. It’s a good start, but I can think of something else you can do for me.” He slides a hand up the side of your thigh, and under the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “You know, that’s one of my favorite shirts,” he says, toying with the hemline. “It looks better on you than me, though.”

“Really? I thought everything looked good on you,” you say teasingly.

“Oh, yeah. Most everything does.” The tips of his fingers brush against your bare stomach, sending tingles up your spine. “I really think this shirt in particular would look much better on the floor. Don’t you agree?”

You can’t help but let out a snort. “You know that’s corny as hell, don’t you? Did you really think that would work on me?”

He chuckles. “Well, after last night I figured it was worth a shot.”

“You…” you say, tapping him on the chin, “are ridiculous. But I’ll allow it, because you’re cute. Just this once, though. Don’t make a habit of it.”

“What a blessing.” He wraps you back in his arms again. “Good morning, by the way. Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could, which is to say, pretty well.” you say, snuggling closer to his chest, still facing toward him. “And you?”

“Of course,” Jin says, leaning in for a kiss. “I always sleep well when I’m next to you.”

“Aw.” You smile, reaching over to touch his cheek. “I’m glad.”

It feels nice to be here, warm and secure in his arms, nothing needing your attention, nowhere to immediately rush off to as soon as you wake up. You wish that you could stay here forever, that every morning could be like this: lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, lost in each other's eyes. You'd never really thought about contentment before, what it would look like for you - but this must be it. Happiness.

"What are you thinking about, yeobo?" Jin's voice enters your thoughts, gentle breaths brushing your ear. "You’re all quiet now."

"Nothing." You tuck your chin. "I just…I'm glad to be here. With you, in this moment. You make me happy.” A warm blush crawls into your cheeks. “Oh, I’m just being sappy now. Forget I said anything.”

He tilts your face back up to look at him. “You make me happy too, y/n. All the time.” He plants a kiss on your nose. “What do you say we continue making each other happy, and pick up where we left off last night?” He grins conspiratorially and moves to dive-bomb the crook of your neck with fluttering kisses.

“Stop.” You giggle, nudging him away gently. “Don't you think about anything other than sex?"

"Occasionally," Jin muses. "It's not easy when I'm with you." He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, allowing his hand to linger near your face. Your stomach picks that moment to grumble loudly. "Hungry?" he teases.

"Some of us do have to eat actual food sometimes, you know." You put your hands under your chin, and muster up your cutest facial expression. "Please, Chef Jin. Will you make your beloved y/n breakfast?"

“Ah!” He groans. “You know I can’t say no when you make that face. So what am I making for my beloved y/n?”

“Mmm,” you hum, biting your lower lip. “French toast? With the strawberries I bought the other day. And coffee. That’d be nice.”

"You have a five-star restaurant chef completely at your disposal, and all you want is French toast and coffee?"

You shrug. “What can I say? I’m a simple girl.”

Jin laughs. “Okay. Coming right up. Don't move an inch. I'll be right back.” He disentangles himself from the covers, pulls a shirt over his head, and disappears, followed shortly by the aroma of cinnamon and coffee wafting up the stairs. You inhale deeply, the pleasant smell and distant sound of Jin moving around in the kitchen slowly lulling you back into a hazy slumber.

The smell of toast and coffee seems to get even closer, and you open your eyes to your handsome boyfriend, standing there like an angel with the fruits of his labor, arranged neatly on a tray. He cocks his head to one side, wearing an amused smile. “I think you might be the only person I know who can fall asleep when she’s supposedly starving.”

“I’m an excellent multitasker. Plus the food comes faster if I’m not awake while it’s being prepared.” You smile, stretching as you sit up. “I hope that’s for me.”

“Well, I suppose I could share.” He sets the tray down on the bed and sits, handing you your favorite mug. “French toast with strawberry compote, and coffee, as requested.”

“You're a prince,” you say. “An absolute prince.” You drape your arm around the back of his neck to pull him closer, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. His forehead bumps gently against yours.

“So I've been told,” he says, dropping a kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“Oh? By who?” you demand, narrowing your eyes.

“My mom? She used to call me her little moon prince when I was a kid." Jin smirks. "Y/n, don't tell me you're jealous of my mom.”

“I’m not jealous,” you pout.

"You are! Don't worry. I think it's cute." He pats your head. “Come on, go ahead and eat or it'll get cold.” Jin nudges the tray toward you. Still sulking, you pick up your fork to dig into the impeccably plated French toast. “Well?” He looks at you expectantly as you take the first bite. “What do we think? Best you’ve ever had, or what?”

“Hmm,” you hesitate. “It’s…okay.”

“Just okay? I’m hurt.” He throws a hand across his heart as if he’s deeply wounded. “See if I ever make you breakfast in bed again.”

“Only kidding. It’s perfect, as usual.” You fork up another bite and hold it out to him. “Here, try it for yourself.”

“Hah!” he snorts. “You think I don’t know my own cooking tastes amazing?” He snares the bite off your fork. “Of course it’s perfect.”

“Thought you might like a refresher.” You cut yourself another piece.

“I could use another one.” Jin looks at you pointedly, so you hold out the fork again. He ignores the fork in your hand and plants a sloppy kiss on the side of your face.

“Hey! What was that for?” you ask.

“You had strawberry on your face.” He smirks. “And can I just say it tasted extra-sweet on you?”

You laugh. “I suppose you can, you big goof.”

“Aish! So rude!” he complains playfully. “I’m only ever good to you, and what do I get in return? Nothing but attitude.”

“Aw, I know,” you say, patting both of his cheeks. “You’re so good to me, Jinnie. And I appreciate every bit of it.” You take turns feeding each other bites of toast, leaning comfortably against Jin’s broad chest. “So what are we going to do today?” you ask, sipping the final dregs of your coffee.

“Well, it’s Saturday. I don’t have anywhere to be, and I’m assuming you don’t either,” he muses. “I’m happy to do whatever you want to do.”

“I like the sound of that.” You glance up at him. “It’s a nice day. We could go for a walk, or a bike ride.”

Jin groans. “You’ve been talking to Namjoon, haven’t you? Remind me to pay closer attention to who you’re spending time with.”

“But it’s so pretty outside.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s the first Saturday I’ve had off in a while. I don’t even want to think about leaving the house. Even if it’s just for a walk.”

“What happened to whatever I want to do, hm?”

“I’ll do anything else you want, but as a matter of principle I refuse to do anything physical unless I have to.” He cocks one eyebrow mischievously. “Although I could be convinced if it means getting physical with you.” Jin wraps his arm tighter around your waist, his hand drifting toward the hem of your shirt again. “Are you planning on wearing this shirt all day?”

“No, why do you ask?” You narrow your eyes in an attempt to look serious.

“Well, maybe I could help with its removal.” He smirks. “I’m always happy to assist, if you're finding it difficult."

You toss your head back with a chuckle. “Not this again.”

“You didn’t say no,” he teases, and grabs at the hem of the shirt, purposely brushing past your most ticklish spot, which sends you into peals of laughter.

“No fair!” you giggle, gasping for breath. “You know how ticklish I am!” Your arms flail around uncontrollably in an unsuccessful attempt to evade Jin’s attacks, as his nimble fingers seem to find only your most ticklish spots. Unfortunately, one of your hands comes into solid contact with his nose.

“Yah!” he exclaims. “So we're playing dirty now?”

You turn to him, attempting to stifle your laughter. “Aw, I’m sorry, Jinnie. But that’s what you get for poking me in the side.” You rise up on your knees to peck the tip of his nose. “All better?”

“Okay,” he relents, his indignant expression dissipating. “You’re forgiven.”

You snuggle back up to him, and he lets his arm wrap around your waist again. "Well, we've got a whole day in front of us, nothing to do and nowhere to be," you muse, clicking your tongue. "What do you think we should do with this rare occasion?"

"Can I make a suggestion?" Jin asks. You look up at him. "This might be crazy, but…what if we just don't do anything? What if we just stay here, in bed, all day? Clothing optional, of course." He pinches your bare thigh lightly and smirks.

"Oh, of course," you say, trying to hide your smile.

He continues: "We stay in bed all day, only leave for snacks, and you know, other necessities. Then maybe we make something delicious for dinner, once again clothing optional. Or not, though if we order delivery at least one of us will have to put clothes on. What do you think?"

"I don't know, that is kind of crazy," you say. "I've never spent a whole day in bed before. My mom would always yell at me if I slept past ten." Growing up the only time it was considered acceptable to stay in bed all day was if you were sick.

"There's a first time for everything."

"And what am I supposed to say when people at work ask me what I did this weekend, hm?" Your coworkers are usually nice, if not invariably nosy when it comes to everyone's supposed weekend adventures during your Monday morning coffee break.

"Absolutely nothing?" he says. "They don't need to know. Or you can just tell them you spent the weekend having loud, raucous sex with your boyfriend. Your choice."

“You know if I did that no one would be able to look me in the eye ever again.”

“So?” he says, his arm tightening around your waist. “That means I’ll be the only one who can look at you.” He presses a kiss to the side of your forehead.

“Oh my God." You chuckle. "Am I really about to spend a whole day in bed doing nothing?"

"No one said we had to do nothing," he says, grinning devilishly. "There's plenty we can do without leaving this bed."

"Oh yeah?" you say, with a coy smile. "Why don't you come over here and show me?"

———

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts series #bts smut #bts #bts jin #bts seokjin #reader x jin #reader x kim seokjin #jin smut #jin fluff #jin fanfiction #mrworldwideshoulders

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

Text

Bang Bang || reader x myg

Pairing: reader x MYG (except not really); briefly feat. JK and Hobi Word count: 4.8k Rating: rated M / R Genre: angst, breakup/cheating au Summary: He loved you - he would have done anything for you - but you took advantage of that and used him for your own benefit. He wonders if you ever cared for him at all, or if it was all just a game. Inspired by Grenade - Bruno Mars. Warnings: very angsty, strong language, alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating/infidelity, implications of abuse/neglect, yoongi has mommy issues :/ A/N: gaaaaaah why did this one take me so long to write T_T hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing! as always beta’d and bannered by the lovely @onmypillow-onmytable. thx! ly - robyn P.S. As always I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars, lol, they simply inspire me.

inspo playlist here

this is the way the world ends not with a bang but with a whimper

The bottle in front of him is nearly empty. There's a dull throbbing behind his eyes, but he doesn't notice it, not really. He's too numb to notice, too numb to care. He thought he wanted you gone, thought having you out of his life would solve everything, but now, in the quiet darkness of his solitude, he's left alone with only his thoughts, his guilt, his regret – and it feels like it’s only made things worse. Everything he's done, all coming back to haunt him, and he wishes there were something to distract him from the last words you said to him banging aimlessly around his head, slamming into the sides of his brain with enough force to make him grit his teeth.

Thief. Liar. Coward.

Over the years he’d been conditioned to take the insults, from everyone at school who called him trash, the teachers who told him every day how stupid he was, his mother, who always told him he would never amount to much of anything, just like his father. He stopped listening to them after a while, allowing it all to bounce off the shell he’d built around himself. He’d learned then, that he was alone. Nobody was on his side. Crying did nothing. And people’s words couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t care what they thought.

But yours could. Because, for once, he cared what someone thought of him. And worst of all: there was nothing inaccurate about them. He knew, deep down, that he was a fraud and a coward. He knew, but had always tried to bury those feelings.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Maybe it had started, as it does for many, when he was a child. A deadbeat father who had left not long after he had been born, a neglectful mother who couldn't be bothered to do anything more than throw a few won at him for cup ramen every so often. Certainly he could place the blame on them. But no, that would be too easy, to say that his misfortunes had all begun with his parents, or lack thereof. It had begun with him, as an act of survival. A means to an end. He'd worked his way up from pickpocketing to cat burglary, stealing small – but expensive – things from rich people who didn't really need them: jewelry, antiques, small works of art that were easily smuggled out under the cover of darkness. He was good at getting past security systems, good at not getting caught, good at justifying his actions to himself. He was finally good at something for once in his life, something that made people - albeit the wrong kind of people - take notice of him.

As a rule, he doesn't trust easily. Never has. Other than himself, there have been only a few in his life that he’s trusted completely without it coming back to bite him in the ass. He’s never trusted anyone the way he trusted you, not even his best friend. Only you. You, who came into his life as suddenly as a summer rainstorm, as stealthily as a thief in the night. You, who broke down every wall he’d ever built for himself, saw the parts of him he never let anyone see, not even the few friends he had. He’d allowed you into his heart, his home, his bed – allowed you to invade every aspect of his life. For the first time in his life, he could honestly say that he loved someone. He loved you. After going it alone for so long, he was only too happy to finally allow someone inside, someone for whom he would have done anything – and thought she would do the same. Why couldn’t he see he was wrong? And worst of all, why had he believed it when you told him you loved him? Was he so desperate to love and be loved that he’d stopped thinking clearly? Had he lost his mind?

He slams the last of the whiskey and flings the bottle across the room. It shatters into pieces as it hits the wall. “Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, dragging himself to his feet, stumbling over the corner of the settee in the dark, on the hunt for something, anything that will put it out of his head. He can’t remember how much he’s had to drink, but none of it seems to help. None of it gets rid of the pain or makes it hurt even a little less. None of it blurs the memory of your face when you told him you never loved him. That requires something much stronger, something he can't get his hands on tonight.

“You thought I loved you?” you scoffed. “Of course you did. Pathetic. I could never love someone as pathetic as you. How could anyone? Not even your parents could."

You were right, he supposed. How could he, at 29, still be so pathetic, so naïve, to believe he deserved to be loved by anyone, let alone you? Especially after the life he'd lived so far. He had done awful things, things that couldn't be forgiven: stolen, lied, cheated. That was all he was: just a lonely, pathetic little boy, the way he’d always been, forever destined to wind up abandoned and alone. Why had he even tried to fight it when he knew it might end this way?

How quickly it had all changed. How quickly you had changed, when he’d confronted you. It had only been this afternoon that he’d found you out, a matter of hours, though now it felt like it had been several years since Jungkook had entered his office. Jungkook was his second in command at Black Swan Consulting, the private investigations and security firm he'd established on his own a few years ago. Founded on dirty money, some might say, the money he'd made off contract robberies and fencing stolen goods, and a knowledge of private security protocols only a thief would have, but no one had caught on yet, and they never would. Any traces of its humble origins were gone now, replaced by a sleek, modern office space, and an impressive list of clientele running the gamut from gangsters to some of the city’s most notable chaebols. He’d poured his blood, sweat, and tears into this business, and become a success in his own right, far richer than his past self ever could have imagined. He finally had something he could be proud of, had finally proved everyone who had tried to tell him he was nothing, wrong.

"It's y/n,” Jungkook said, handing him a thick folder. “I don't trust her, Yoongi. You need to cut her loose before it’s too late, or you could lose everything.”

He debated how to respond, whether he should throw Jungkook out of his office, whether he should even entertain the idea of his accusations. Jungkook doesn’t like you. He never has, right from the beginning, and the feeling is mutual. Yoongi has already been lambasted by you on several occasions for placing his trust in someone so young, so naïve, inexperienced, and supposedly over-emotional. None of that has ever mattered to him. What Jungkook lacks in experience he makes up for in other areas: his willingness to learn, for one, and more importantly, his loyalty. So what if he’s young? He’s sharp. But you’ve never been able to move past his faults the way Yoongi has.

“He’s been out to get me from the start, Yoongs,” you’d say if you were here. “He’s jealous of us. What we have. Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

On the other hand, Yoongi had always wondered if maybe there was something to his colleague’s mistrust of you. This line of work is full of frauds and liars, shady characters and con artists, but Jungkook is not one of them, and for someone in this business he’s surprisingly trusting of most people, which was how he’d gotten himself into that mess with his last job, trusting that the low-level gangster he was working for would actually let him go once he’d paid off his dead father’s gambling debt. For someone like him to not trust you is a big red flag. One he should have taken notice of already, but was willing to set aside because he loved you. Jungkook still thinks he owes him for getting him out of his situation with the gangster and hiring him at Black Swan. He’s unwaveringly loyal. That alone is enough to indicate that he’s telling the truth. Jungkook doesn’t owe him anything, but Yoongi owes it to him to at least hear him out. He flips open the folder.

Even years of being in this business doesn’t prepare him for what’s in the file. The bank transfers from his account every month, gradually increasing to thousands, over the past year that he’s never noticed, routed to your own personal accounts. Text conversations between you and other men from a burner phone, telephoto photographs of you wrapped around them in the dark, head tossed back in pleasure. The same way you do with him when you’re alone together. Multiple different men, never appearing more than once or twice, though one in particular features prominently in your dealings, the photos dating all the way back to when he’d first met you. Credit card records for hotel stays, purchases at luxury shops. You’ve been spending his money on your sidepieces. Not only that…you’d been taking for yourself too.

Yoongi stood up and stormed out of his office, taking the folder with him. “Hyung?” Jungkook followed after him quickly. “I know you’re upset, but don’t you think you should take some time to process before you go talk to her?”

“Fuck no,” he snapped, jamming his finger repeatedly into the elevator call button. “I’m not letting her get away with this a second longer than she already has. She’s going to get what she deserves if it’s the last thing I do.” The elevator doors finally opened after what seemed like forever.

Jungkook put out an arm to stop him from getting in. “Yoongi…what are you going to do?”

“Why does it matter to you? Get out of my way.” The younger man didn’t budge. Yoongi looked at the arm in front of him and then up to the face attached to it, narrowing his eyes. “Move, Jungkook. That’s an order.”

“I can’t. Not until you promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”

Yoongi let out a bitter chuckle. “I thought you didn’t like y/n. Now you’re concerned about what I might do to her?”

“I don’t really care what happens to her,” said Jungkook. “As far as I’m concerned she can rot in hell. But just remember, no matter how it goes down, she’s not worth screwing up your life. Be careful.”

“Okay,” Yoongi said finally. “I won’t do anything reckless. Now move.” He pushed past Jungkook into the waiting elevator car, and fires off a text to you as the elevator descends.

My place. Now. We need to talk.

He waited for you, standing at the floor to ceiling windows in the dining room, considering what he would say to you. What was there to say? Do you have anything to say for yourself? How could you? I thought you loved me. Was I ever the only one? Wasn’t I enough?

There was a beeping at the door as you punched in the code, followed by the sound of the door opening. “Babe? I’m here. What’s so important that you had to talk to me right now?”

“In here,” he called back. Your footsteps got closer, then stopped somewhere behind him. “So which one was it this time?” He didn’t turn around.

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

“I don’t need to tell you,” he snapped. “You know damn well what it means. Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Are you accusing me of cheating on you?” You closed the gap between you and wrapped yourself around his arm. “Yoongs, I would never. I love you. Don’t you believe me?”

The nickname, the one he only seemed to tolerate from you, made him feel sick to his stomach. “No.” He yanked his arm from your grasp. “I don’t.” He turned, finally meeting your gaze: wide-eyed, confused, hurt – and for a second he thought maybe you were telling him the truth right now, that you did love him, that you’d never do anything to hurt him, despite the fact that he’d seen concrete evidence to the contrary. “Y/n, do I look stupid to you? Do I strike you as a complete fucking idiot?”

“Yoongi, I don’t like this. You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“You still haven’t figured it out?” He dropped the folder on the table in front of you. "See for yourself."

Your expression hardened as you paged through the contents of the folder, taking in the photos of you with men that aren't him. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, it’s not? And what exactly does it look like?”

“Fine!” you huffed. “So it’s exactly what it looks like. What do you want from me?”

“Damn it, I want the truth!” he shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “The actual truth, not one of those glib half-truths you’re clearly so good at. Months, y/n. Before we were ever even together. Why did you even bother with me? You say you love me, but this is a pretty shit way of showing it.”

"I don't suppose I could convince you I did it for you." Your voice turned small. Pinched. Icy, like drops of freezing rain. "For us."

"For me?” he seethed. "In what possible world could any of this have been for me? No.” He shook his head. "No fucking way. You did it for you. Not one single bit of this was for me.”

"But it was for you," you protested. "The whole time, it was for you. Those men, they didn’t mean anything to me, but they knew about you. What you’ve done. I had to. I was trying to protect you for once."

"Bullshit," he snapped. "I know how long this has been going on. It has nothing to do with me. And I can protect myself. I don't need you, or anyone else to protect me."

"Oh, there you go again.” You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Big bad Min Yoongi, doesn't need anyone else to take care of him. God, you are just impossible. So pathetically desperate for the tiniest inkling of affection, yet so determined to push anyone and everyone away from you."

“That’s not true!” he bellowed. “I let you inside! I gave you everything! Everything! I gave you my heart, my soul, and this is what I get in return? This is what you do to me? You turn around and stab me in the back?”

“Oh, don’t act like you give a shit now,” you snapped. “You’re never around, anyway. If you’d paid more attention to me maybe it wouldn’t have taken you so long to figure it out. The only reason I stayed with you this long is because of the money. You didn’t think I actually loved you, did you? Pathetic. I don’t know what you expected. It’s not humanly possible for anyone to love you, let alone me. Even your parents hated you.”

He froze. “You bitch,” he snarled. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t—”

“Because I know.” Your voice was dangerously calm and quiet. “About everything. Don’t forget, you’re not the only one who knows what you’ve done anymore. You told me, remember? How you got your start. How you made your money.” You came closer to him, placing a hand on his chest. Yoongi slapped it away. “You do anything to me, and I’ll make sure all of Korea knows your past. That legitimate business you built from the ground up? All of those billionaire clients? Gone. Do you really think anyone will want to entrust the security of their home and valuables to a former criminal? So think long and hard about how you want to handle this.”

He knew how he wanted to handle this. He wanted you gone. Permanently. But if he does anything like that to you, he knows it makes him no better than the man he used to be in the past, the man he swore he’d never be again. “Get out,” he said, devoid of emotion. “Go find someone else to play your games with, because I’m done. I won’t come looking for you, as long as you leave me alone. But if you come near me again, I won’t be so kind.” I might kill you if I see you again, he thought. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t capable of it. He knew that much, at least.

“A wise choice.” You stretched up to whisper in his ear, lips brushing against the edge. "Don’t forget, Yoongi. There’s someone out there who knows what you’ve done. You’re a thief, a liar, and a coward, and no one will ever be able to love you, because you’re not capable of loving or being loved. You’ll die alone without me.”

He shoved you away from him, roughly but not as rough as he would have liked. “Get away from me. And get out of my sight before I say fuck it and call the police anyway.” Yoongi turned away and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'll leave you alone if you do the same. You have my word."

"How do I know you're serious?” You crossed your arms. "How do I know you're not immediately going to send someone after me as soon as I leave?"

"Because, unlike some people, my word actually means something." He looked pointedly at you. "You have nothing to worry about. I might be a criminal but I always keep my promises."

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment. "Fine," you snapped. "I hope the rest of your life is just as miserable as it’s always been. You don't deserve any more than that." You turned to leave.

"Wait," he said brusquely. You face each other again. "Before you go, answer something for me.

"And what's that?" you asked irritably.

"Did you ever have any intention of being exclusive with me? Of ending things with everyone else you were seeing?"

Your face softened briefly, then hardened again. "No," you said without hesitating. "I didn't."

Yoongi couldn’t help but ask his next question. "Why did you say yes, then?" he asks. "When I asked if you wanted to take things to the next level. Why did you say yes if you had no intention of being exclusive?"

"I don't know, okay?" you said. "I just don't know."

He inhaled sharply and turned back to the window. “I never should have wasted my time on you,” he said finally. “Go to hell.”

You left without saying anything more. The clicking of your heels on the tile floor fades, followed by the sound of the door banging shut hard enough to rattle the frames on the wall.

Yoongi let out a breath. "Good riddance," his brain tried to tell him. "I'll be better off without her. She cheated. She lied to me. She stole from me. She doesn’t care. She's a terrible person. A selfish bitch."

His heart, on the other hand, had something else to say. "You're letting her go? Just like that? You idiot. You say she's awful – but aren't you just as bad as she is?"

Aren't you a terrible person too?

Yoongi is out to drink himself into a stupor. The idea of not waking up from it doesn’t scare him so much as the idea of waking up in the morning and having to face himself in the mirror, where he’ll have to admit to himself in the light of day that he was a fool, that he’d been played the whole time, that it was never more than a game to you. And worst of all: he’d done it to himself. He’d convinced himself that everyone who tried to warn him about you was wrong and you couldn’t possibly be as bad as all that. He’d done his own background on you. He knew you. You weren’t hiding anything he didn’t already know about – or so he had thought. He, who had always thought he was so smart, so clever, one step ahead of the rest, had allowed himself to be taken by you and all of your charms. He was not immune to anything, just like everyone else. Love, contrary to what every poetic mind had to say about it, hadn't made him stronger. It had made him soft. Weak. Stupid. That was what happened when you allowed people to get close to you: it presented the universe with more opportunities to hurt you. It was the reason he had so few close personal associates. People would always either end up betraying you or the universe would find some other way to ruin their lives.

He'd spent most of the afternoon scrubbing his apartment of every trace of you, sending bag after bag down the garbage chute. Things you'd left behind, things you'd given him, things he'd planned to give to you. The pieces of a relationship, broken, scattered, on their way to the incinerator. Where they belonged. He'd hesitated only once, over a strip of pictures from a photo booth at a carnival you'd dragged him to, back on your second or third date. Yoongi had been reluctant. He hated taking pictures, didn’t like to smile, didn’t know what to do with himself, but you'd twisted his arm just enough, pulling him in alongside you. He’d become less spontaneous as he’d gotten older, preferring to err more on the side of cautious planning, and he could tell you were disappointed with his awkward posing in the first few pictures. Something about that look of hidden disappointment on your face made him want to do better. So he decided, by the last shot, he would break one of his cardinal rules and kiss you.

Back then he thought it might become some treasured keepsake of your relationship, something to look back fondly upon years later after you’d been married and grown old and gray together. A picture of your first kiss, captured on film, after a series of awkward misfires. Looking at it now, it wasn’t a very good picture. Your eyes were open in surprise, and he seemed to recall he’d missed your lips slightly and landed, off-center, on one side of your mouth. Your expression in the photo made him irritated. Why were you so surprised? And why were your eyes open?

He eventually tore the photo strip into pieces and threw it into one of the trash bags with everything else. “Fucking bullshit,” he muttered. “All of it.” Yoongi wondered if you’d throw away yours, or if you’d even kept it in the first place. He wouldn’t put it past you to have tossed it in the trash that very night after he’d dropped you back at your apartment afterwards.

His place was empty once again, empty of you, your things, everything that reminded him of you, but you were still there. It was strange how integral your presence had become to his apartment. He couldn't shake the feeling that you were still roaming his halls, couldn't drown out the sound of you still whispering in his ears.

You didn't think I loved you, did I? I only stayed with you for the money. You deserve to be miserable. You'll die alone without me.

Your voice became mixed in with his mother's, gradually, until they were indistinguishable from the other.

Useless piece of trash. I wish you had never been born. You're nothing. No one will ever love you. Stop crying. Pathetic. Get out of my sight. I can't stand to look at you.

He sat in the darkened living room, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Voices continue to swirl around his head: yours, his mother's, even Jungkook's, his own, telling him that he was just as awful as you were, that he deserved it for being stupid enough to reveal his darkest secrets to you, until he couldn't take it anymore. That was when he'd started drinking, only hours ago now. Wine, soju, whiskey, whatever he could find, the only remnants empty bottles and broken glass scattered around. Anything to drown out the voices constantly chattering in his head. He'd lost track of just how much he'd had. He didn't care if he drank himself to death, didn't care if he drowned himself along with his sorrows. At least then he wouldn't have to hear you in his ear, because no matter how much he seemed to drink, your voice stayed just as loud as it always had been, even while the others had gradually dissipated and gone mute.

"You never cared," you sneered in his head. "Don't try to act like you do now.”

"That's not true!” he bellowed aloud, pressing his hands to his ears to drown you out. "It's not! I cared. I always cared! I loved you! I loved you, damn it!"

"No you don't. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You say I’m selfish, but you’re selfish too," you said. "You've always been selfish, Min Yoongi."

He bit back a retort, frustrated tears stinging his eyes. He was talking to himself, yelling at a ghost. Even in his drunken state he knew none of it was real, that you were gone and he was alone. Just as he’d always been. Just as he'd always wanted. He was better off that way. Right?

Time moves quickly and then slowly, feeling like hours, hours of your voice vibrating in his head. Yoongi reaches for his phone, fumbling in the dark. He needs to hear someone else’s voice, someone who isn’t you, someone who will keep him from losing his mind arguing with no one. Who can he call? Not Jungkook. Jungkook has no idea the kind of man his boss was before he paid off his debt and offered him legitimate employment. Of course he would tell Yoongi he wasn’t as horrible as all that. He didn’t know any better. There was always his best friend, Jung Hoseok, the one person from his school days that he still spoke to, though it had been weeks since their last conversation, when he’d promised Hoseok he’d finally introduce you to him. How pathetic was it, that the only people he hadn't managed to push out of his life were a singular colleague and his childhood best friend that he never talked to more than a few times a month. A colleague. He didn’t even consider Jungkook a friend. The phone seems to ring forever before there’s an answer.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok sounds surprised. “You never call me. What’s up?”

Yoongi stays silent, attempting to gather his thoughts. Why is he calling, really? In the background he hears a baby crying and then another voice, asking who’s calling so late. Hoseok’s wife. Right. He remembers the wedding vaguely, remembers donning a suit and giving a toast to the happy couple. How could he have forgotten? Hoseok has his own family now, and more important things to worry about than his old friend, who can’t seem to manage to hang onto anything or do anything right. He wouldn’t understand, anyway. Not anymore. Back when they were kids, maybe, when he used to be the only person who didn't think Yoongi was trash and noticed when he wasn’t in school, when Hoseok’s mother always packed him a spare lunch because she was worried that her son’s best friend wasn’t getting enough to eat, but not now. His friend’s life was normal, happy, mundane even, in a way that he could only ever dream of. Just as it always had been. He envies him. How easily good things have always come to him. How fortunate he's been in this life: blessed with kind parents, a good upbringing, a happy marriage with a good woman. Someone who would never treat him the way you had.

“Yoongi?” Hoseok repeats. “Are you there?”

“Never mind,” Yoongi mutters. “Doesn’t matter.” He hangs up. You were right. He was weak. A coward. He couldn’t even tell the one person he trusted most in the world what was on his mind. Something about the silence that hangs in the air afterwards leaves him feeling even lonelier than before. Everyone, excluding him, was moving on with their lives, proceeding as normal, leaving him behind, leaving him to wonder if you were really right, and he was a terrible person, selfish and unworthy of anyone’s love, or just an exactor of terrible judgement. The world still turned, no matter what happened. He’d made his bed, all on his own, and he’d have to lie there until the world stopped turning.

He drifts off to sleep, facedown, without ever coming to a definitive conclusion.

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

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The Way You Look Tonight || reader x KNJ

Pairing: reader x KNJ Word count: 2.5k Rating: M / R Genre: married life au, maybe a little bit of angst, fluff, slice of life Summary: You’re feeling self-conscious about the way you look after years of being married and having kids, so your husband takes it upon himself to reassure you that you’re still the most beautiful woman in his life. Inspired by Just The Way You Are - Bruno Mars (among many similar others). Warnings: don’t get squarshed by the large quantities of fluff; also strong language, discussion of the postpartum body. T/N: aegiya = a Korean term of endearment meaning baby. A/N: I am truly so soft for husband Joon fluff T_T I could write these married life aus alllll day for real. once again beta’d and bannered by my best pal @onmypillow-onmytable :D hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! ly - robyn P.S. As always I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars, lol, they simply inspire me.

inspo playlist here

You stare at yourself in the mirror, sucking your bottom lip in and out. You can’t quite put your finger on why, but this dress doesn’t look right, not even with your doughy stomach crammed into the shaper underneath. Neither did the last one. Or the one before that. Or the first one you tried on, about six dresses ago. Who knew every single cocktail dress you owned looked awful on you? Or that every little black dress in your closet was suddenly so…little? You’re practically falling out of all of them. It’s almost indecent how much cleavage is showing with this one, especially since it’s strapless. You’d forgotten how small they’d used to be before you had kids. This one is tight everywhere else too - really tight - but not so tight that it’s unbearable. It’s not so bad…but it’s just not right. You feel overexposed, like it barely covers anything.

The corners of your eyes prickle and you let out a sigh of frustration. Right. It's probably because you haven’t gone shopping for dresses since before you got pregnant - for the first time. You curse yourself silently for not making time to go shopping before today, but Namjoon had only sprung this cocktail party on you a week in advance, and you had meant to, but there had been one thing or another that had kept you from going, what with being the stay-at-home mom of a four and two year old. Junseok had started on his “getting into everything” phase, while Miyoung, of course, was in the midst of her terrible twos, which you’d barely survived with Junseok the first time around, and per her usual, Miyoung just had to one-up her brother by being even worse. You’d barely had a free moment to yourself since before you’d had kids, and that was probably the reason you hadn’t realized just how much you’d let yourself go in the last year or two. You almost don’t even recognize yourself. The woman in the mirror looks old, worn out, tired - nothing like you. You conclude that she’s not actually you, but a clone, and the younger, prettier version of yourself is out there somewhere, walking around and living her best life. If only that were true.

You glance at the clock. 6:30. You’re supposed to be there by 7, and you haven’t even started your makeup yet, or done anything to your hair. Not that it would matter. Your hair doesn't hold a curl, never has, not even on your wedding day. And not even the thickest concealer could cover up the bags under your eyes, or make you look any less tired than you do now, without really caking it on. The eyeliner will probably get caught in the creases and smudge all over the place, and make you look like you’re still in your emo phase, the lipstick will probably either get on your teeth or wear off, and what the hell, what’s the point anymore? You might as well just not go anywhere when you look this bad. No use in embarrassing the both of you, especially not in front of your husband’s colleagues, and the tenure committee, and whoever else has to lay eyes on you at this thing.

There’s a knock on the door, and you jump at the sudden noise. “Y/n?” It’s Namjoon. “The sitter’s here. Are you going to be ready soon? We should really get going.”

You hesitate, staring at the unattractive stranger in the mirror, and reply, “Um…I think maybe you should just go without me.”

“What?” he says through the door. “Why would I go without you?”

“No reason,” you say. “I, um, just don't feel good all of a sudden."

"Huh?" He sounds confused. "You were fine just a little while ago. Are you sick? What can I do? Do you need anything?"

A time machine, you think, biting the inside of your cheek, so I can go back to when I was pretty. And worthy of being seen in public. "No," you say. "I'm fine. Just go without me, okay?”

"Well, if you're not going then I'm not going either," he says. "It's just a dumb cocktail party. There will be plenty of others. And I shouldn't be going anywhere if you're sick, either. What about the kids? Who’ll take care of you?"

Damn your husband for being so thoughtful. That man has been worrying about you since you started dating, more than you ever even worried about yourself. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Joonie. What do you think I did before I met you? The sitter can watch the kids. This is a big deal; I know how much you want this. You should go. Schmooze. Impress the tenure committee with all those impressive accomplishments of yours."

"I don’t want to schmooze, not without you. I'm terrible at this kind of thing. I need you there to keep me from putting my foot in my mouth. I mean, we used to go to parties all the time. What’s different about this one?" Namjoon pauses. You picture him outside the door, big brain at work, trying to figure out what's going on. "Aegiya…is something wrong?"

"Try everything," you say under your breath. "Nothing's wrong," you add aloud. "I don't feel well. End of story."

"You're acting weird," he says. "I'm coming in." He lets himself into the room before you can grab your bathrobe to cover up, and stops cold when he sees you, standing there, in that stupid strapless dress, jaw falling open. “Y/n…wow. You look…hot. Have I ever told you how much I love you in all black? All white is one thing, but…damn. It really suits you.”

Maybe it's the fact that you've been trying on dresses for the past hour or so with no luck, or the fact that you haven't eaten enough today, or that the exertion of wrangling yourself in and out of all of these dresses has left you overheated and sweaty, but a feeling of anger bubbles up in your chest. “You gotta be kidding me,” you snap and stomp into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. “'Hot?' Are you serious? That’s not fucking funny, Namjoon.” You lean against the counter, arms crossed, on the verge of tears. He has to be joking, you think. That’s ridiculous. No way in hell.

“Wait, what did I do?” he says. “You’re upset…because I said you looked nice?"

“Of course I’m upset, are you blind?” you practically shout.

“No?” He chuckles uneasily. “I’m not blind. I wouldn’t have said it if it weren’t true.” A knock comes on the bathroom door. “Come on, y/n.”

“No!” you snap. “Leave me alone. Just go without me. You’re going to be late.” You let yourself slide down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest and burying your face in your arms.

He knocks again. “I’m not leaving until you open the door and talk to me, y/n. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t help.” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.” Of course he wouldn’t. He still looks the same as he did on the day you met him. It’s like he hasn’t aged at all. It’s not fair.

“Then explain it to me,” he says patiently. “I’m a quick study. Will you please come out? Or let me in? I don’t like talking to you through the door.”

You don’t say anything. How do you explain this? “Okay,” you say, almost inaudibly. “I guess you can come in.” You look up as he opens the door, the visible concern on his face enough to turn the prickles in the corners of your eyes into full-fledged tears. Your face crumples, and before you know it, you’re sobbing.

“Hey. Come here.” Namjoon sits down on the floor next to you and pulls you close, folding you into his warm embrace and letting your tears soak into the front of his charcoal-colored blazer. He presses a kiss to your forehead and touches your chin, coaxing you into looking at him. “Tell me, aegiya. What’s wrong?”

“Everything. Nothing,” you say, hiccuping. “It’s stupid. Really.”

“It can’t be nothing if it’s making you this upset,” he says.

Of course he’s right. You draw in a shaking breath. “Nothing looks right on me!” you wail. “I went through my whole closet before I got to this dress, and I still hate the way it looks. I hate the way everything looks, myself included. My boobs used to be a normal size, and everyone said they’d go back to normal once I stopped breastfeeding, but they haven’t, and they’re still huge, and they don’t fit anywhere, not to mention the stretch marks. Do you remember when I bought this dress?”

“Not really,” he says.

“Before I had Junseok, Joon. When I was still small, and pretty, and everything was the right size, and my stomach didn’t look like it had a watermelon crammed inside of it for nine months. There’s more stretch marks than skin, my arms are flabby, my face looks old and tired, my ass is huge, and nothing fits.” The words spill out, and you’re rambling, not sure if you’re making any sense. “I don’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore, and I hate it. I have this image of myself, and what I used to be and what I am now, and none of it lines up. I used to be pretty and now I’m just a fat, ugly mom, while you still look the same as you always have, and I don’t know how you’re even still attracted to me, if you are, because I’m definitely not much to look at anymore.” Tears run down your face, and you burrow further into his chest.

He rubs a hand up and down your arm. “That’s what’s upsetting you so much?”

You nod, sniffling.

“Well, I’m sorry you’re feeling that way, aegiya. You’re right, I can’t even begin to understand. But let me be the first to tell you that I’m not going anywhere.” He kisses you on the forehead. “It would make me a pretty terrible person and that much less of a man if I left you because I didn't like the way your body changed while you were having my children. Your body is amazing, y/n. That body grew and nurtured two little humans. It took care of them until they were ready to come into the world, and kept them fed and nourished once they did. I can’t do any of that. That body gave me two wonderful gifts I could only ever dream of reciprocating, and it hurts me to see you feeling like this.” He plants another kiss on your cheek. “I’ve never stopped being attracted to you, aegiya. Not once since the day I first laid eyes on you. I know you don’t think so so but you're still the same stunner I fell in love with back then. You're still the beautiful girl I married. You’re not a, what was it, ‘a fat, ugly mom?’ If anything, becoming a mother has only made you even prettier.”

"Bullshit," you mutter, scowling. “Motherhood has made me look like death warmed over, 24/7. I don’t know how you could love that.”

"Y/n, it's not bullshit." He touches his hand to your cheek. "I love every single thing about you. That goofy laugh you hate, the way your whole face crinkles when you smile, the way you sing to the kids when they’re sick, or they can’t sleep, even though you’re way off-key, and yes, each and every individual stretch mark on that beautiful body of yours. I love all of it. So if looks are what you’re worried about, then don’t, because you’re perfect, the way you look right now, and the way you looked yesterday, and the way you looked five years ago.” He wipes at the tears still on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “Does that make you feel any better?”

“Well…no.” Your lower lip trembles. “You don’t really mean that, do you? You’re just saying that to make me feel better. There has to be at least one thing you’d change about me if you could, isn’t there? I know there’s a few things I’d like to change about you, if I had the chance. Your snoring, for one. I definitely don't love that."

“Maybe I would,” he says. “Maybe I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t change the way I feel about you. You’re the person I chose to share my life with. Which means I accept you for you, all of your perceived flaws and supposed blemishes. So no, I wouldn’t change a thing. Those are all the things that make you you. And you are special. To me, and to Miyoung, and Junseok, your friends, your family, and everyone else who has the privilege of having you in their life. You’re a beautiful woman and an amazing mother, and I’m proud to call you my wife.” He strokes your hair. “How about now? Better?”

“I guess so,” you say slowly, your head still resting against his chest. You listen to his heartbeat thumping. “What did I ever do to deserve a husband as kind and as patient as you? You know? How did I get so lucky?”

“You chose me, remember? And I chose you right back.” He smiles gently, wiping away the last few remaining tears. “We’re both pretty lucky, don't you think?”

"The luckiest." You allow a tiny smile to creep onto your face. "I'm sorry for being so insecure."

"You don't ever have to apologize for having feelings,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

"Thank you.” You meet his gaze. “For listening. For being patient with me."

"I'll always be here to listen," he says. "No matter what. And life is a learning curve for all of us. Myself included."

"And thank you for not leaving me," you add.

"I'll never leave you, y/n. Not now, not ever. I promised you for better or for worse, and I plan on keeping that promise," he says.

You reach up and tousle his hair, managing a teary smile. “Me too. I promise.”

Namjoon tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Well, what do you say? Are you still not feeling up to coming out with me? I think we could still make it on time if we hurry, but we don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to." He looks at you, smiling tentatively.

"No, I think I'm okay now. God, I'm probably a mess. All puffy and red." As you're rubbing your eyes, you notice the big wet spot on the front of Namjoon's jacket and part of the white shirt he’s wearing underneath. "Oh, damn. I ruined your jacket, didn't I? You’ll have to change."

"Don't even worry about it, aegiya." He pulls you in for a kiss, plush lips intertwining with yours. "I have plenty of other jackets. But I only have one wife, and she comes first. Always."

––––

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts angst #bts fluff #reader x namjoon #reader x rm #reader x kim namjoon #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #bts au #bts series #bts x you #bts slice of life #bts married life #doo-wops & hooligans #mrworldwideshoulders #robyn writes

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mrworldwideshoulders · 2 years

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Absolute Zero || reader x JHS

Pairing: reader x JHS (kinda sorta not really? you’ll see); feat. Yoongi, Jin, JK, and Taehyung (very briefly) Word count: 5.5k Rating: rated M / R Genre: angst, smut (if you squint), breakup au Summary: Everyone thinks he’s crazy for still being hung up on you after this long, but he can’t stop thinking about the one who got away, spending his nights writing letters he’ll never send and words you’ll never read. Inspired by Talking to the Moon - Bruno Mars. Warnings: very angsty; you might cry a lil bit, strong language probably, implied smut/sexual content, alcohol consumption. A/N: hellooooo I am very excited to share my first fic with you! I love this one so much, like really, so much. It’s one of my favorites and idk if you can tell but I’m really proud of this one. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing, and let me tell you, I really enjoyed writing it. tell me your thoughts in the notes; I'd love to hear em! please be gentle though T_T shoutout to my bestest pal and actual sister @onmypillow-onmytable for this excellent banner and for beta-reading! Thx! ly - robyn P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars, lol, they simply inspire me.

part of the Hooligans collection

inspo playlist here

absolute zero: the lowest temperature that is theoretically possible, at which the motion of particles that constitutes heat would be minimal.

Dear y/n,

I keep asking myself why you left, and nothing I can come up with makes any sense. All I ever did was love you, y/n. What about that was so wrong? I know it wasn’t part of the agreement we had, but I never planned it this way. I couldn’t help my feelings. You have to understand that, y/n. I never wanted to push you away. I wanted to keep you close, and I couldn’t even do that.

I can’t stop myself from thinking about you every day. Wondering where you are. Where you went. What you’re doing. Your number doesn’t work. Your email’s been deactivated. It’s almost as if you’ve dropped off the face of the planet, y/n. Is that where you are? Outer space? You might as well be, as far as I know. I hope you’re doing all right, wherever you are. I don’t think I could live knowing something terrible happened to you. Maybe not knowing anything is better. Take care of yourself, y/n. Until we meet again.

Love always,

Hoseok

Hoseok blinks awake, startled out of a fitful sleep by some unconscious sensation of falling in a dream, stopping suddenly before he can hit the ground. They say dreams where you’re falling always stop before you can hit the ground, something about how if you die in a dream you die in real life too. He wishes the dream wouldn’t have stopped, wondering what it feels like to slam into hard ground, to shatter into a million little pieces, not knowing if someone will come along to sweep him up into a dustpan and piece him back together. He’s not familiar with the sensation. He only knows falling, perpetually, waiting in suspended animation, never reaching the ground. He reaches out a hand, only to find the spot next to him desolate and empty, illuminated in cold, bluish moonlight. The memories come rushing back to him all at once: the same vacant space where you used to sleep, of waking up alone, the same harsh moonlight spotlighting his solitude, a pale white envelope on the pillow next to him. His name, written on the outside in your delicate hand.

Hoseok, you wrote,

I know about the ring, and I guess I can’t say I’m surprised. You never even had to say it. It’s written all over your face every time I look at you: you love me. And you want to marry me. The wedding, the kids, the happily ever after, you want it all. You want too much from me, Hoseok, and I can’t give it to you. Our arrangement was simple: no feelings, no strings, no expectations. It was never supposed to go this far. I let my guard down too much, and I've already let you have too much of me. It was cruel of me to do that. I should have turned you down from the moment you asked me to dance because I knew in my heart I was only ever going to break yours: your sweet, gentle, loving heart. That moment, when you smiled at me and told me your name - that was it. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t hold myself back.

I know it makes me a coward to do this while you’re asleep, but I can’t bear to see your face when I tell you I’m leaving, Hoseok. Consider this my first and last act of love. Please don’t come looking for me, because you won’t be able to find me. We won't meet again. You’re a good man, and you deserve someone who wants the same things as you, someone who can make you happy. That can never be me, and I’m sorry. I hope you find her one day. She'll be a lucky girl, whoever she is, to have landed a man like you. Treat her well. I know you will. I hope she does the same for you.

Do you know what the saddest part of this is? I think I really could love you someday.

Sweet dreams, Hobi.

-Y/n

He drags himself to his feet and crosses the room to the dresser, where he pulls out a small black velvet box and flicks it open. The platinum-diamond setting, costing a little more than three months’ worth of his paycheck, glitters in the moonlight with an unearthly sort of beauty. He’d never even gotten the chance to give it to you, only ever showing it to his best friend after he’d bought it. “Do you think she’ll like it?” he’d asked.

“Well, I mean, I’d say yes if you proposed to me with this,” Yoongi had said. “But…are you sure about this? Didn’t she tell you she didn’t want any hangups?”

Hoseok closes the box with a snap and drops it back into the drawer. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to get rid of it, thinking somehow he might need it again when you finally return. He heads out onto the balcony, pen and paper in tow. The air is quiet, the world below still tucked under the dark covers of somewhere just after midnight, when the full moon is at its brightest.

Dear y/n,

It’s a full moon tonight. I never thought about them before I met you, they were all just something that happened in the background. You always reminded me when they were supposed to happen, and you told me they all meant something different depending on the month. I think it was the cold moon when you left. It’s May now, that’s the flower moon. It doesn't really matter anyway. Every full moon feels cold to me now. It’s stuff like that I can’t forget, you and the names of those moons. Can you see the moon from where you are? Is your moon the same as mine? Nights like these are when I miss you the most, y/n, when the full moon rises and you’re not here in my arms. It’s starting to get warmer now, but everything still feels cold without you. You said you thought you could love me one day, y/n. Why didn’t you stay and find out? I just can’t wrap my head around it. I have all of these questions and I don't know if I'll ever find answers. I wish you had stayed, at least long enough to explain it to me.

Take care of yourself, y/n. Until we meet again.

Love always,

Hoseok

He meets up with his best friend for lunch the next day, though he doesn’t do much except pick at his food. Yoongi watches him intently, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Aish, just leave it if you’re not going to eat it,” he says, frowning.

Hoseok sets down his chopsticks and shifts his gaze to stare out the window. Food doesn’t hold much appeal for him anymore, not since you left. Nothing does, really.

“What do you think about going on a blind date?” says Yoongi. “I was talking to one of the waitresses at that new club I was spinning at last week. She’s pretty, seems nice. Seems like you two have a lot in common. I think you might hit it off. I’ll give her your number if you want, next time I’m over there.”

The idea of meeting someone new is almost too much to consider. How could he even think about going out with someone else when you might come back any day now? Hoseok shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Thanks, but…I can’t right now.”

Yoongi sighs and goes silent for a moment. “It’s been six months since she left. You can’t go on like this forever. It’s delusional."

He shrugs, smiling sadly. “Not yet.”

His mother is there when he gets home, the only person other than you and his best friend who knows his apartment code. She comes by almost every other weekend to fill up his refrigerator with leftovers and side dishes, fearing he doesn’t know how to eat properly when she’s not there to cook for him. She doesn't like any of it: that he lives alone, that she can't always be there to look after him, that he took a job here after college instead of moving back home. “Hoseok, I was noticing…” she starts, after they’ve greeted each other. “These are the same dishes I brought you last time. You haven’t eaten them yet?” She gestures at the dishes on the top shelf of the fridge.

“No,” he says. “Just haven’t gotten to them, that’s all.” He doesn’t like to worry her. How could he say that not even her cooking does anything for his lack of appetite? She wouldn’t understand. She never even knew you existed. All she knows is that she has a son who won’t eat her cooking.

"But you’re so thin. Are you sure you're eating properly?" His mother reaches up to touch his face, pinching his cheek. "You look like you’re wasting away.”

“Of course I have,” he deflects. “I’m fine.”

She eyes him skeptically. “Really? You seem so depressed these days. And you won’t tell me what’s going on. I’m worried about you. You’re not overworking yourself, are you? You look exhausted.” His mother pauses, biting her lip. “Why don’t you come home for a bit and let me take care of you? I’m sure your father would like to see you too. It must be tiring, living in the city all by yourself. Some time in the country would be good for you.”

“Everything is fine,” he reassures her, though he’d like nothing more than to spend a week or two at home in Gwangju, where there’s nothing to remind him of you. “There’s a big project at work, and the client’s being difficult, so things are just…kind of rough right now. But I’ll get through it.” It’s surprising how easily the lie makes its way out of his mouth. “I’ll come home soon. I promise.”

She still looks dubious, but she goes to depart regardless, making Hoseok swear he’ll have empty dishes ready for her to take back the next time she comes. He watches her leave, longing to fall into her arms and explain everything. There was a girl. I loved her. I only wanted to make her happy. But she left me, and I can’t understand why. It hurts. It hurts so much. Nothing feels right without her. Tell me it gets easier, Mom. Tell me one day it won’t hurt as much. Would she understand? No, she wouldn’t. No one could ever understand.

Dear y/n,

My mother came by today to bring me food. I’ve told her a thousand times I’m an adult and I can take care of myself, but I don’t think she’ll ever get over wanting to feed me all the time. She’s worried about me. I think she thinks I might be losing it. She wanted me to come home for a while, out in the country. That would be good, wouldn’t it, y/n? I always wanted to bring you there sometime, to show you where I grew up. Gwangju is nice. You would have liked it there. I would have taken you there someday, introduced you to my friends and family back home. I wish you would have let me introduce you to my parents. My sister, too. They would have liked you if they’d ever gotten a chance to meet you. We were always so secretive, y/n. They never even knew we were together.

Yoongi says I’m just deluding myself, that you’re not coming back. Everyone else says the same thing too: Jin, Taehyung, Jungkook, all of them. But I can’t make myself accept that. What does someone like Jungkook know about love, anyway? He’s practically a baby. He’s probably never even been in love before. Y/n, sometimes I wonder if you can hear me as I’m writing these letters. Are you out there somewhere, listening to me? Are you out there talking to me too? Are we still connected somehow? I’d like to think we are. That’d be nice. Better than the alternative.

Take care of yourself, y/n. Until we meet again.

Love always,

Hoseok

Hoseok can't remember how long he's been here, or how long he's been drinking. He's lost count of which drink he's on. He's not even quite sure where he is, though he knows it’s a bar of some type. Sounds and voices swirl around him, fading in and out, muffled, rippling, as if he’s deep underwater. He squints at the barstool next to him, thinking, if he focuses hard enough, that he can see your figure next to him, leaning against the bar, in the dress you were wearing when he first saw you. He remembers that night, far more clearly than he should. Seeing you across the crowded dance floor. Only introducing himself because his friends had dared him to, saying how far out of his league you had to be. Your smile, something sad behind it, even then. Back up against the wall as he fumbled with the door to his apartment, struggling to keep your hands off each other, the two of you stumbling down the hall in the dark leaving a trail of clothes in your wake, shoes kicked off, that dress abandoned somewhere in the living room, his jacket slung haphazardly over a chair, until you finally made it to the bed, fully exposed, your bare skin practically iridescent in the light of the full moon, beckoning him closer. Losing himself in you, in your body. Passionate moans and breathy sighs. Your breath on his ear, whispering his name, your voice sending shivers down his spine. Waking up the next morning with you curled into his arms, head resting against his chest, as if you were always meant to be there. Your hair, your eyes, your smudged makeup from the night before, everything about you - perfect. He's gone back to that night a thousand times, relived those moments over and over in his mind, wishing with everything in him that he could go back in time to keep himself from ever seeing you, from ever daring to speak to you. To satisfy the part of him that wishes he had never met you, and to hell with the part of him that never regretted a single moment.

As soon as he reaches out to touch you, your image evaporates, dissipating like a reflection on smooth water. “Y/n,” he mumbles. “Where did you go?” He rests one cheek against the cool surface of the bar, lulled by the warm feeling of the alcohol and the swishing sound thumping in his ears. I don’t want to be alone, he thinks. Please don’t leave me alone. A warm, comforting black blanket sweeps over him, blocking out the sound and light from around him.

He becomes aware of reality again when he notices the feeling of someone shaking his arm. “Hey,” sounds a voice in his ear. “Hey you, wake up.” He slowly comes to, sitting up and looking around. The bartender who’s been serving him all night is leaning on the counter, arms crossed. Her face is a mixture of resigned annoyance, as if she’s had to deal with this one too many times. “It’s last call,” she says. “We’re closing. You want to close your tab, or what?”

“Go ahead,” he says, sitting up and dropping the side of his face into his palm. She walks off and returns moments later, sliding a receipt across the counter to him.

“Are you going to be all right to get home?” she asks. “Do you want me to get you a cab? Or is there someone I can call for you?”

Y/n, he thinks. “No,” says Hoseok. “Don't worry about it. I'll be fine.” He stands up and immediately stumbles.

“Okay, you’re not going anywhere,” says another voice, one that sounds familiar. Yoongi pulls Hoseok’s arm over his shoulders and steadies him. “Come on, I’ve got you.”

“Yoongi?” he slurs. “What are you doing here?”

“You drunk-dialed me, remember?” says Yoongi dryly. “Well, no, I don't guess you'd remember. That was a while ago. I thought you'd have gotten home by now.”

He doesn’t say anything, allowing Yoongi to drag him along.

“You really gotta stop doing this,” Yoongi grumbles.

“What, drinking alone?” Hoseok chuckles goofily, reaching out his index finger to poke Yoongi in the cheek.

“No,” Yoongi says, slapping his hand away. “Whatever this is. Beating yourself up over every little thing. Drinking until you pass out. I’m your best friend, Hob-ah. You know I’ll be there whenever I can, but I can’t always be there to drag your sorry ass back home. I have my own life too. The one time I don't pick up my phone you’re going to get so pissed drunk you’ll wander out into the middle of the street and get yourself hit by a bus or something, and you won’t even notice.”

“You worry too much,” mutters Hoseok. “You should get together with my mom.”

Yoongi sighs and doesn’t say anything else until they’re home, releasing Hoseok to fall onto the couch. “Probably fucked up my shoulder even more just dragging you home,” he complains. “Fuck, I can’t deal with this anymore. I don’t know how you can either. She’s gone. Not coming back. It’s the truth. You need to accept that. The sooner you do the sooner we can all get on with our lives. You'll never be able to move on if you're just sitting here wallowing in the past and what might've been.”

“I can’t,” he mumbles. “It hurts too much. If she'd given me a chance—”

“What? You could have changed her mind? Gotten her to stay?” Yoongi sits down on the ottoman across from him. “Hobi, I hate to break it to you, but you couldn’t have stopped her from leaving any more than I could have. She knew what she wanted. You knew, too, and you still let yourself fall for her. She was always going to leave because you were always going to let your heart get involved. That’s just the kind of person you are. It wasn't a matter of if, it was just a matter of when. You were never cut out for that kind of relationship, and I don’t know why you insisted on pretending like you were. You wouldn’t have been happy with that kind of arrangement in the long run, and if you think I’m wrong you’re just lying to yourself.”

He lets that sink in. Yoongi is wrong - he’s sure of it. He would have been happy. You could’ve been, too. Things could have changed - he could have made you happy. “Get out,” says Hoseok, rubbing his eyes. “Just…leave me alone. Please.”

Yoongi stands up. “Fine. Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He lets himself out, allowing the door to slam behind him.

The room suddenly feels unbearably small and stuffy, and deafeningly silent now that he's alone again. He stumbles his way over and out to the balcony, gasping slightly as the cool evening breeze lands on his flushed cheeks. The moon is in a different phase now, waning from the full in preparation for the new. Even so, the stars seem somehow brighter tonight. He stares up, transfixed by the sky, every star where it’s supposed to be. Every star except you, the one that’s supposed to be right next to him. He allows himself to get lost in the starfield, hoping to find some indicator that you're still out there, that you've simply fallen out of orbit and gotten lost somewhere out in space, just like he is now, drifting through, waiting for someone to reach out and grab your hand and pull you back toward them.

That's the last thing he remembers when he comes to the next morning, early, as the sun is making its way into the sky again, sitting upright in one of the chairs he leaves on the balcony. His neck is stiff, his back is sore, his head is pounding angrily, and his search for you in deep space was once again unsuccessful. He hears the sound of birds, of the early morning buses, feels the sunlight on his face, smells the scent of a spring morning in Seoul. All of it only serves as a reminder that he's here, alone, without you. You're not lost in space. You're not here. You're not anywhere. You're somewhere far away, beyond his reach or anyone else's. You're not his anymore.

Maybe you never were.

Dear y/n,

You said you couldn’t be the one to make me happy. If that’s the truth, then why do I feel so empty without you? Why does the world feel so cold when you’re not here? I was happy with you, y/n. You didn’t even have to try to make me happy. As long as you were there, I was happy. That’s why I wanted to marry you. To have you by my side for the rest of my life was all I ever wanted. It would have been enough just to wake up next to you every morning, to hold you close, to look into your eyes and see you when you’re groggy and half-asleep. For you to be the one I came home to every night, to be the only one I’d ever be with. If I could have had that, I would have been happy for the rest of my life.

But maybe you were right. Maybe I was asking too much. Maybe I wanted too much. You weren’t ready. I know that now. But y/n, I would have waited forever if you asked me to. I could have been patient. We would have figured it out together. I know I could have made you happy too, if you’d only given me a chance. Since you cut me loose, I’m just drifting around, lost in space. I’ve tried to forget you. It's been six months. By all logic I should have already forgotten you and moved on by now. But I can’t. I tried to drink you away, but I couldn't. It only made your face clearer in my mind. I still see you everywhere I go. What am I supposed to do now, y/n? When my heart still aches for you, even though you’re the one who broke it? When all the alcohol in the world couldn't even make me forget you? What am I supposed to do now? I don’t just miss you, y/n, I need you. I hate you, but I still need you. What sense does that make?

I'm sorry. My head is pounding. I'm going to bed now.

Hoseok

He’s preparing for another night in when there’s a sudden pounding at his door. Half expecting you, or god forbid, Yoongi, he opens it, finding Jin and Jungkook outside instead, and he can’t help but feel a tad disappointed, though admittedly his friends are a welcome sight. He can barely remember the last time he even saw Jin or Jungkook or any of them other than Yoongi, to be honest.

“See, I told you he was in there,” says Jin cheerfully, shooting Jungkook a sideways glance. “He barely goes anywhere these days. And he always opens the door when he knows it’s me. Isn’t that right, Hobi?” He pushes his way past him, clapping Hoseok good-naturedly on the shoulder.

“What do you guys want?” he says, following them into the kitchen. Jungkook is perched on one of the barstools while Jin leans against the counter.

“Yah! Who says we’re here because we want something?” demands Jin indignantly. “The restaurant gave me the night off for once so we’re going out. We wanted to stop by and say hello, that’s all. Can’t we say hello to our friend that we haven’t seen in a while?”

“Hi,” says Hoseok. “So where are you headed?”

“We’re meeting Taehyungie at that club downtown,” replies Jungkook. “That new one Yoongi-hyung keeps talking about. We thought we'd finally go check it out.”

“Oh.” He hasn’t been out to a club since before you left. “Have fun then, I guess.”

“Well, if you’re not doing anything…” Jin says, looking at Hoseok pointedly.

“Yeah!” Jungkook’s face brightens noticeably. “Come out with us, hyung. Please?” With his big, earnest doe eyes, he looks so innocent that if it weren’t for his muscled arms no one would ever believe he was a professional MMA fighter. “We haven’t gone out together in ages.”

“Yeah, Hobi, come with us,” pipes Jin. “We never see you. You don’t go out anymore. And you’ve been so down ever since…” He hesitates when he sees Hoseok’s face. “Well, all I’m saying is that you deserve to have some fun. Live a little. You know?” He sidles up next to him, nudging him gently with his elbow. “Come on, let’s do something together. You used to love going out. Things haven’t been the same without you. And you know Kookie will desert me the second he gets a better offer anyway, like he always does. You should come. Keep me and Tae company.”

“I don’t do that every time!” protests Jungkook.

"Almost every time," retorts Jin. He turns back to him. “Please? We miss you, Hobi. Not just because you don’t go out anymore, but the way you used to be. You’re so mopey these days. I don’t think I’ve seen you smile in months. Yoongi says you’ve been drinking by yourself a lot lately, too. If you’re going to drink tonight, why don’t you do it with us instead of sitting here drinking by yourself? We’re a lot more fun than you are right now. I guarantee it.”

It’s true, it has been a long time since he’s gone out, or even spent any time with his friends. He used to like going out on the weekends, drinking for fun, not to forget. He's not sure he remembers how to do that anymore. “I don't know," he says, looking down. “I probably won't be much fun. You'd be better off going without me.”

"All the more reason you should come," Jin says. “You're just out of practice, that's all. You won't be any fun if you don't at least try." He drops a hand on his shoulder. "So what do you say?"

Hoseok ponders this for a moment. Is it too soon? Are his friends right? Does he deserve to have fun? Should he just do as Yoongi says and get on with his life?

"Yeah," he says finally. "Why not? I'II come.”

The club is louder than he remembers: almost too loud. He finds himself wishing partly that he'd stayed home where it's quiet, the drinks are already paid for, and he can hear himself think. Although, the other part of him thinks that maybe it's a good thing he can't hear himself think, and he wonders why he didn't try this sooner. Maybe he would have forgotten you before now if he had. Taehyung has already paired himself off with a woman who looks like she belongs on a runway, and the ever-charming Jin is surrounded by a clump of girls – and guys – in another corner of the dancefloor. Jungkook has disappeared too, although to where he’s not sure. So much for doing something together. He sighs and keeps his spot by the bar.

Someone approaches, a girl in a tight black dress and stiletto heels, her face framed in S-curls. “Hi there,” she says “You look lonely.” She smiles invitingly. “I can keep you company, if you like.” She’s pretty, like a member of one of those idol girl groups. She looks nothing like you - her eyes don’t have that same sadness that always seemed to be behind yours, and her smile seems genuine, whereas yours always seemed a little feigned. Her dress is far shorter than you ever would have dared to wear yours, just barely covering the tops of her thighs.

He hesitates for a moment, before saying, “Sure.”

She takes the seat next to him. “My name’s Jihyo,” she says. “Yours?”

He downs the last of his drink. “Hoseok.”

Jihyo leans in, and he can’t help but glance down at her chest, her arm pressing her breasts upwards. She’s hitting on him; that’s obvious enough. “You’re cute, oppa. But why do you look so sad?”

The question catches him off-guard. “What?”

“Let me guess,” she says. “You just got out of a relationship, didn’t you?”

Was it ever really a relationship? Or was it just an arrangement? “Something like that,” he says finally.

“Me too,” she says. “About a week ago.”

“I never would have guessed,” he says, and he wouldn’t have, not with the way she’s acting.

“I’m a good actress.” Jihyo grins. “Besides, he was all wrong for me. I’m over it - mostly.” She looks him directly in the eye. “What about you, oppa? Are you over her?”

She’s bold. He’ll give her that. “No,” he says. “Not in the slightest.”

“Do you want some help with that?” Jihyo smiles mysteriously. “People say I’m very… therapeutic.”

He knows exactly what she’s asking. “Your place or mine?” he says automatically, before he knows what he’s doing.

“Yours is fine,” she says. “I have roommates. You live alone, right?”

He doesn’t even want to know how she figured that out.

Jihyo is gone by the time he wakes up the next morning, leaving not even a single trace of herself behind, other than a scrap of paper she’s left with an almost indecipherable scribbled phone number. He realizes, as the sunlight is creeping into his room, that this is the first morning he hasn’t automatically thought of you the moment he woke up. The first morning where the light of day isn’t as painful as it was the day before. He has to hold himself back from immediately entering her number into his phone to tell her good morning, to ask her if she got home all right, that he would have given her cab fare if she’d asked. In all likelihood he’ll probably never see Jihyo again. So none of that really matters now, does it?

Jin: Yah! Where did you run off to last night without telling us? You’re as bad as Jungkookie now! Hoseok: Me? What about you? You deserted me first. Whatever. I had fun at least. Let’s do something again the next time you’re free. Jin: Yeah! Let’s do it!

He tries it again the next night, bringing home another girl, with another short dress and a different name. This one wants to hang around and talk in the morning, instead of vanishing silently while he’s asleep like Jihyo. He wishes she wouldn’t, that she’d quietly get her things and be on her way out. He’s relieved when she’s finally gone. She talks too much, which is good in bed but nowhere else.

It gets easier, eventually. Every morning, he notices, becomes a little less painful. He’s finally figured it out, he thinks. The answer to the question of what to do to forget you. A different woman for every night you’re gone, from here on out, until the day comes where it doesn’t hurt so much to face the truth, that you’re gone and never coming back. Where he doesn’t automatically wonder where you are or what you’re doing, or whether you still think about him. He stops writing you letters eventually too, tucking the sealed envelopes into a shoebox, along with the tiny velvet box he never found it in himself to get rid of, and all the other little things that remind him of you. The shoebox makes its way onto the top shelf of his closet, where it won’t be thought of again for a long time. The next time his mother comes into the city he sends her back home with empty dishes, having finished off every leftover. He finds himself smiling again, now that you’re not constantly on his mind anymore. He feels lighter. Like he could be happy again without you.

It’s true, dwelling on the past will only hold you back. The only way out is forward. Yoongi was right about that, at least. But in the end, it was you who taught him the most valuable lessons: to keep things short and sweet, to stay detached, to keep your heart closely guarded. He knows this now. Everything that ever reminded him of you is gone, but the scars on his heart will always be there, a silent reminder of a mistake he’ll never make again. Falling for someone, allowing them to hold your heart in their hands, even for only a brief moment - only ever ends in heartbreak. Hearts are fragile, slippery things, and they’ll always end up sliding out of your hands, fracturing into a million little pieces, too small and too delicate to be put back together.

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