✱ Jungkook
✱ Series
✱ On break - Season 1 completed
✱ Roomates au, roomate Jungkook, fwb, situationship mess, fboy Jungkook
✱ Fluff, smut, angst
Ask the Characters Jungkook is your roommate. Did everyone tell you it’s a bad idea? Yeah. Did you still think you could handle it? Yep. So here you are, trying to keep your promise that 'you’ll never fuck another fuckboy again.' Good luck with that.
✯ Starry Night
✱ Taehyung
✱ Ongoing Series
✱ Friends to lovers, old friends meet again, kinda corporate romance
✱ Fluff, smut, angst
Ask the Characters
Taehyung was your high school crush. Fuck that—he was everyone’s high school crush. But that was twelve years ago. What does it matter that he’s now a fellow director at your company? It’s not like you have anything to do with him. He probably doesn’t even remember you… does he?
✯ Happy Birthday
✱ Jungkook
✱ Oneshot
✱ Husband Jungkook
✱ Pure soft smut (no plot)
Jungkook wakes you up by eating you out.
✯ That Time Jungkook Got Reincarnated as an Obsessive Husband
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
✱ SMAU - text messages
✱ Husband Jungkook
✱ Crack, fluff, suggested smut
Jungkook is your husband. And he's obsessed with his pretty wife. And he loves to send you some unhinged messages when it's unrequited.
✯ 30% Valentine's
✱ Namjoon
✱ Oneshot
✱ Art nerd Namjoon X psychology nerd reader
✱ fluff, fluff, fluff
✱ cozy date vibes, first date
Blind date set up by your mother? Sounds like a horrible idea. Blind date on Valentine’s Day? Even worse. But your date is Namjoon - tall, handsome, and unexpectedly charming. What starts as a potential disaster turns out to be… well, you’ll see.
✯ To Whom It May Concern (This Is An HR Violation)
✱ Gojo Satoru
✱ Ongoing Series
✱ Rich heir down bad Gojo X cold reader
✱ fluff, smut, nonsense
✱ workplace romance, coworkers to lovers
✱ he fell first and harder
You are fighting for your life to finalize the Osaka project logistics. Gojo Satoru is fighting to get you to look at him. So he shows up at your hotel room door, determined to ruin your professional reputation, with champagne, zero boundaries, and a very inappropriate bathrobe.
“I fully support a name that screams sexy disasters with feelings” –Kiki @jungkoode
Jungkook is your roommate. Did everyone tell you it’s a bad idea? Yeah. Did you still think you could handle it? Yep. So here you are, trying to keep your promise that 'you’ll never fuck another fuckboy again.' Good luck with that.
a/n: So, my little idea turned into a drabble, which became a second-person POV piece, and has now evolved into a mini-series. I don’t have everything written down (which is fucking scary), so I just post as I write. Because of that, I don’t have a regular posting schedule. I also have no idea how many chapters this will be or exactly where I’m going with it. So, bear with me.
warnings: the story isn’t complete yet, please check the warnings of each chapter before reading. Cursing, drinking, unhealthy immature behavior. Male masturbation. Mention of female masturbation. Mention of sex.
do I wanna know
if this feeling flows both ways
Season One
Prologue; chapter 0 - thirsty.
The (thirst) trap has been set.
Prologue; chapter 0.5 - Lost (JK POV)
Was it weird of him to touch himself to the sound of his roommate fucking in the next room? Maybe.
Chapter 1 - Bad Decisions
“Death by starvation; the unknown dangers of fuckboys”
Chapter 2 - Shouldn't
You’ll go to grab breakfast, and he’ll be like, ‘Hey, remember the time I was balls deep inside of you?’
Chapter 3 - Damage Control
He looks like he already knows you’re going to say some bullshit.
Chapter 4 - Last Night
Teaser
“You don’t remember what happened?”
Chapter 5 - No Big Deal
“You pierced your face?”
Chapter 6 - Snooze
“Don’t worry. If I were a shark, I’d keep you safe.”
Chapter 7 - Black
“Well, it’s not exactly the best idea to sleep around with your roommate, is it?”
A stolen bottle of Dom Pérignon and your spot on the roof lead you and Taehyung to a place you've never been before. With your armor down and your deepest fears laid bare, will you hold onto each other, or will you walk away?
genre: Taehyung X Reader, art director Taehyung x software director reader, somewhat of a slow burn, high school crush to friends to lovers, workplace romance kinda, idiots in love, fluff then angst then fluff then angst then fluff, it’s complicated, eventual smut, nothing physical for many many chapters like we’re in a shojo anime they haven’t kissed yet and they get excited from regular touch like they aren’t fucking 30.
warnings: 🚨This chapter contains more sensitive content than the previous ones, so please read these warnings carefully🚨 Mentions of: drinking problems, abusive/neglectful parents, experiencing childhood boycotts/bullying, issues with self-worth, and self-blame.
I want to note that while the chapter does touch on these subjects, we don’t get into graphic or detailed descriptions of any of them. While reading can help you cope with sensitive experiences, it can also be triggering. If you choose to read, and you find these subjects troubling or hard for you, please know this is a safe space to decompress and vent your feelings after reading.
word count: 4.5k
Previous Chapter
a/n: I have had this chapter in mind for about a year and a half now. Having it finally written down and out feels bittersweet. It was very emotional to write, but it’s also a massive relief, and I’m so happy to finally share it with you. This is probably one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I’m so proud of it. I haven't felt this way about something I wrote in a long time. I hope you receive it well and find comfort in it, even within the heavy subjects it deals with ❤️
Thursday December 19th
If you could, you would never attend another office party in your life. It’s always a bit awkward. The food and drinks are always just okay, no matter how much money the company spends on them. And always, always, someone from sales will corner you to talk you to death about Q1 projections.
You nod politely as David drones on about the budget for the new e-commerce app rollout, taking a long sip of your perfectly crafted, yet not smooth enough, gin martini.
It’s the third week of December.
Nearly two months since the Halloween party.
Two months since Jungkook dragged Taehyung out of the party by his wrist, looking like he was ready to commit a felony.
You haven't talked about it. Not once.
It turned out that being cowards was the one thing you and Taehyung were perfectly aligned on. The Monday following the party, he had shown up at your office door with an iced Americano and a joke about Jimin’s hangover. He acted like the sudden, furious exit had never happened. And you, terrified of breaking the fragile, comfortable dynamic you’d built, made the active choice not to ask.
You wanted to. Many times. Had a ton of opportunities to ask, too. But you never did. Something about it just... Didn’t sit right with you.
Anyway, the end of the year is a brutal, sleep-deprived marathon of pushing critical tech updates and finalizing the roadmap. It was easy to hide behind work and exhaustion. You kept things to brief smoke breaks, safe banter in the hallways, and glances across the table during next year’s executive strategy meetings.
You kept it safe. Like you always do.
"…and if we look at the advertising costs versus the projected conversion rates," David continues, oblivious to your glazed-over expression.
You scan the impeccably styled event space, desperately looking for an out.
It comes out as an unwanted one.
Ben.
Ugh.
Exactly how many times do you have to politely reject this man before he finally takes the hint?
He whistles. “Y/n, nice dress.” Cutting David mid-sentence about lead downpour or something.
You’re going to barf.
David blinks, startled by the intrusion, and immediately scuttles off toward the buffet with some murmured excuse, leaving you completely defenseless.
Ben steps directly into your personal space, a smug, overly confident grin plastered on his face. "Too good to be talking about marketing costs, anyway. You look gorgeous tonight." Unapologetic as always.
"Ben," you say, taking a deliberate half-step back.
He laughs, entirely missing, or straight up ignoring, the frost in your tone. "Right, right. Listen, the food is terrible this year. They really cut the budget down, uh? Let me take you to this spot I know downtown. It has some bellinies to die for–”
"She has plans."
The deep, smooth voice cuts through the ambient house music perfectly.
You look over to see Taehyung stepping up beside you.
Ben’s smug smile drops instantly into a sneer.
"Taehyung," Ben says, puffing out his chest a little. "Didn't see you there. Shouldn't you be off arranging centerpieces or whatever it is you guys do for the holiday campaign?"
Taehyung doesn't even blink. He just gives Ben a slow, pitying smile. "Shouldn't you be figuring out how to explain the massive Q3 deficit to the board?”
Ben flushes a dark, angry red, his jaw tightening. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused," Taehyung says flatly.
He doesn't wait for a response. He smoothly drops a hand to the small of your back, the heat of his palm seeping right through the silk of your dress.
Ben’s eyes drop immediately to where Taehyung’s hand rests. He opens his mouth, clearly ready to say something nasty, but before he can, the music abruptly cuts out. A microphone whines, signaling the CEO is about to give his annual holiday speech, and a hush immediately falls over the room.
Ben snaps his mouth shut, forced into polite silence.
Taehyung doesn't miss a beat. Under the cover of the host introducing the CEO and the applause welcoming him to the stage, his hand gently pressed on your lower back, steering you away from Ben and toward the back exits.
You slip through the crowd as the speech begins, letting his hand guide you out of the venue. By the time you reach the hallway, the CEO's booming voice fades into a muffled echo. Taehyung drops his hand from your back, stepping over to the private stairwell.
He stops next to the floor's kitchen. “Wait here,” he pushes the door and comes back a minute later, casually holding an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.
"You stole that from the CEO's reserve stash," you point out, crossing your arms as you blink at him.
"I repurposed it," he corrects smoothly, giving you a wink as he continues to walk down the dim hallway. He pushes the heavy stairwell door open with his shoulder, gesturing for you to go out first.
"Shit, it's cold," you shiver, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you walk over to the edge, taking your usual spot against the concrete railing.
Taehyung steps up next to you. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s still warm from his body, smelling faintly of his cologne.
"I’m fine, you’re going to freeze," you protest weakly, though you immediately pull the jacket closer.
"I'm wearing a sweater, you're wearing silk," he dismisses, working the foil off the top of the champagne bottle. "Plus, if you get hypothermia, I’ll have to fill out an HR report, think of all the paperwork. I don't have the time for that."
“Oh god, that sounds like a nightmare.”
The cork pops with a loud thwack that echoes over the empty roof. Taehyung quickly catches the bubbling foam with his mouth, some of it still drips down his chin, taking a long, unbothered drink before wiping his lip with the back of his hand.
He offers the heavy bottle to you, you take it, your fingers brushing his, and take a long swallow. The champagne burns good going down.
You lean against the railing, your back to the city and your face to Taehyung. He’s a nicer view anyway. You pass the bottle back, and he takes it with a smile, going for another quick sip.
“So," Taehyung says, his voice sharp in the quiet of the night as he leans against the wall, facing you. “Where are you doing the holiday?”
“My parents' place. And then the morning after, we’re going to my aunt's. We have this tradition that we open presents in the evening, just the four of us.” You let out a small giggle at the memories, “It’s nice. What about you?”
"I’m going to my mom's place this Saturday. To spend some time with her before the actual holiday," he answers. A soft, genuine smile stretches at the mention of his mother. “Our flight is right on the morning after the holiday.”
"Amsterdam?” You question, remembering him talking about it a while ago. He answers with a nod. “With Jimin and Jungkook? You’ll be lucky if you come back alive."
"I've already updated my will," he jokes, his chest moves with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip before he locks back on you, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “Where are you and the girls going?” He hands you the bottle.
“Paris,” and you lean forward to take it.
"Paris," he echoes.
You take a drink, then put the bottle on the wall beside you. "You used to travel there a lot, right?”
“Yep. Like every other month, we had an office there. I love this city.” He smiles, but there is something sad and dark passing in his eyes. He moves on quickly, “You’ve been there before?”
“Yeah,” you answer quietly. You think of the last time you were there, with who you were. The thought aches a bit in your chest.
You’re ready to make new experiences of the city, to reset the memories in your mind with new, fresh ones.
You look over at Taehyung. He's staring out at the city over your shoulder, the wind ruffling his dark hair. It hits you, suddenly, how strange this is. How constant he has been in your life for the past months. How you went from almost strangers, to being this close, that you follow him outside in the middle of a party without questioning it.
And how, despite all that, still, a lot is missing. All the conversations and definitions and questions you avoid.
You grab the bottle and take a long sip, head tilted back as the bottle is starting to empty out. Letting the alcohol warm your blood and blur your hesitation. When you open your eyes, Taehyung is looking straight at you with an intensity you’re not expecting.
Taehyung shifts slightly, leaning his shoulder back. "You booked this Paris trip a while ago, didn't you? I remember you mentioning the flights months ago."
"Yeah," you nod, staring out at the distant city lights. "I like to have it locked down before the actual madness of December starts. Give myself a solid escape plan."
He hums, his gaze never leaving your face. "So it's an annual thing, then? Escaping the city?"
You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Kind of."
The playful energy between you dims just a fraction, settling into something quieter. You look sideways over the glittering city skyline, the biting wind tugging at your hair. You take a breath, the freezing air filling your lungs.
You don’t know if it’s the reminder of the past, if it’s the alcohol starting to take effect. Or if it’s Taehyung looking at you like that. Or the combination of it all, but it makes you vulnerable, it makes you bare out a layer you’re not expecting to.
“I usually prefer to travel around the holidays,” you murmur. You extend your hand, handing Taehyung the bottle. “In recent years, at least.”
He takes it from you. “Why?’
"Because it's exhausting.The expectations, from everything, from everyone. All the events. Being present for everything and everyone. Yet you have a shit ton of work to do.” You sigh, like the exhaustion of it all is real in this moment.
“Like you have to be happy and jolly and in the holiday spirit. Even if you actually feel miles away from it. It can be so draining to force yourself to fit into all of that.”
Taehyung listens, his attention fully on you, bottle hanging from his hand, like forgotten. When you stop rumbling, he nods slowly at first, then he asks tentatively, “And running away from it helps?”
“It’s not running away,” you shoot almost defensively. This might be a lie. “It’s giving myself some healthy distance from the madness.”
Taehyung brings the bottle to his lips, swallowing as he keeps his eyes on you, like he’s reading through your bullshit. Maybe it’s this, or the lack of verbal response, but you continue to try explaining, try to give him your reasoning.
“My ex used to love it. We broke up right around Christmas. A few years ago."
At this, Taehyung goes completely still, you can feel his sudden, absolute focus. Like he’s scared to make any sudden motion, to talk too loudly, to somehow have the wrong reaction. He takes another slow drink from the bottle. "What happened?"
"I was the problem," you say simply, the truth slipping out. "He said I was too invested in my work. That he always felt like a second priority. He got sick of this and broke things off." You let out a bitter laugh, not that anything about what you said is really funny. “I don’t blame him.”
You pull the jacket tighter around your shoulders, refusing to meet Taehyung’s eyes. "Honestly, he wasn't even the first to say it. It’s like I have this fundamental defect where I don't know how to just be a normal partner in a relationship. I don't know how to turn it off when I get home."
You stare down at your pointy heels on the rough floor, the weight of the words settling like lead in your stomach, but they keep just coming out. "I always manage to fuck it up. Every single time. I got so hyper-focused on proving myself, on making sure my career is bulletproof, that I ended up neglecting the people right in front of me. I make them feel like an afterthought."
Your throat tightens, the freezing air suddenly biting a little harder, your hair whipping around your face dramatically with the wind bursts. "When he left, he told me that loving me was lonely. And the worst part is, I knew exactly what he meant. I'm just incapable of not ruining every good thing I have."
You blink away the moisture, taking a stabilizing breath, doing your best to hold it together. You hold yourself not ot look up at Taehyung until the wave of emotions is over, you’re afraid of what the look of him in your vulnerable moment will do to you, like it’s easier to manage this crash alone. The quitness that follows, though… It’s harsh. It breaks you just a tiny bit more. And you just can’t help it. You look back up at him–
Taehyung looks at you with scrunched brows, deeply disturbed.
Well, you guess he finally gets it now, how fucked up you are. How inherently broken you truly are. Guess there’s no going back. The secret is out in the world. The cat is out of the bag. Like always, you just messed up another thing in your life.
You both remain quiet for a long time. The silence stretches between you, heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic below and the whistle of the wind.
"You're not the problem," he says finally, his voice a low, rough rasp in the crisp air.
He steps up closer, sets the champagne bottle down on the concrete railing with a heavy thud, and turns his body toward you.
"He was," Taehyung says, his tone suddenly sharp, laced with a quiet, fierce anger. "He wasn't man enough to handle you. That's the truth."
You look up at him. "Taehyung–"
"No, listen to me," he interrupts, stepping into your space. The heat radiating off him cuts through the almost winter cold. "Any guy who makes you feel like your ambition is a burden is just insecure. He was intimidated by you. He couldn't handle how smart, how incredibly driven, and amazing you are. So he tried to make you feel small to feed his own ego."
He reaches out, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before his warm fingers gently wrap around your wrist.
"Your drive isn't a flaw, y/n," he says, his dark eyes locked onto yours, desperately trying to convey how sincere he is. "You are brilliant. And if he couldn't see that, if he made you feel like you had to shrink yourself down to be loved by him, then he was an idiot who didn't deserve you in the first place."
His words hit you straight in the chest, unraveling a tight knot you didn't even realize you were carrying. Your throat feels tight. A single tear travels down your cheek. His fingers twitch around your wrist. You look down at his hand, the warmth of his skin anchoring you. You want to believe him, want to take his words and make them your truth.
But it’s hard.
When the same thing happens over and over. It feels impossible to think the problem isn’t you.
"It... it goes deeper than just him, though," you whisper, if you’ll talk louder you voice will break. You feel your eyes sting and your throat closing with all the buried emotion and fears finally surfacing. The final wall is crumbling under the weight of his steady, unwavering gaze. "I am like that because I'm terrified."
Taehyung’s thumb brushes softly against your pulse point. "Terrified of what?"
"That I'm easy to leave," you admit, the confession leaving you feeling completely bare. "When I was in elementary school, a bunch of kids completely boycotted me. Just... shut me out, averted like I didn’t exist. It wasn’t for a long time. When I got to middle school and met Gabby and found my place, I thought it was forgotten, but I think it permanently broke my brain."
You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the dark sky instead of his eyes, blinking back tears. "I always have this underlying panic that if I'm not the one fixing everything, if I'm not working the hardest and proving my worth constantly, if I won’t be perfect all the time, everyone will see me for who I really am. People will just leave. I thought I resolved this, but when another relationship ended because of me, when my ex left me because what I was giving wasn’t enough... it just felt like confirmation. That I really am the problem, and I'll always end up pushing people away."
The thought that if Taehyung sees you for the actual loser, coward that you are, hits you like a wall of bricks. It terrifies you. Now he’ll come to his senses and will pull away.
You don’t know what got into you, made you spill it all out like that. Maybe it was burdening you all along. You thought it was easier to stay in this in-between safe place with him, not get too deep, not reveal these parts of you. Keeping it safe. Keeping him in a way.
It was easier. Until it wasn’t.
Yet for all how terrified you are, you’re equal parts relieved. It’s out now - the dark truth you’ve been holding in, the act you’ve been putting on, finally let go.
You wait for his grip to loosen. You wait for him to take that inevitable step back.
He doesn't.
Instead, Taehyung’s hand slides down from your wrist, his long, warm fingers slotting perfectly between yours. He grips your hand tight, pulling you a fraction closer until the toes of your boots almost bump against his shoes.
"I'm not leaving, Y/N," he says, his voice soft, as if he heard your exact thoughts.
He looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. His usual impassive mask is now replaced by a heavy, quiet kind of sorrow.
“I understand what you feel more than I want to.” He sighs, then looks up, but not at you, he looks out at the distance behind you. It’s like the piece of you you shared affected him. Like he’s organizing his mind, preparing a piece of his own to share in return.
You blink, your eyes move over his face, trying to read what is going on after a long minute of silence, his grip tightening between your fingers. "Taehyung?"
He finally looks at you, his dark eyes shining with a vulnerability you have never, ever seen from him. The confident, untouchable Taehyung is completely gone.
"My dad left when I was twelve," he says, his voice barely above a whisper in the wind. "He had... a problem.” His voice drops impossibly low, quiet, quivering with hurt. “With drinking. He was never good to my mom. Or to me."
You suck in a breath, your heart breaking instantly. You squeeze his hand back instinctively. You never heard about it. You had no clue. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing.
"And one day he just packed up and left us," Taehyung continues, his jaw ticking as he stares out over the dark horizon. "In some ways, it was better than when he was around. But my mom had to pick up the pieces. She started working double shifts, sometimes three. She’d leave before I woke up and come back long after I went to sleep.”
He shakes his head let out a frustrated sigh. “I was so angry at her. Like she was abandoning me as well. But she just did her best to keep a roof over our heads and pay off the debts he left behind.”
He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his gaze distant as if he's seeing a ghost. "I wish I had helped her more at the time. Give her some ease of mind. But I didn’t. I could barely take care of myself.”
He gulps, swallowing the emotions so he can continue. You don’t interrupt, partly because you don’t know what to say, but you also want to let him let it all out. Like he’s let you.
“I spent almost every night alone in this dead, quiet apartment. Waiting for someone who wasn't coming back. So I just went out, started hanging with the wrong people. Went to the wrong places. I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble at the time. Until I met Jungkook."
A sad, fond smile ghosts over his lips before vanishing. "We met in middle school that same year. Somehow, he just knew. He started dragging me to his house after school every day. I practically lived there. His mom cooked for me, and his parents put a mattress on his bedroom floor so I could sleep there. If it wasn't for Jungkook…” he pauses for a moment, letting this thought pass, “I don’t know where I would have been today."
The chill in the air seems to freeze this moment in time. To settle directly into your bones.
"But even with Jungkook," Taehyung’s voice drops, rough and hollow as he continues. "Even with my mom killing herself at work for me... for years... God, my whole life, really... I convinced myself it was my fault. That something was just fundamentally fucked up with me. I always thought, if I were just a better son, if I were quieter, or smarter, or less of a burden, maybe he would stop drinking. Maybe he would have stayed.”
His voice drops even lower. “Maybe he would have chosen me."
He turns his head, catching your gaze again. The raw, open pain in his expression makes the air punch out of your chest.
"I still feel like that," he admits quietly, shyly. "Like I'm not enough. Like I don't deserve the good things that happen to me, so I just... let them get ruined. I expect people to leave, so I don't even try to stop them."
You can feel his hand tremble in yours. And you realize that he’s holding you more for himself than for you.
"Taehyung, look at me," you say immediately, softly, but with absolute conviction.
He hesitates, but finally turns his gaze back to yours.
"You were a child," you whisper fiercely, leaning even closer so you have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. "His failure to be a father has absolutely nothing to do with your worth. He was broken. You weren't."
He exhales, and he sounds so tired. Of letting it all out, or from years of holding these feelings. "Logically, I know that," he murmurs, his voice a low, heavy rasp. His eyes drop briefly to your mouth before flickering back up to your eyes. “But I feel so broken all. the fucking. time.”
The confessions hang in the freezing air. Neither of you tries to fill the silence with empty platitudes, because you both know they won't help. Instead, you just hold on to this moment. To each other. Trying to find comfort in each other's ugliest parts.
Despite the wind whipping across the roof, the space between your tightly laced fingers is burning. You can feel his palms getting clammy, mirroring your own. A heat that contrasts with the chill inside and out.
Looking up at him, at his unguarded eyes and the tension in his jaw, the monumental weight of this moment settles over you. You realize exactly what this is: just two terrified people who expect everyone to leave, currently holding onto each other. It finally makes sense. The two of you played it safe so you wouldn’t be shattered when this inevitably ends, but standing here now, debating if you should ask the other– Please don’t leave me.
He looks down at your hands, still tightly tangled together between you, a wry, sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. "So we’re both fucked up."
You let out a wet, breathless laugh of your own, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with your free hand. "We're a mess."
"A disaster," he agrees softly.
But he doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb strokes over your knuckles again.
"But for what it's worth," Taehyung murmurs, his dark eyes rising from your hands to meet yours again. "I don't look at you and see a mess, y/n. I just see someone who cares too much.”
You swallow hard, your heart doing a complicated, painful stutter in your chest.
“I’m glad you chose to share that part with me. Thank you,” he confesses, his voice incredibly soft.
“Me too,” you add, the words barely a whisper.
The air between you completely shifts, turning heavy and thick. The conversation is over, leaving nothing but the overwhelming reality of how close he is standing.
He steps fully into your space, the heat radiating off his body shielding you entirely from the biting cold. His free hand comes up, stopping for a second before his knuckles gently brush against your cold cheek. You let out a shaky breath at the contact, the smell of his cologne and the champagne in his breath wrapping around you.
Taehyung’s gaze darkens, dropping from your eyes to your mouth. The shared conversation, the quiet of the roof, of your spot, the bittersweet realization that you are the same kind of broken, it all acts like gravity. He tilts his head, his thumb slowly tracing your cheekbone, the space between you practically non-existent now.
Your heart hammers violently against your ribs. You close your eyes, your lips parting slightly, waiting for the warmth of his mouth.
But it never comes.
Taehyung suddenly goes rigid. His hand drops from your cheek like he’s been burned. His breath hitches, sharply, and he pulls away.
The cold wind rushes instantly into the space he leaves behind.
He takes a full step back, running a frustrated, trembling hand through his hair. A dark, complicated shadow passes over his face – something loaded settling right back behind his eyes. Instead of explaining, he just clears his throat, his voice suddenly strained, miles away. He reaches for the bottle and downs the remains of it.
"We should," he starts, looking anywhere but at you. "We should probably get back inside."
THIS IS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL CHAPTER. You’re seriously such a gifted writer! The way you’re able to convey and express all of these emotions through your characters is pure magic ❤️🙏
The scene with Ben was hilarious, the dude doesn’t know how to take the hint, he gets so pissed whenever Taehyung interrupts him🤣 Speaking of Taehyung HE IS SO HOT 🔥🔥 the way he put his hand on her waist, ooof I would’ve forgotten how to breathe, we LOVE a man that takes charge 🥵
This chapter is such a pivotal moment! It’s absolutely special because they brought their guard down and talked about things that completely broke them in the past that gives us an understanding as to why they are the way they are🥺 I connected a bit with Y/N’s character when she talked about how when her peers at school boycotted her for no reason and she felt so alone and that pain and insecurity followed her into adulthood and how she believes everyone is bound to leave her, gosh that was so painful😔 I went through something similar in middle school I realized that those other kids who I thought were my friends weren’t really my friends. It hurt because I never got any closure, I never knew why they all turned against me, no one ever apologized or even gave me a reason as to why they were boycotting me. I kept blaming myself, wondering “what did I do wrong?” Now as an adult, I know that it wasn’t my fault, that I hadn’t done anything wrong, and that sometimes other kids are just mean and bully others for no reason. Yet, that painful experience followed me into adulthood and caused me to have my guard up. Also it is so REAL that when we let all our pain out during a vulnerable moment how one begins to spiral and think “Gosh why did I share this, now this person is going to think the worst of me and distance themselves” it was so great that you demonstrated that in this chapter👏 Taehyung is so PERFECT. When he comforted her and told her how great she is and that her stupid ex was just a loser and wasn’t man enough to handle her and be supportive ughhh that was so HOT of Him. He deserves the biggest hug and kiss🥰
His story broke my heart😭 poor baby was blaming himself over his dad when he was just a child😭 It must’ve been so hard for him to watch his mom exhausted and have to work all day and every single day to provide and for him to stay home alone with no one💔 It made me happy to read that when he met Jungkook he gained a brother and someone that helped him get on the right path and made more good friends along the way🥹❤️ THANK YOU JUNGKOOK you’re an angel❤️
I’M SCREAMING!! 😭 They were about to kiss!! Y/N was ready!! The perfect chance and this man goes rigid and fumbles the opportunity to get the smooch 💋 Taehyung PLEASE GET YOUR GIRL! Although I sensed he hesitated because of that text he received 😭 I am so curious to know who or what made him and Jungkook uncomfortable 😱
I’m so sorry this is so long lolol🙏😭❤️ AMAZING Chapter as ALWAYS ❤️
Kels my love ❤️
I'm so sorry you went through something similar. Sometimes the world can be just cruel without a reason, and it says nothing about us. I hope you know that you're an amazing person, and that every word Taehyung said to y/n in this chapter applies to you. I hope you can read them and know that this is how people are seeing you -
"I don't look at you and see a mess. I just see someone amazing, who cares too much.”
Tae has been through a lot, but now we are starting to understand why he is the way he is. The good and the bad.
They were about to kiss! And I promise we are getting closer to their first kiss, but also to knowing why it hasn't happened yet...
Thank you so much for leaving this message and showing all this love for the story. There is nothing that can make me happier than to get this kind of feedback and know that something I created has touched others. So thank you, and I love you ❤️
The second time they met in her office was, strangely enough, weirder than the first.
Soul Design, by prince-taehyung
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Mafia!Taehyung x female!reader
Chapter Warnings: Not too much, general mafia talk, some mention of cheating, pretty lowkey. Let me know if I missed anything.
Wordcount: 5.3k
Genre: Mafia Romance, Yearning, Fanfiction.
A/n: We are back! Act II has begun. It starts slow but hold onto the peace cause it will be short lived. Have much fun and comment what you think! <3
Don’t ever ask Y/n what insanity took over her when she decided to work with Taehyung, she doesn’t know and it’s still a sensitive topic.
Could be gratitude, could be the need to finally listen to her emotions or it could also be the fact that she was daydreaming about designing that house. Perhaps a combination of all three.
Any and all concerns that had ever strayed her away from accepting seemed to fly out the window when she woke up without Taehyung in her house. His absence sparked a debate inside her mind about just how deep this man’s presence had affected her day to day life. Did she miss him or did she miss the concept of someone who took care of her without having to ask for it?
Then again Jane had always taken care of her, Lila always had her back and Mrs Hannigan loved her like a grandmother. Y/n might not like depending on others, but she damn well knows the difference between someone who cares for her and someone who doesn’t give two shits. Lately Taehyung was showing her that even strangers can become essential support at your lowest, and she didn’t like that one bit. Everything she had always believed that she had to fight for everything by herself and depend on no one, - except the aforementioned three guardian angels - was starting to become a confusing blur of doubt. Even Grant had taken time out of his days to worry about her. Her.
It made no sense to her that anyone would go to such lengths for a woman such as herself, who offered nothing but dead weight in Taehyung’s world. She was a witness and a loose strand in the perfectly compact cage that was his world and she couldn't, for the life of her, understand how she hadn’t been buried six feet under by now.
Instead, she found herself wanting to know more about him. Too many contradictions represented his image. Wearing a mask but taking it off the second they meet, having this secret life but walking around to her house like he was an old friend and being a mafia boss who wants to decorate his beach house like any other man with a retirement plan.
After all, Y/n wondered, what was the beach house about? Hoping to one day get the opportunity to dig further into what four empty walls could really represent to a man to go to such lengths to keep her around, she scheduled a meeting with him for later that week.
The second time they met in her office was, strangely enough, weirder than the first. For reasons unknown to her, Taehyung was presenting a less charming and approachable version of himself when he walked into her office behind Lila on Friday. As the girl closed the door Y/n curteously suggested he take a seat wherever he wanted. Taehyung looked around briefly, as if he didn’t know where anything was, before landing on the chairs before her desk and sitting down.
Y/n tried her best to treat the moment like any other casual first meeting with a new client, although it was a difficult task. That man had nursed her back to health a few days prior, which made suggesting curtains in the living room a bit unusual. She persisted, though.
Although out of the ordinary, she wouldn’t have described her relationship to him as a cold and distant one. They couldn’t swear they were friends, though there was a certain level of appreciation and respect - perhaps unilateral. So she was thrown back slightly by the strange way in which he wouldn’t meet her eye as intensely as before. He was acting as if they were strangers who had crossed paths exactly twice on the street and not with the closeness that represented them. Still, she never backed down and kept introducing ideas.
The goal of that first encounter was to grab the general feeling of the aesthetic the client wanted for their home. Y/n could have an opinion of her own about what colors suited best a beach house and how to match the general taste of the place, but no matter what she thought, the client’s needs and artistic vision was the most relevant part. Her job was to bring to life something that he enjoyed, not to play house with her own personal choices.
“My current house isn’t decorated at all, it feels very dull and dark. I never bothered. I’d like that to change with this one.” He explained to her after five minutes of discussing color schemes for the house. Y/n felt like light and blue tones might be perfect and he seemed to agree with her.
Something like curiosity - a highly unprofessional kind of curiosity - sparked in her chest at this. Did he live in a dark place without soul like any other mobster she could imagine? Why the sudden change of heart towards such a breezy, warm and soft house so far away from the crowded and noisy streets of the city? Every pore of her body urged to ask him about it, to know exactly what was going on inside his mind, but she pushed it aside.
Although it felt natural to her to talk about the most creative and pleasing aspects of designing this project, she knew another kind of conversation was pending between them. Judging by the fact that he hadn’t once smiled since he stepped inside and that his responses were short and to the point, she suspected he wasn’t in any mood to joke around, so she went straight to the point.
“I’m sure you were surprised when we agreed to the project, I think I should explain myself” She began, looking down at her laptop, closing it and setting it aside. A physical indication that the conversation was taking a turn into an unrelated topic.
“I’m listening” He answered, calm as ever, which only deepened her feeling that something was off.
“I know there’s a history between us…” Well that was a weird way to start. She struggled for a bit, trying to redirect the conversation away from something awkward and into what she truly wanted to express. “…I mean, with everything that happened, I struggled to find a good reason to accept. I felt unsafe”
He moved in his seat a bit at her words, clearly uncomfortable by what he was hearing, but never wavered in the way his gaze was fixated on her, fully attentive.
“I don’t think I would have accepted if I didn’t know that you’d agree to some boundaries” Finally the words emerged from her mouth, easing her the tiniest bit when he nodded.
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to accept without setting any boundaries as well” He responded and for the first time he seemed slightly warmer than before, but not too much.
“Good. I have conditions, and they are pretty reasonable to me, but if they don’t seem reasonable to you we might as well part ways right now.”
Despite having been on an emotional rollercoaster where she felt in danger, safe, worried again and trusting him the next, she thought it logical to be wary of his world. It was a weird thing to experience first hand, knowing full well the man sitting before her was a death sentence waiting to happen but knowing deep down that he’d never purposefully harm her. Purposefully was the key word here.
“I know you are not a threat to me, that has become clear” He cleared his throat at her words. “But your world most definitely is”
Taehyung merely nodded again, knowing she was far from over but agreeing with everything she had said so far, urging her to continue.
“I need to know, moving forward, that I will be completely separate from…Bangtan” She whispered the name, as if invoking some sort of evil when saying it out loud. He flinched ever so slightly as she said it. “I know some things are out of my control, but I want no part in it if we can help it. I want to design this house, I really do, I wouldn’t have accepted otherwise, but I need to know that’s all there is to it.”
He cleared his throat again, an entirely uncharacteristic thing for him to do twice in a row. Unsettling to watch such a composed man seemingly lose his composure.
“I could not agree more if I wanted, Y/n.” He began after having found his voice again. “If my word means that much to you, know that I will do everything in my power to never mix your world with mine again. I will only be Taehyung to you, always. Man who wants to move to the coast, nothing else.”
A small smile cracked its way into her face at his words. Why she trusted him completely for saying that she didn’t know, after all men do lie - she knew that firsthand. She had a gut feeling, however, that Taehyung was being completely transparent and truthful with her.
“Okay, I’m glad we agree. I truly am very excited for this project and cannot wait to get started”
For the first time since they had shaken hands at the door, Taehyung’s lips curved ever so slightly. Even for just a moment Y/n’s heart warmed at the sight. She had said what needed to be said and now the future was golden, new project, no douche’s, no William and for once she was getting what she wanted without feeling guilt.
“In the interest of burying any unresolved issues…” He proposed, quickly bringing her back from dreamland and back to reality. His eyes remarkably soft after a long while of staying icy and focused “…there are some things I’d like to update you on before we close the book on Bangtan.”
Right. Reasonable enough, she thought, nodding.
“William” Strong start. “He is working for a rival organization. We are still tying up some loose ends, not sure what his contact is because they keep their secrets under lock and key, understandably. What we do know is that they have offered him protection and supply if he brings them our names.”
“Your names” She registered, aloud. Given that she knew his identity so well by now, and fully suspecting that his friend Jungkook might be another member, Y/n struggled with the concept of the masks. If he had revealed himself so quickly to her, how could it be so difficult for organized criminals to find out who they were? It only made the whole situation much more interesting and curious to her, but she restrained from asking any further. “That would be problematic, I’m sure”
He didn’t laugh at the clumsy way in which she had simplified his situation, merely nodded. “It’s nothing new, everyone in the underworld is always trying to find out who we are. The issue is William thinks you might help him out and that’s why he kept reaching out.”
“I would never help William find out” She tried to make that come out as a defense of her own innocence, but inevitably she sounded offended by the thought of helping out that scumbag in any sort of capacity.
“I know that very well” His voice was smooth in a way that always managed to bring her away from rage and into a more calm point of view. With a newfound relief that Taehyung thought her incapable of such betrayal, she couldn’t help but frown.
“Also, what do you mean ‘kept reaching out’? He only came to my apartment once” Boy did she remember vividly how anxiety-inducing and violent it had all been. It was, after all, her first suspicion that Taehyung wasn’t the man he presented himself to be, while simultaneously confirming that William wasn’t the man she had once loved.
Taehyung seemed to think about speaking before responding, clearly not happy with having to say anything but committed to keeping things transparent. “He tried to talk to you a few more times, actually, but we took care of it”
She gulped. Not so much worried about William breaking in again, because clearly that wasn’t an issue, but completely surprised that Taehyung had been so true to his word about keeping him at bay that he had a whole structure in place to keep her safe, and she hadn’t even noticed. Y/n tried to ignore the way her beating heart raced in her chest and cleared her throat.
“That’s… wow” Was the only thing she managed to murmur.
“There really is no need to dwell on this as long as you understand that he is no longer someone you should be concerned about” He was clearly trying to take weight out of the situation and she was glad to allow him, feeling increasingly warm and grateful to him in ways he probably wouldn’t appreciate her expressing.
Because truthfully, and madly enough, Y/n wanted to jump out of her seat and hug the man to the ground.
“Anyways…” Taehyung continued. “William will never bother you again, that’s for sure. Bangtan will never bother you again either. But I do have a request”
Frowning, Y/n nodded. “What is it?” Whatever could he want in return? Cutting ties with his mafia was the only possible outcome that benefited them both. She would no longer be a burden to him and he could no longer endanger her.
“Grant stays”
Oh. She must have looked quite taken aback, because he continued.
“That doesn’t mean we will be watching you or bothering you, it’s really just a safety measure until we are done with the project”
“If William isn’t an issue and I don’t owe Bangtan anything, how would there be a safety issue?” Her question was, in her opinion, the most important one.
“I’m the problem here, Y/n.” He began, sighing and lowering his gaze to his hands, leaning forward and landing his elbows on his legs, never looking small or worried but anxious and serious. This was an entire new side of him, a bit more raw and unprecedented. He leaned back into his chair again and looked at her, piercing. “As long as we work together, there will always be a risk and the only way to prevent that is to keep you shielded. No harm will come to you because we will not allow it, but for that to happen I need to bother you with Grant a bit longer”
When Y/n came back home from the helipad she knew her life would never be the same. In that moment, listening to Taehyung explain why Grant needed to stay, she felt like this was the new normal she had been wondering about all along.
Not entirely pleased but knowing it was for the best, she agreed. “Fine. As soon as our work here is done, Grant can get on with his life.”
“Great”
She doesn’t want anything to do with Bangtan, he wants to keep her safe and this seemed like the rational middle ground.
How does one go on with a meeting about interior design with a client after discussing such themes?
Awkwardly, that’s how.
“Did I show you the pinterest board I saved for this project? Might give you a clear vision of what I had thought for the living room” Was her original way of swaying the topic back to what mattered most.
With the promise to meet again in a few days to see the house in person and take the necessary pictures and measurements with her team, Taehyung and Y/n parted ways. In many ways she felt better. She had told him what she wanted out of their working relationship and he had agreed while offering protection. Sure, it meant she wasn’t as Bangtan-proof as she might have wanted, but trying to deny the existence of a threat wasn’t going to stop it from hurting her, she felt safer this way.
The quickest way she knew how to unwind was to visit the corner coffee shop near her apartment, something she hadn’t been able to do in a month full of mafias, sickness and emotional turmoil.
Ollie’s was the shop’s name, in honor of the owner’s dog. A lovely old lady that reminded Y/n of Mrs Hannigan in many of her mannerisms and care for her.
Jane and Lila would have probably scolded Y/n for ‘unwinding’ like she did: with her laptop and a coffee, scrolling through emails and designs and putting everything in order. Could that be considered overtime? Sure, but as the boss she felt like no amount of work was ever enough. Besides, she loved her job beyond words, so it genuinely felt like a good way to spend her time, without a time limit and expectating looks around her, she could insert herself in the cushiony seat by the window and relax,.
Much to her dismay, late August in the city this year was a suffocating time. Her sigh of pleasure when she entered the air conditioned coffee shop was evident to Cynthia, the owner, as she walked inside.
“Long time no see, Y/n” Cynthia smiled from behind the countertop she was wiping clean.
“Too long, right?” She smiled as she approached her.
“The usual?” The shop owner turned to start pressing buttons and moving ingredients like it was second nature.
“Please” Joy filled Y/n’s chest as she watched the steam emerge from the machine and the smell of coffee invaded her senses.
For about an hour she scrolled through her laptop in peace, sipping her sweet beverage and forgetting about the world as a whole. On a few occasions she received texts from her best friend asking for advice on a dress for an event they would both attend soon. Jane always liked to dress her best on these occasions and loved asking for advice even if she ended up ignoring it. Y/n found it quite amusing.
As the sun started to set and the sunrays no longer reached her face through the shop window, hiding behind the buildings of her neighbourhood, she thought perhaps the time to go had arrived. Packing up her things and setting for the door she turned around once to wave goodbye to Cynthia. Once she turned back to the door she was surprised by a woman crashing right into her. Cold liquid seeped into her skin and she was thrown back to the ground. With an audible gasp the other woman stood up and hurried to help Y/n up.
The shock was the biggest part of the fall, and Y/n’s shock only increased exponentially when she saw the face of the woman who kept apologising as they both stood up again: Rose.
The same Rose that had been laying on the ground of the helipad, unconscious. The same Rose that William had cheated on her on.
Y/n must have been too surprised about seeing her, because Rose frowned and asked “Are you okay? I’m so sorry I’m such a damn clutz”
Waking up from her statue-like-haze, and shaking her head quickly Y/n responded. “I’m okay, you are fine, don’t worry.”
Now that they stood face to face, Y/n could analyze her facial features further. Rose had a small scar, almost healed, on her temple, and she wondered if it had occurred on the night they were both taken. For some reason the girl in front of her had a red nose and signs of runny mascara. She had been crying, recently. The part inside her brain that urged her to despise her and everything she represented was fighting hard against the pity she started to feel at the sight. Womanhood means seeing another woman cry and running to offer a tissue.
She wanted more than anything to run out of the shop and forget that interaction had ever happened. Did Rose know who she was? That she knew her name? That she had despised her for an entire month without ever meeting her?
“Please, let me pay for the drycleaner’s, that stain is going to be tough to take out” The woman seemed truly perturbed by the fact that she had poured what seemed to be tea into Y/n’s white shirt. Now that she looked down at her chest Y/n cursed mentally, knowing it would, in fact, be hard to remove.
“That’s fine, don’t worry about it” She tried to dismiss her and walk away, perhaps rudely, but she was now quite sure that Rose didn’t know her and would like to keep it that way.
“Please, I insist.” Rose pleaded with gleaming puppy eyes that would have been impossible to resist had Y/n not known who she was.
For a brief moment, the briefest, Y/n wondered how anyone could hate the person standing before her. She was beautiful, even after what seemed to have been a good cry, with short pixie hair and big eyes. Her entire presence was soft and delicate and she exuded nothing but a gentle behavior with good intentions. She was momentarily reminded of the fact that the true villain was William, and that Rose may not have even known she was ‘the other woman’.
With a deep sigh, Y/n nodded. “Fine, thank you”
Rose finally smiled apologetically, sniffled and reached into her bag, extracting a few seconds later a sleek black phone with no case. Perhaps it was odd to notice such things about people, but Y/n had a pretty cute and decorated phonecase that made the thought of having a naked phone seem bizarre.
“Give me your number and I will send you the money right away”
A chill went up her spine at the thought of giving a stranger, specially this one, her phone. As quickly as she had accepted the help, Y/n was rejecting it again. “Seriously, don’t worry about it”
Rose was momentarily taken aback. It looked for a second like she was about to cry again and Y/n wanted to scream and run away. “I’m so sorry, that was so rude, we don’t know each other”
No words came out of Y/n’s mouth after this, dumbfounded. Yes, it was all very weird, specially to her, but that was something she would not be explaining to Rose anytime soon.
After reaching into her bag a second time, Rose extended her hand towards Y/n with a twenty dollar bill.
“That should cover the price of the drycleaners, please accept it” With the most annoyingly pleading eyes, Rose tried it one last time.
Y/n reached out towards her hand, and pushed it back against her chest softly. “Keep the money, it is seriously fine. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
As gently and respectfully as she could, Y/n smiled and walked away, finally.
The dissipating warmth that started to welcome the nighttime hit her like a ton of bricks and for more than one reason she bolted in the direction of her apartment, never looking back.
The next week of work goes by like it always used to. She understood life differently now, watched over her shoulder perhaps slightly more than the average person - for good reason - but overall had started to feel the normalcy of her old life flooding through the cracks.
She could not, however, stop thinking about Rose.
The more she thought back to their brief but impactful meeting at Ollie’s, the more she realized just how bent out of shape the woman had been. It hadn’t been just the few wounds she could spot or the tears that had seemingly been streaming down her face earlier. She had also looked tired and overall sad.
Could it be, maybe, that Rose was just another victim in Williiam’s grandiose scheme? Had she been just as afected by his actions as Y/n had been? Perhaps more?
Y/n truly had no idea.
If she ever thought Rose would just be another mystery in her life, an unanswered question of a person she would never meet again, she was hugely mistaken. Not two days after their first fortuitous encounter, Y/n walked into Ollie’s only to catch a glimpse of Rose’s pixie haircut on her spot by the window.
Cynthia didn’t exactly save the spot for her, but in a way she did. It would be unfair to tell clients they couldn’t sit there if they wanted to, but before anyone suggested, around the afternoons when Y/n usually visited, Cynthia liked to offer other nice spots around her shop. That’s why Y/n was surprised to find that it had been taken. Taken by Rose.
With an awkward glance around, Y/n realized the only space left was the table next to hers.
Damn.
Was she really about to leave one of her favorite places on earth for a person who didn’t even know her? A person who probably had no idea of what she represented or who she had hurt?
With a deep sigh and the conviction that Rose shouldn’t pay for the wrongs of men, Y/n walked over to the free spot and sat down.
Rose, who up until that moment had been completely immersed in a book, glanced up when she felt movement besides her. It took her exactly one second to glance down at her book and then back up at Y/n when she realized who she was. An uneasy smile was plastered on Y/n’s face as her back leaned against her chair, greeting Rose, who put her book away like it burned her and fully handed her attention to Y/n with a big smile.
“It’s you!” The smiling woman exclaimed. “Did the stain get out okay?”
Y/n nodded, not wanting to turn the conversation into a big moment. “Yes, thank you again for helping out.”
“Helping out? I’m the one to blame!” Y/n tried not to dwell on the double meaning of that statement, repeating like a mantra: She doesn’t know, she doesn’t know.
Smiling once again and dismissing her comment with her hand, Y/n turned to her computer and looked for her headphones inside her bag with urgency. Maybe as soon as she put them on she would be able to silence everything else around her.
“Listen… I never caught your name”
Of course she would.
The physical pull to close her eyes and sigh was too strong, but Y/n managed to smile instead and turn towards Rose once again. If saying her name didn’t completely reveal who she is to her, then nothing else would. It was worth a shot.
“My name is Y/n”
Absolutely no sign of recognition went through Rose’s expression whatsoever. Instead, her smile widened and she extended her hand in Y/n’s direction.
“I’m Rose. It’s very nice to meet you, Y/n”
With decreasing awkwardness and a big relief that her name didn’t spark any suspicion, Y/n shook her hand back.
“Nice to meet you too, Rose” It felt slightly bitter in her mouth to say her name outloud, but she managed to hide it well.
“Do you usually work here?” Rose pointed to her open laptop, without glancing at the screen.
“Sometimes” Y/n responded. The conversation had started, unavoidable, and it seemed she could not escape it. Perhaps she wasn’t the evil woman she had pictured, but Rose was every introvert’s nightmare. “Cynthia and I go way back, I love this place”
“That’s nice” Rose nodded like the story was passionate and interesting, when in reality there was nothing out of the ordinary about it. It seemed life was exciting and positive all around in Rose’s big bright eyes. “I love reading here, it helps me focus”
Y/n couldn’t help it, she glanced at the closed book on her table: Northanger Abbey, by Jane Austen. Y/n considered herself a big fan of Austen’s work, specially Pride and Prejudice, so she couldn’t help following the conversation with ease.
“I love that book” She blurted out.
“I’m loving it so far too,” Rose added. “I had never read Jane Austen before”
The shock on Y/n’s face was unstoppable. It was her truest belief that everyone should read Jane Austen always, for any reason.
“Better late than never” Was her response. “I think you should read Emma, it’s light and funny and one of her best works.”
“I heard about it, I can’t wait to pick it up” Rose now looked at her copy of Northanger Abbey as she talked, then back up at Y/n. “I just love the way she analyzes people”
Y/n wanted to clap and stand up. It was probably the poorest compliment anyone had ever given to Jane Austen, but so true at the same time. What she adored most about her writing style was the way she managed to capture everyone’s personality without much effort or long boring descriptions. The way her heroines navigated through a world where they found out with the reader just how curiously people can behave in different social settings. Not to mention the romance, friendships and hardships they go through.
Without fully delving into the many, many reasons why one should love her books, Y/n simply replied, “I love that about her too”
Not having intended it, Y/n found herself leaning forward and into the conversation. Time started to fly by as they jumped from topic to topic, books, movies, coffee… an endless loop of wonderful chit chat and nothing relevant.
For some reason, somehow, they managed to end up talking about relationships. Y/n, who had previously been relaxed and content, suddenly felt nervous hearing Rose confess that she had broken up with her boyfriend a month prior.
“I found out he was cheating on me” The young woman said, making Y/n gulp like it was her fault. She understood several thing simultaneously, things she had already believed to be true: Rose didn’t know who she was, she had been a victim of William’s game and she was just as sad and haunted as her.
“I’m very sorry to hear that” Y/n said and she truly felt it. Any and all doubts she might have had about the type of person Rose was, melted away. “I… I have been cheated on myself”
The implications of telling that girl that she had been in the same situation were perilous at the slightest, because she had quite literally been in the same situation.
“Men fucking suck” Rose announced, fully correct.
“They sure do” Y/n agreed.
Rose suddenly looked at her phone, she had received a text message.
“Oh shoot” She stood up and hurriedly began picking up her stuff. “I forgot, I gotta go. We really got caught up and I didn’t look at the time.
Y/n glanced at the screen of her phone “Oh shit” It had been almost two hours of conversation. She had done absolutely no work.
“Right” Rose’s soft laugh echoed in the almost empty coffee shop as she hung her bag over her shoulder. “Here’s my phone number, Y/n. I loved hanging out, we should do it again.”
Y/n grabbed the piece of paper like it was fleeting. It was the first time in her short existence that she had made a friend, if she could even consider her that, out of the blue in a public setting. The last time she had become friends with someone it had been Lila. Or Taehyung if one could even consider him that.
It felt very special to her keeping her phone number and saving it in her phone.
“I’d love to hang out again, Rose”
It felt surreal but it was true, Y/n had found friendship in the one person her ex had cheated on her with.
Blind date set up by your mother? Sounds like a horrible idea. Blind date on Valentine’s Day? Even worse. But your date is Namjoon - tall, handsome, and unexpectedly charming. What starts as a potential disaster turns out to be… well, you’ll see.
genre: Art nerd Namjoon X psychology nerd reader. Pure fluff. Cozy date vibes. First date.
word count: 5K
a/n: here's a little something for valentine’s 🥰 I didn’t have time so this is not edited, proofread or anything. So it might be repetitive, and there might be mistakes. Hope you'll still enjoy it and I love you all ❤️
Why did you say yes to this?
You roll the question again and again in your mind as you struggle through the rain to get to the restaurant.
You normally wouldn’t want to go anywhere after work, especially not when it’s raining. Especially not for a blind date with a dude you know nothing about. And frankly, don’t care to learn.
But your mother insisted.
She told you it’s her friend's son, he’s tall and nice and handsome, and... you basically stopped listening because you were anyway not interested.
But she continued. Didn't even leave an option to refuse.
I gave him your number already. He’ll contact you to schedule a date.
Ugh.
And he indeed sent you a message. Apologizing that he doesn’t have the time to call you properly because he’s busy with work, but would love to schedule a date.
You said yes…
What else could you do??
He suggested a time and a place. You agreed, and that’s where the conversation ended.
So, you know nothing about him.
Because you haven’t listened to what your mom had said, and you didn’t feel like asking questions to someone who just told you “he’s busy with work.”
And his profile picture is of a flower field. So you don’t even know what he looks like. That can’t be a good sign.
And on top of all that, it’s fucking Valentine’s Day.
This is probably going to be a disaster.
Blind date on Valentine’s Day? How have you agreed to this? At the time, you didn’t even realize it when he asked if you were free Thursday night.
Only when you talked with your friends did you connect the dots. To be honest, it’s quite impressive that he managed to get a reservation for Valentine’s Day on such short notice. And at a nice restaurant at that.
You finally get there, shaking water off your umbrella and yourself. You check your phone - nine minutes early. Good, it’ll give you a moment to collect yourself and manage the mess your hair is probably in.
You approach the hostess, hoping the table is ready so you’ll be able to put down your coat and go to the restroom to freshen up.
“Hi, I have a reservation for…” You realize you have no idea if he made a reservation or under what name. You don’t even know his last name.
“…Namjoon?” you mumble weakly.
The hostess looks at her screen for two seconds before she nods as she talks. “Yes, Kim Namjoon, two people, 8 PM.”
You’re about to ask her if maybe the table is ready as you came a bit early when she looks up. “Follow me.”
You walk behind her as she makes her way through the busy restaurant. It really is a nice place, warm lighting, white tablecloths, some old tunes playing in the background, low enough to hear the person next to you, loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the space full of people.
You look around as you cross the space of the restaurant. All the tables are fully occupied, mostly couples. Until you get closer to the end of the room, where you see a table, tucked in a corner, the only table where a single man is sitting.
Is he already here?
As you move closer, you start to notice… he’s big. Like his back and shoulders dwarf the chair, kinda big.
And... handsome. Like your mom said. Very handsome.
A panic starts to rise in you. What the actual fuck? It was supposed to be a flop date with your mom’s friend's loser random son.
You are definitely not mentally or physically prepared for a nice date at a nice place with someone looking like that.
Maybe it's not him. This couldn’t be him? Right?
You look at the hostess, she’ll probably divert at any moment now, take you to a lame table near the toilet or the kitchen. But she walks in confident, long strides directly in his direction.
He’s looking at something on his phone, glasses low on his nose. As you get closer, he seems to notice, and he looks up, as a bright smile breaks on his face. And when you are a few steps away from him, he pushes himself up, takes his glasses off, and puts them down on the table.
You get to the table, and the hostess turns to you. You wonder if she can read the panic on your face. “Enjoy your night,” she says brightly before leaving you there alone. Well, alone with him.
And for as much as you feel terrified, he looks delighted.
He's dressed nicely, with a linen shirt tucked into light dress pants. You try to ignore how the shirt disctactivly stretches on his pecs. And he's tall. Like, towering-over-you, you-need-to-tilt-your head-to-see-his-face tall. He takes a step towards you, hand reached out, you look down at it and then back up at his face as you put your hand in his.
You didn't need to know how much larger his hand was than yours. And how warm it is, compared to your icy hands that still haven’t warmed up from the outside cold.
“Namjoon. Nice to finally meet you,” he introduces himself as he shakes your hand. His voice... It’s… not good for you. What it does to you. The final nail in your coffin.
“y/n, nice meeting you too,” and you’re very aware how shaky your voice sounds.
He lets go of your hand as he circles you. “May I?” he gestures to your coat.
You just nod, and you help him to slide it off your shoulders. He hangs it on the back of your chair, and he pulls it out for you.
But you don’t sit down, you need a moment. “Umm.. I need to go to the restroom. Real quick.”
He nods, and he chuckles a bit, like he finds you amusing, “Sure.”
You lock the door quickly after you, letting out an exhale that has been sitting in your chest since you got here. You hurry to check yourself in the mirror, and well, you look just like the mess you’ve imagined. You look down at your clothes, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. Maybe you should have worn something nicer to work today. Nothing you can do about it now. You hand-comb your hair, making it look somewhat normal. Adding some lip gloss and a spray or two of perfume.
You examine the result in the mirror; this is the best you can do right now. You take another deep breath. You can do this. This is just a date. What is the difference from before? That he’s hot and tall and handsome? And it looks like he has pecs you want to rest your head on?
Okay, this isn’t helping.
Maybe he’s still a total loser.
Yeah, his personality might suck. Like, he could be a complete dick.
But he did choose a nice restaurant. And he got up when you arrived... And he took off your coat and pulled the chair out for you... That’s quite gentlemanly actually...
Maybe you’ll go out and find out instead of talking to yourself in the restaurant bathroom?!
OMG, how long have you been here? He probably thinks you’re having explosive diarrhea or something.
One last look at yourself. You can do it.
And with that, you got back out.
You stroll back to the table and slide into the chair in front of him. Your Valentine’s date. Namjoon.
He puts down his phone right away, takes off his glasses, smiling at you as you sit down.
You look at each other for a moment, you don’t know what to say, where to start, and it looks like he doesn’t know either.
“Well… this is awkward,” he chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. And you catch that he’s also a bit nervous. Maybe not as much as you are. But he is. And it’s somehow reassuring.
You laugh lightly with him, “Yeah, it really is. I’ve never been to a blind date. What is supposed to happen now?”
“Neither do I,” he nods. “I was just visiting my mom’s when your mother was there. And she started showing me pictures. She really talks about you a lot,” he giggles as he shakes his head. "And she might have asked me to take you on a date."
Oh, fuck your life. You cover your face with your hands. “This is mortifying.”
“No, no, it really wasn’t. She’s cute,” he giggles again, “and very persistent.”
“How is it not embarrassing that my mom basically told you that I’m chronically single?”
He laughs, a full laugh. “Because that makes the two of us.”
And just like that, the ice starts to break. You feel a tiny bit more at ease. Maybe you can actually do this. Go through this date.
“Wait, you knew how I looked?” You suddenly realize what he said earlier. “So it’s not actually a blind date to you,” you say, it like a complaint.
He takes a sip of water before talking. “Yeah, I saw some pictures of you, so I already knew you were pretty,” he flirts easily. “You haven’t seen any picture of me?”
You shake your head as you raise the glass of water to your lips. You need to cool yourself down.
“So I hope you’re not disappointed,” he says cheekily, tilting his head forward, grinning.
You’re about to open your mouth to say God knows what, but luckily, you’re saved by the server who stops by your table, “Ready to order?”
You panickily fumble with the menu you haven't even opened yet.
“I think we need a few more minutes,” Namjoon answers calmly. “Do you want to order drinks first?” he asks you as he opens the drink menu.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Is wine okay? Or do you want something else?”
“Wine is fine. You can choose whatever.”
He says something that sounds French as he points to what he wants for the server.
You then busy yourself with reading the menu as you need to prepare for when she’ll come back. And he follows suit, opening his own menu, “Do you want to share starters?”
Umm, duh? You’re starving. And because you haven’t really had many expectations for this date, you just planned to eat. Because at least you’ll always have food. “What do you think about fried zucchini flowers from the specials?” you suggest.
“That sounds good. And the burrata dish?” he asks as he looks at you above the menu.
You hum and nod. Your stomach already growls.
And right on cue, the waitress arrives with your wine. She uncorks the bottle and pours a small sample into one of the wine glasses. “Who will try the wine?”
Namjoon is gesturing with his hand to you, “Please.”
She places the glass in front of you, and you take a small sip, feeling suddenly embarrassed as he is looking at you, waiting for your approval. You don’t know much about wine. But it’s good. It feels smooth, and the taste is nice.
“I like it,” you nod as you look at him.
He smiles at you, then turns to the waitress and gives a nod of approval. And she follows by filling both of your glasses.
“Are you ready to order?” Namjoon asks you.
“Yeah, I’ll take the risotto,” you tell the server, and he orders the carbonara and the starters you agreed on.
When the waitress leaves, he takes up his glass and swirls the wine in it before taking a sip. He hums, and you wish you could ignore how low and attractive it is. “It’s a really good wine.”
You drink your wine as well, humming in approval.
“Your mom told me you’re doing your PhD now,” he says as he puts down his glass. “In psychology?” he adds a beat later. It takes you a bit by surprise, because he is obviously more prepared for this date than you were. If it wasn’t acutely obvious already.
“Yeah, I’m doing my research in behavioral psychology.”
“What is it about?”
“The connection between addiction and stress.”
“Oh, interesting," he lights up, sounding genuinely interested. "How have you got into the field?”
“Well, originally, I was more on the neuropsychology side. I was doing my bachelor's seminar on the HPA axis. The whole reward-stress dopamine-related response.”
He nods, drinking more of his wine.
“And then I got really into the world of addiction, how it's, as a phenomenon, shows how the brain reacts to extreme situations. How we react to them. I look at addiction more as a stress response and less as… lack of control. If that makes sense.”
“Yeah, totally,” he answers, and there is something in his voice, and a sparkle in his eyes that makes you want to keep talking.
So you continue, and he asks more questions. Looking at you, listening intently. He asks good questions, adding intelligent comments. Surprisingly, it goes well. You’re actually enjoying yourself talking with him about this. When the food arrives at some point, you feel more like yourself, more in your element.
Before you even notice, your glass is empty, and he immediately suggests filling it up for you.
“What do you do?” you finally ask him.
He looks up at you, fork in one hand and knife in the other, frozen in the middle of motion. “You really don’t know anything?”
You feel yourself blush as you shake your head. And he laughs, like he finds your obliviousness so funny.
“How did you even agree to this date at all?” he says as he shakes his head, not really expecting to get an answer. “I’m a curator. I work with several galleries, and I also help connecting business who look to buy local art with the artists.” He looks around, adding, “I actually worked with this restaurant. I helped them with getting all the art that’s around here.”
You look around as well, mimicking him. “You did a good job.”
He seems pleased with the compliment, smiling brightly, “Thanks.”
“Is this how you got a reservation here on Valentine’s Day?” you ask. Now it makes more sense.
“Yeah,” he answers proudly. “The owner is a good friend of mine, I told him I have a very important date and that he has to help me out,” he adds with a wink.
You almost choke on a bite, and you swallow it forcefully. Not knowing what to say more. You try to continue the previous conversation, “I actually don’t know much about art."
“You don’t need to know anything. Art is meant to be enjoyed, to be perceived. To evoke a feeling for the consumer. That’s the only thing you should know.”
You blink at him. "That sounds very nice in theory, but I'm sure you need to at least understand something about what you're looking at?"
“Have you ever been to a gallery before?” he asks. You shake your head, busying yourself with the food. You can guess where it’s heading.
“Then... maybe... I can take you?”
You just nod, mouth full of food. Not that you’d know what to say in response anyway.
The main courses arrive, with a new refill of your wine glass. You're not really good at responding to his flirting yet. But you feel much better than when you just arrived. This is going way better than expected.
For a moment, the conversation pauses, forks clink softly against plates, and steam curls up between you. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until now, and judging by how he’s already digging in, neither did he.
“This is dangerously good,” he says after his first bite, eyes widening slightly. “I might need to apologize in advance if I start ignoring you.”
You smile around your fork. “As long as you don’t steal my food.”
He raises a brow. “I was actually planning on snicking a bite of your risotto.” And his fork is already making its way to your plate. A moment before he reaches your plate, he looks up at you, checking if this is really okay with you. And you nod with a smile. You planned to steal a bite of his pasta anyway.
You laugh, the sound coming easier now, more natural. It surprises you how comfortable it feels.
“So,” you start a conversation again after you both ate enough to relax, swirling your wine absentmindedly, “Do you go on a lot of dates arranged by your mom?”
He winces. “God, no. I’m usually okay with finding dates on my own.”
You look at him, mischief glints in your eyes. “So... you go on a lot of dates?”
“Very smooth,” he chuckles as he takes a sip of wine. “But no, I usually work too much. Doesn’t leave much room to meet new people.” He says with a shrug, accepting it for what it is, but it sounds like it saddens him. “At least that’s what my mom says.”
“What about you?” he asks.
“Does my mom set me up on dates? She tries, but I usually refuse,” you say cheekily, trying to lighten the mood back again. Knowing this is not what he intended to ask.
“Then how did I get so lucky to land this date?” he asks, flirty again.
“She already gave you my number before talking to me. I couldn’t really back off at this point,” you say with an exaggerated sigh.
“Can I be honest with you?” he says conspiratorially, lowering his voice, leaning closer over the table.
You nod, eyes locked into his.
“I actually begged your mother for your number. After she showed me a picture of you, all she told me about you. I just really wanted to meet you.”
Your throat feels dry all of a sudden, and you feel hot all over.
“I hope it’s okay with you,” he says, voice even lower.
“Y-yeah, it’s okay,” you barely stutter.
And he smiles in response, a light laugh laced with his words. “Good. I’m glad you said yes to this date.”
“Me too,” and you look down at your plate, digging in for another bite.
For a few moments, both of you are back to concentrating on eating. You’re suddenly very aware of everything - your heartbeat, the warmth of the wine in your stomach, the way his gaze flickers to you when he thinks you’re not looking.
“Are you always this concentrated when you eat?” he asks suddenly, teasing, but there’s something in his tone that makes you feel like he’s only asking because he wants an excuse to keep the conversation going.
You blink at him, caught. “Uh… I don’t know. Maybe.”
He smirks, leaning back slightly, still eating, though. “You look so lost in thought. Like you’re trying to figure something out.”
You giggle. “And what exactly am I figuring out right now?”
He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “If I’m completely charming you or completely terrifying you.”
You bark out a laugh, unable to help yourself. “I’m leaning toward terrifying.”
“Nah. I don’t buy it,” he says, and it sounds so dorky, you can’t help but laugh. How does he even manage to say something like that and not sound like a complete douch?
“Okay. And what about you?” you ask, biting down on your lips, feeling somewhat self-conscious. You haven’t openly flirted like that in a long, long time. But you want to.
“Oh, I’m completely charmed. Wasn't I obvious enough?” he says right away, not even a slight waver in his tone.
You feel the heat creeping to your face; you hope that it’s dark enough that he can’t really see it. And you try to hide your smile behind a sip of wine. Not that you think you manage to.
You lower your glass slowly, trying - and failing - to compose your face.
“Oh, you were obvious,” you say, attempting nonchalance.
He squints at you slightly. “Obvious in a good way or in a ‘please escort this man out’ way?”
You pretend to consider it, tilting your head. “I’ll return to you with an answer by the end of the night.”
“I’ll wait patiently.” He nods seriously. “I did come in strong with the eye contact. Rookie mistake.”
You can barely hold your smile in as he refills both of your glasses, finishing the last drops of wine. “You did hold it for a very long time,” you agree.
“I read somewhere that long eye contact can build connection,” he says matter-of-factly. Then he pauses, thinking for a moment before he continues. “Or it can trigger a fight-or-flight response. It was a fifty-fifty gamble on my side that it'll work my way.”
“Fifty-fifty? You’re generous,” you say with a teasing smirk.
“Ouch,” he laughs under his breath. ”So, how are my chances looking right now?”
You pretend to muse, finger tapping your chin. “Like.. 30 percent?”
“Oh wow, that bad?” he says, but his big smile tells you he knows you’re bullshiting.
“What can I say? I’m hard to impress,” you giggle as you say.
“I figured. Or else, how someone like you would still be single?” he grins as he says.
You narrow your eyes. “Wow. That sounded like a compliment and an insult at the same time.”
“I’m talented like that,” he replies proudly. “It’s a niche skill.”
“So what are you implying?” you challenge, but there’s not a real bite.
“That you have standards,” he says simply. “High ones.”
You hum. “Correct.”
“And possibly a low tolerance for nonsense.”
“Also correct.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That explains a lot.”
“Explains what?”
“Why I need to be on my best behavior.”
“And is this your best behavior?”
“This is me trying.”
“That’s concerning.”
He laughs. “Okay, fair. But in my defense, I don’t go on many dates.”
You lift a brow. “Because you’re busy reading about cheap psychology theories about eye contact?”
He laughs. “Next time, I’ll check with a psychology PhD candidate if she approves the data.”
You shake your head, smiling. “So you don’t date at all?” You circle back to the topic, now that you're more relaxed. And have more wine in your system.
He shrugs. “Like I said, I get busy. And then when I do have time, I convince myself I should use it productively.”
“That’s the most responsible excuse I’ve ever heard.”
“I once cancelled a date because I remembered I had laundry,” he admits.
You almost snort wine out of your nose.
You level with him and rise up the stakes. “I once cancelled a date because I started a new show the night before.”
He nods slowly. “Dangerous.”
“I realized I prefer to go home watching what happens than going on a random date.”
He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. “Did you at least lie creatively?”
“I said I wasn’t feeling well.”
“That’s technically true,” he says solemnly. “You were unwell. Emotionally. And probably also mentally.”
You fake gasp, punching him on his arm. Ignoring how solid it felt.
“You cancelled for laundry.”
“Laundry is important,” he argues.
You roll your eyes, and he laughs.
“Okay,” he says calmly. “Once, I cancelled a date because I found a parking spot directly in front of my apartment.”
You’re laughing before he even finishes. “You sacrificed a chance for romance for convenient parking?”
“You don’t understand,” he says, shaking his head. “It was rush hour, in the middle of the city, right next to the building. I felt it was a sign.”
“A sign you should stand up?”
“I texted her and said something came up.”
“A parking spot came up,” you say, and you both laugh a little too loud for the vibe of the restaurant.
You wipe at the corner of your eye, still smiling. “You’re worse than me.”
“Thank you,” he says proudly.
“That was not a compliment.”
“I’m taking it as one anyway.”
You’re still smiling at him when the waiter appears beside the table, clearing your plates.
“Desserts?” she asks, placing the dessert menu between you.
He looks at you, and you just nod your head.
“Yes, please,” he answers.
There’s a moment of silence as you both read the menu.
“I’m kinda eyeing the tiramisu and panna cotta,” you say, and you look up at him, only to see that he’s actually already looking at you, not at the menu he holds.
“Let’s do both,” he says simply, still holding eye contact with you. He shifts a bit, his knee brushes yours under the table, and when you don’t move it, he leaves it there. You smile, and he smiles back.
The waiter returns, and he orders the desserts. “And espressos, please,” he adds.
You look at him. “It’s like, very late at night.”
“And the problem is?” he asks.
“You’re not sleeping tonight.”
“I rarely do.”
“That explains a lot,” you mutter.
He nudges your foot lightly under the table. “Rude.”
You feel so different from the beginning of the date. It’s almost hard to believe it was today. It’s hard to believe you just met a couple of hours ago. When have you ever been so comfortable next to people you just met? When was the last time you enjoyed a date?
The conversation flows easily now. You tell things about yourself, your life. He listens and gives you some of himself in response. Share bits of himself. Giving commentary when it’s appropriate.
The desserts arrive. With his espresso.
You dig into the tiramisu immediately.
He takes his own spoonful, eyes widening slightly. “Okay. This was the right choice.”
You nod, mouth full. “Mhm.”
After a few moments of just eating in silence, he put down his spoon, declaring, “The tiramisu was better.”
You giggle. “Are you always this decisive?”
“About dessert? Absolutely.”
“About other things?”
He leans back slightly, studying you. “Depends.”
“On?”
“Whether I care.”
You raise a brow. “And tonight?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I cared enough to find a reservation for Valentine’s Day on less than a week's notice.” He lifts his brow, like he thinks it’s obvious.
“And now I owe a favor. Which is probably gonna cost me,” he mutters, laughing.
“Hope it was worth it,” you say with a bashful smile.
“Oh, totally.” He leans in closer, resting both hands on the table, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “And still, I got only 30%.”
You pretend to consider it again, tapping your chin dramatically. “Fine.”
His eyebrows lift, expecting.
“Thirty-five.”
He gasps softly. “Five percent? That’s huge.” He says it all sarcastically.
“Don’t get cocky.”
“Never,” he says, already looking extremely pleased with himself.
You lean back in your chair, buzzing from wine and sugar and the way he keeps looking at you.
“Okay,” you say. “Make-or-break question.”
He straightens again. “I’m ready.”
“Would you eat the last bite if I offered it, or sneak it when I’m not looking?”
“To be honest? I’d probably sneak it.”
“And here I was, thinking you might be a gentleman.”
“I am a gentleman,” he protests, pouting slightly.
“So you’re not patient,” you tease.
“I’ll have you know I’m plenty patient,“ he says, voice low, eyes locked on yours.
You smirk. “Plenty patient, huh? I’m skeptical.”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Skepticism is healthy. Keeps me on my toes.”
You laugh softly, finishing the last bite of tiramisu. A yawn escapes you, the exhaustion of the day, the food, and the wine finally catching up with you.
He clears his throat, “I feel like this is the time I’m obligated to say I had a lot of fun tonight.” Something else is painting his tone, more gentle, almost shy. “And I’d love to see you again,” he says, and you notice his ears are tinted pink. “If you’d-”
“I’d love to,” you don’t let him finish.
He looks at you, smiling, and he moves his hand to rest on yours. You feel the warmth climb up from it, and it’s like it sets your whole body on fire.
“I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight as much as I did,” he says, softly.
You tilt your head. “You came with low expectations for this date?”
“I came with high expectations.” He squeezes your hand. “And you exceeded them.”
He holds your gaze, rubbing his thumb gently on your hand, until the waiter clears the plates and he signals for the check.
You gather your things, still smiling, as he helps you on with your coat. “Do you want me to call an Uber for you?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, but there’s a hint of care in it.
“That’d be great,” you reply, buttoning up your coat and trying not to stare at how good he looks in the soft light of the restaurant.
You step outside together. The city is wet from the rain, lights reflecting in the puddles. The night is beautiful, almost cinematic. He tilts down his head, smiling, and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine - not from cold, but from the way he’s looking at you.
He comes closer, standing right in front of you.
“So…” His hand brushes yours lightly. “This was… fun. Very fun.”
“It was,” you murmur, matching his smile.
He smiles brighter, he leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your lips. Short, sweet, yet enough to make your heart race. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes search yours, sparkling in the streetlight, full of emotion.
Neither of you says a word, just your breath swirling together in the cold air.
Then his hands go to the collar of your coat, and he pulls you back in. Or that you lean forward. It’s hard to tell when the only thing on your mind is him.
Your lips meet again, this time for longer, warmer, more certain. And for a moment, the world narrows to the rain-soaked street and the soft press of his lips. His thumbs brush along your jawline, and the kiss depends. His tongue teases your bottom lip gently, and you slightly part them for him. He tastes like cream and wine. He holds your head gently, fingers brushing your hair. And it feels right. You feel sure and steady in his hands. They are gentle and calm, keeping you in place but not pulling you hard. His lips move without a rush, like he savors every minuscule movement of your own. And you feel yourself melt more and more into the kiss. Wanting more of him. More of his calmness. More from how steady he holds himself. You feel like he can hold you too. You never looked for someone to hold you. But maybe it’ll be nice to have someone like that in your life.
You break apart just slightly, eyes immediately connecting.
“What are my chances now?” he asks, voice low and slightly breathless.
hii hun!! when are we getting a starry nights update 🥹🥹love the couple soooo much. literally one of the best fics ive ever read 🩷🩷
Hi babygirl pookie love ❤️
So, the current status is that originally, Chapter 16 was planned to have two parts to it. But I just decided I want to add another part, and I still haven't finished the second one yet. I hope to finish writing it this week, if the stars align for me, but it still needs some work. So, the answer to when the next chapter is coming? Idk…
Thank you so so so much for reading and sending this ask! I love them so much too, and having others to share this with is such a blessing ❤️ I absolutely love getting asks about them, so please feel free to send as many as you'd like until the next chapter is up! 🥰
Gaoshun gives his version of the 'birds and the bees' talk to Jinshi after walking in on the evidence.
word count: 530
The bright light of the full moon filtered through the window at Jinshi’s private residence.
Gaoshun stopped in his tracks a step and a half into the room, motionless, holding a stack of reports that had suddenly become far less important.
On the low table lay a small, unmistakable piece of evidence: a woman’s hair tie – plain, practical, and very familiar. Next to it was a discarded white inner robe – too plain, too small, and definitely not belonging to Jinshi. The bed was messy, and the faint, undeniable scent of medicinal herbs mixed with expensive incense still lingered in the humid air.
Gaoshun’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes narrowed.
"…Jinshi-sama."
Jinshi froze mid-motion, his face already turning a deep shade of crimson. He had been trying (and failing) to act nonchalant since the knock on his door. Trying to tame his disheveled hair, which was tangled and stuck to his sweaty forehead. Trying to casually adjust his collar to hide a faint red mark, only succeeding in drawing more attention to it.
He looked like a boy caught stealing sweets.
Gaoshun slowly closed the door behind him and stepped forward to set the reports down on the large desk. Jinshi slumped heavily into the chair behind it, elbows resting on the dark wood as he buried his burning face in his hands.
Gaoshun sighed, the deep, long-suffering exhale of a man who had seen entirely too much.
"You understand how dangerous it is, doing…" He paused, trying to find an appropriately polite word to use, before settling on, "…that."
Jinshi peeked through his fingers, mortified.
"Of course," he grumbled with annoyance.
Gaoshun’s demeanor didn't falter. As usual, he kept speaking with a monotone calm, which somehow made it infinitely worse for Jinshi. "My lord… you understand what this means. You have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. It is not that I would be entirely opposed to seeing another generation, but if she becomes pregnant–"
"We’ve been careful!" Jinshi cut him off before Gaoshun could say something he couldn’t handle right now.
Gaoshun kept his cool, though one eyebrow arched slowly upward. "Careful?"
"Maomao is… extremely thorough about that sort of thing. She had three different herbal mixtures prepared."
Silence fell. Jinshi’s ears were burning red.
Gaoshun nodded, still not convinced Jinshi understood the full magnitude of his, of their, actions. Or perhaps he did understand, but was simply indulging in the fantasy of being a normal man who could do whatever he pleased, rather than a man of his status.
"If word of this were to get out…" Gaoshun murmured, not needing to finish the sentence.
"I know," Jinshi whispered, his tone suddenly serious, melancholic despite his embarrassment.
Gaoshun studied him for a long moment. An awkward, heavy silence stretched between them. Gaoshun was still deeply worried, but he couldn’t say much more.
And Jinshi knew exactly how problematic this was. He just hadn't been able to hold back any longer.
The older man finally spoke up again. "Perhaps you should simply wed her–"
Jinshi let out a loud groan and flopped forward onto the table, cutting off the rest of the sentence.
Gaoshun gives his version of the 'birds and the bees' talk to Jinshi after walking in on the evidence.
word count: 530
The bright light of the full moon filtered through the window at Jinshi’s private residence.
Gaoshun stopped in his tracks a step and a half into the room, motionless, holding a stack of reports that had suddenly become far less important.
On the low table lay a small, unmistakable piece of evidence: a woman’s hair tie – plain, practical, and very familiar. Next to it was a discarded white inner robe – too plain, too small, and definitely not belonging to Jinshi. The bed was messy, and the faint, undeniable scent of medicinal herbs mixed with expensive incense still lingered in the humid air.
Gaoshun’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes narrowed.
"…Jinshi-sama."
Jinshi froze mid-motion, his face already turning a deep shade of crimson. He had been trying (and failing) to act nonchalant since the knock on his door. Trying to tame his disheveled hair, which was tangled and stuck to his sweaty forehead. Trying to casually adjust his collar to hide a faint red mark, only succeeding in drawing more attention to it.
He looked like a boy caught stealing sweets.
Gaoshun slowly closed the door behind him and stepped forward to set the reports down on the large desk. Jinshi slumped heavily into the chair behind it, elbows resting on the dark wood as he buried his burning face in his hands.
Gaoshun sighed, the deep, long-suffering exhale of a man who had seen entirely too much.
"You understand how dangerous it is, doing…" He paused, trying to find an appropriately polite word to use, before settling on, "…that."
Jinshi peeked through his fingers, mortified.
"Of course," he grumbled with annoyance.
Gaoshun’s demeanor didn't falter. As usual, he kept speaking with a monotone calm, which somehow made it infinitely worse for Jinshi. "My lord… you understand what this means. You have crossed a line that cannot be uncrossed. It is not that I would be entirely opposed to seeing another generation, but if she becomes pregnant–"
"We’ve been careful!" Jinshi cut him off before Gaoshun could say something he couldn’t handle right now.
Gaoshun kept his cool, though one eyebrow arched slowly upward. "Careful?"
"Maomao is… extremely thorough about that sort of thing. She had three different herbal mixtures prepared."
Silence fell. Jinshi’s ears were burning red.
Gaoshun nodded, still not convinced Jinshi understood the full magnitude of his, of their, actions. Or perhaps he did understand, but was simply indulging in the fantasy of being a normal man who could do whatever he pleased, rather than a man of his status.
"If word of this were to get out…" Gaoshun murmured, not needing to finish the sentence.
"I know," Jinshi whispered, his tone suddenly serious, melancholic despite his embarrassment.
Gaoshun studied him for a long moment. An awkward, heavy silence stretched between them. Gaoshun was still deeply worried, but he couldn’t say much more.
And Jinshi knew exactly how problematic this was. He just hadn't been able to hold back any longer.
The older man finally spoke up again. "Perhaps you should simply wed her–"
Jinshi let out a loud groan and flopped forward onto the table, cutting off the rest of the sentence.
A stolen bottle of Dom Pérignon and your spot on the roof lead you and Taehyung to a place you've never been before. With your armor down and your deepest fears laid bare, will you hold onto each other, or will you walk away?
genre: Taehyung X Reader, art director Taehyung x software director reader, somewhat of a slow burn, high school crush to friends to lovers, workplace romance kinda, idiots in love, fluff then angst then fluff then angst then fluff, it’s complicated, eventual smut, nothing physical for many many chapters like we’re in a shojo anime they haven’t kissed yet and they get excited from regular touch like they aren’t fucking 30.
warnings: 🚨This chapter contains more sensitive content than the previous ones, so please read these warnings carefully🚨 Mentions of: drinking problems, abusive/neglectful parents, experiencing childhood boycotts/bullying, issues with self-worth, and self-blame.
I want to note that while the chapter does touch on these subjects, we don’t get into graphic or detailed descriptions of any of them. While reading can help you cope with sensitive experiences, it can also be triggering. If you choose to read, and you find these subjects troubling or hard for you, please know this is a safe space to decompress and vent your feelings after reading.
word count: 4.5k
Previous Chapter
a/n: I have had this chapter in mind for about a year and a half now. Having it finally written down and out feels bittersweet. It was very emotional to write, but it’s also a massive relief, and I’m so happy to finally share it with you. This is probably one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I’m so proud of it. I haven't felt this way about something I wrote in a long time. I hope you receive it well and find comfort in it, even within the heavy subjects it deals with ❤️
Thursday December 19th
If you could, you would never attend another office party in your life. It’s always a bit awkward. The food and drinks are always just okay, no matter how much money the company spends on them. And always, always, someone from sales will corner you to talk you to death about Q1 projections.
You nod politely as David drones on about the budget for the new e-commerce app rollout, taking a long sip of your perfectly crafted, yet not smooth enough, gin martini.
It’s the third week of December.
Nearly two months since the Halloween party.
Two months since Jungkook dragged Taehyung out of the party by his wrist, looking like he was ready to commit a felony.
You haven't talked about it. Not once.
It turned out that being cowards was the one thing you and Taehyung were perfectly aligned on. The Monday following the party, he had shown up at your office door with an iced Americano and a joke about Jimin’s hangover. He acted like the sudden, furious exit had never happened. And you, terrified of breaking the fragile, comfortable dynamic you’d built, made the active choice not to ask.
You wanted to. Many times. Had a ton of opportunities to ask, too. But you never did. Something about it just... Didn’t sit right with you.
Anyway, the end of the year is a brutal, sleep-deprived marathon of pushing critical tech updates and finalizing the roadmap. It was easy to hide behind work and exhaustion. You kept things to brief smoke breaks, safe banter in the hallways, and glances across the table during next year’s executive strategy meetings.
You kept it safe. Like you always do.
"…and if we look at the advertising costs versus the projected conversion rates," David continues, oblivious to your glazed-over expression.
You scan the impeccably styled event space, desperately looking for an out.
It comes out as an unwanted one.
Ben.
Ugh.
Exactly how many times do you have to politely reject this man before he finally takes the hint?
He whistles. “Y/n, nice dress.” Cutting David mid-sentence about lead downpour or something.
You’re going to barf.
David blinks, startled by the intrusion, and immediately scuttles off toward the buffet with some murmured excuse, leaving you completely defenseless.
Ben steps directly into your personal space, a smug, overly confident grin plastered on his face. "Too good to be talking about marketing costs, anyway. You look gorgeous tonight." Unapologetic as always.
"Ben," you say, taking a deliberate half-step back.
He laughs, entirely missing, or straight up ignoring, the frost in your tone. "Right, right. Listen, the food is terrible this year. They really cut the budget down, uh? Let me take you to this spot I know downtown. It has some bellinies to die for–”
"She has plans."
The deep, smooth voice cuts through the ambient house music perfectly.
You look over to see Taehyung stepping up beside you.
Ben’s smug smile drops instantly into a sneer.
"Taehyung," Ben says, puffing out his chest a little. "Didn't see you there. Shouldn't you be off arranging centerpieces or whatever it is you guys do for the holiday campaign?"
Taehyung doesn't even blink. He just gives Ben a slow, pitying smile. "Shouldn't you be figuring out how to explain the massive Q3 deficit to the board?”
Ben flushes a dark, angry red, his jaw tightening. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused," Taehyung says flatly.
He doesn't wait for a response. He smoothly drops a hand to the small of your back, the heat of his palm seeping right through the silk of your dress.
Ben’s eyes drop immediately to where Taehyung’s hand rests. He opens his mouth, clearly ready to say something nasty, but before he can, the music abruptly cuts out. A microphone whines, signaling the CEO is about to give his annual holiday speech, and a hush immediately falls over the room.
Ben snaps his mouth shut, forced into polite silence.
Taehyung doesn't miss a beat. Under the cover of the host introducing the CEO and the applause welcoming him to the stage, his hand gently pressed on your lower back, steering you away from Ben and toward the back exits.
You slip through the crowd as the speech begins, letting his hand guide you out of the venue. By the time you reach the hallway, the CEO's booming voice fades into a muffled echo. Taehyung drops his hand from your back, stepping over to the private stairwell.
He stops next to the floor's kitchen. “Wait here,” he pushes the door and comes back a minute later, casually holding an unopened bottle of Dom Pérignon by the neck.
"You stole that from the CEO's reserve stash," you point out, crossing your arms as you blink at him.
"I repurposed it," he corrects smoothly, giving you a wink as he continues to walk down the dim hallway. He pushes the heavy stairwell door open with his shoulder, gesturing for you to go out first.
"Shit, it's cold," you shiver, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you walk over to the edge, taking your usual spot against the concrete railing.
Taehyung steps up next to you. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s still warm from his body, smelling faintly of his cologne.
"I’m fine, you’re going to freeze," you protest weakly, though you immediately pull the jacket closer.
"I'm wearing a sweater, you're wearing silk," he dismisses, working the foil off the top of the champagne bottle. "Plus, if you get hypothermia, I’ll have to fill out an HR report, think of all the paperwork. I don't have the time for that."
“Oh god, that sounds like a nightmare.”
The cork pops with a loud thwack that echoes over the empty roof. Taehyung quickly catches the bubbling foam with his mouth, some of it still drips down his chin, taking a long, unbothered drink before wiping his lip with the back of his hand.
He offers the heavy bottle to you, you take it, your fingers brushing his, and take a long swallow. The champagne burns good going down.
You lean against the railing, your back to the city and your face to Taehyung. He’s a nicer view anyway. You pass the bottle back, and he takes it with a smile, going for another quick sip.
“So," Taehyung says, his voice sharp in the quiet of the night as he leans against the wall, facing you. “Where are you doing the holiday?”
“My parents' place. And then the morning after, we’re going to my aunt's. We have this tradition that we open presents in the evening, just the four of us.” You let out a small giggle at the memories, “It’s nice. What about you?”
"I’m going to my mom's place this Saturday. To spend some time with her before the actual holiday," he answers. A soft, genuine smile stretches at the mention of his mother. “Our flight is right on the morning after the holiday.”
"Amsterdam?” You question, remembering him talking about it a while ago. He answers with a nod. “With Jimin and Jungkook? You’ll be lucky if you come back alive."
"I've already updated my will," he jokes, his chest moves with a quiet laugh. He takes a sip before he locks back on you, his dark eyes studying you for a moment. “Where are you and the girls going?” He hands you the bottle.
“Paris,” and you lean forward to take it.
"Paris," he echoes.
You take a drink, then put the bottle on the wall beside you. "You used to travel there a lot, right?”
“Yep. Like every other month, we had an office there. I love this city.” He smiles, but there is something sad and dark passing in his eyes. He moves on quickly, “You’ve been there before?”
“Yeah,” you answer quietly. You think of the last time you were there, with who you were. The thought aches a bit in your chest.
You’re ready to make new experiences of the city, to reset the memories in your mind with new, fresh ones.
You look over at Taehyung. He's staring out at the city over your shoulder, the wind ruffling his dark hair. It hits you, suddenly, how strange this is. How constant he has been in your life for the past months. How you went from almost strangers, to being this close, that you follow him outside in the middle of a party without questioning it.
And how, despite all that, still, a lot is missing. All the conversations and definitions and questions you avoid.
You grab the bottle and take a long sip, head tilted back as the bottle is starting to empty out. Letting the alcohol warm your blood and blur your hesitation. When you open your eyes, Taehyung is looking straight at you with an intensity you’re not expecting.
Taehyung shifts slightly, leaning his shoulder back. "You booked this Paris trip a while ago, didn't you? I remember you mentioning the flights months ago."
"Yeah," you nod, staring out at the distant city lights. "I like to have it locked down before the actual madness of December starts. Give myself a solid escape plan."
He hums, his gaze never leaving your face. "So it's an annual thing, then? Escaping the city?"
You let out a small, humorless laugh. "Kind of."
The playful energy between you dims just a fraction, settling into something quieter. You look sideways over the glittering city skyline, the biting wind tugging at your hair. You take a breath, the freezing air filling your lungs.
You don’t know if it’s the reminder of the past, if it’s the alcohol starting to take effect. Or if it’s Taehyung looking at you like that. Or the combination of it all, but it makes you vulnerable, it makes you bare out a layer you’re not expecting to.
“I usually prefer to travel around the holidays,” you murmur. You extend your hand, handing Taehyung the bottle. “In recent years, at least.”
He takes it from you. “Why?’
"Because it's exhausting.The expectations, from everything, from everyone. All the events. Being present for everything and everyone. Yet you have a shit ton of work to do.” You sigh, like the exhaustion of it all is real in this moment.
“Like you have to be happy and jolly and in the holiday spirit. Even if you actually feel miles away from it. It can be so draining to force yourself to fit into all of that.”
Taehyung listens, his attention fully on you, bottle hanging from his hand, like forgotten. When you stop rumbling, he nods slowly at first, then he asks tentatively, “And running away from it helps?”
“It’s not running away,” you shoot almost defensively. This might be a lie. “It’s giving myself some healthy distance from the madness.”
Taehyung brings the bottle to his lips, swallowing as he keeps his eyes on you, like he’s reading through your bullshit. Maybe it’s this, or the lack of verbal response, but you continue to try explaining, try to give him your reasoning.
“My ex used to love it. We broke up right around Christmas. A few years ago."
At this, Taehyung goes completely still, you can feel his sudden, absolute focus. Like he’s scared to make any sudden motion, to talk too loudly, to somehow have the wrong reaction. He takes another slow drink from the bottle. "What happened?"
"I was the problem," you say simply, the truth slipping out. "He said I was too invested in my work. That he always felt like a second priority. He got sick of this and broke things off." You let out a bitter laugh, not that anything about what you said is really funny. “I don’t blame him.”
You pull the jacket tighter around your shoulders, refusing to meet Taehyung’s eyes. "Honestly, he wasn't even the first to say it. It’s like I have this fundamental defect where I don't know how to just be a normal partner in a relationship. I don't know how to turn it off when I get home."
You stare down at your pointy heels on the rough floor, the weight of the words settling like lead in your stomach, but they keep just coming out. "I always manage to fuck it up. Every single time. I got so hyper-focused on proving myself, on making sure my career is bulletproof, that I ended up neglecting the people right in front of me. I make them feel like an afterthought."
Your throat tightens, the freezing air suddenly biting a little harder, your hair whipping around your face dramatically with the wind bursts. "When he left, he told me that loving me was lonely. And the worst part is, I knew exactly what he meant. I'm just incapable of not ruining every good thing I have."
You blink away the moisture, taking a stabilizing breath, doing your best to hold it together. You hold yourself not ot look up at Taehyung until the wave of emotions is over, you’re afraid of what the look of him in your vulnerable moment will do to you, like it’s easier to manage this crash alone. The quitness that follows, though… It’s harsh. It breaks you just a tiny bit more. And you just can’t help it. You look back up at him–
Taehyung looks at you with scrunched brows, deeply disturbed.
Well, you guess he finally gets it now, how fucked up you are. How inherently broken you truly are. Guess there’s no going back. The secret is out in the world. The cat is out of the bag. Like always, you just messed up another thing in your life.
You both remain quiet for a long time. The silence stretches between you, heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic below and the whistle of the wind.
"You're not the problem," he says finally, his voice a low, rough rasp in the crisp air.
He steps up closer, sets the champagne bottle down on the concrete railing with a heavy thud, and turns his body toward you.
"He was," Taehyung says, his tone suddenly sharp, laced with a quiet, fierce anger. "He wasn't man enough to handle you. That's the truth."
You look up at him. "Taehyung–"
"No, listen to me," he interrupts, stepping into your space. The heat radiating off him cuts through the almost winter cold. "Any guy who makes you feel like your ambition is a burden is just insecure. He was intimidated by you. He couldn't handle how smart, how incredibly driven, and amazing you are. So he tried to make you feel small to feed his own ego."
He reaches out, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before his warm fingers gently wrap around your wrist.
"Your drive isn't a flaw, y/n," he says, his dark eyes locked onto yours, desperately trying to convey how sincere he is. "You are brilliant. And if he couldn't see that, if he made you feel like you had to shrink yourself down to be loved by him, then he was an idiot who didn't deserve you in the first place."
His words hit you straight in the chest, unraveling a tight knot you didn't even realize you were carrying. Your throat feels tight. A single tear travels down your cheek. His fingers twitch around your wrist. You look down at his hand, the warmth of his skin anchoring you. You want to believe him, want to take his words and make them your truth.
But it’s hard.
When the same thing happens over and over. It feels impossible to think the problem isn’t you.
"It... it goes deeper than just him, though," you whisper, if you’ll talk louder you voice will break. You feel your eyes sting and your throat closing with all the buried emotion and fears finally surfacing. The final wall is crumbling under the weight of his steady, unwavering gaze. "I am like that because I'm terrified."
Taehyung’s thumb brushes softly against your pulse point. "Terrified of what?"
"That I'm easy to leave," you admit, the confession leaving you feeling completely bare. "When I was in elementary school, a bunch of kids completely boycotted me. Just... shut me out, averted like I didn’t exist. It wasn’t for a long time. When I got to middle school and met Gabby and found my place, I thought it was forgotten, but I think it permanently broke my brain."
You let out a shaky breath, staring out at the dark sky instead of his eyes, blinking back tears. "I always have this underlying panic that if I'm not the one fixing everything, if I'm not working the hardest and proving my worth constantly, if I won’t be perfect all the time, everyone will see me for who I really am. People will just leave. I thought I resolved this, but when another relationship ended because of me, when my ex left me because what I was giving wasn’t enough... it just felt like confirmation. That I really am the problem, and I'll always end up pushing people away."
The thought that if Taehyung sees you for the actual loser, coward that you are, hits you like a wall of bricks. It terrifies you. Now he’ll come to his senses and will pull away.
You don’t know what got into you, made you spill it all out like that. Maybe it was burdening you all along. You thought it was easier to stay in this in-between safe place with him, not get too deep, not reveal these parts of you. Keeping it safe. Keeping him in a way.
It was easier. Until it wasn’t.
Yet for all how terrified you are, you’re equal parts relieved. It’s out now - the dark truth you’ve been holding in, the act you’ve been putting on, finally let go.
You wait for his grip to loosen. You wait for him to take that inevitable step back.
He doesn't.
Instead, Taehyung’s hand slides down from your wrist, his long, warm fingers slotting perfectly between yours. He grips your hand tight, pulling you a fraction closer until the toes of your boots almost bump against his shoes.
"I'm not leaving, Y/N," he says, his voice soft, as if he heard your exact thoughts.
He looks down at your intertwined hands, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. His usual impassive mask is now replaced by a heavy, quiet kind of sorrow.
“I understand what you feel more than I want to.” He sighs, then looks up, but not at you, he looks out at the distance behind you. It’s like the piece of you you shared affected him. Like he’s organizing his mind, preparing a piece of his own to share in return.
You blink, your eyes move over his face, trying to read what is going on after a long minute of silence, his grip tightening between your fingers. "Taehyung?"
He finally looks at you, his dark eyes shining with a vulnerability you have never, ever seen from him. The confident, untouchable Taehyung is completely gone.
"My dad left when I was twelve," he says, his voice barely above a whisper in the wind. "He had... a problem.” His voice drops impossibly low, quiet, quivering with hurt. “With drinking. He was never good to my mom. Or to me."
You suck in a breath, your heart breaking instantly. You squeeze his hand back instinctively. You never heard about it. You had no clue. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing.
"And one day he just packed up and left us," Taehyung continues, his jaw ticking as he stares out over the dark horizon. "In some ways, it was better than when he was around. But my mom had to pick up the pieces. She started working double shifts, sometimes three. She’d leave before I woke up and come back long after I went to sleep.”
He shakes his head let out a frustrated sigh. “I was so angry at her. Like she was abandoning me as well. But she just did her best to keep a roof over our heads and pay off the debts he left behind.”
He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, his gaze distant as if he's seeing a ghost. "I wish I had helped her more at the time. Give her some ease of mind. But I didn’t. I could barely take care of myself.”
He gulps, swallowing the emotions so he can continue. You don’t interrupt, partly because you don’t know what to say, but you also want to let him let it all out. Like he’s let you.
“I spent almost every night alone in this dead, quiet apartment. Waiting for someone who wasn't coming back. So I just went out, started hanging with the wrong people. Went to the wrong places. I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble at the time. Until I met Jungkook."
A sad, fond smile ghosts over his lips before vanishing. "We met in middle school that same year. Somehow, he just knew. He started dragging me to his house after school every day. I practically lived there. His mom cooked for me, and his parents put a mattress on his bedroom floor so I could sleep there. If it wasn't for Jungkook…” he pauses for a moment, letting this thought pass, “I don’t know where I would have been today."
The chill in the air seems to freeze this moment in time. To settle directly into your bones.
"But even with Jungkook," Taehyung’s voice drops, rough and hollow as he continues. "Even with my mom killing herself at work for me... for years... God, my whole life, really... I convinced myself it was my fault. That something was just fundamentally fucked up with me. I always thought, if I were just a better son, if I were quieter, or smarter, or less of a burden, maybe he would stop drinking. Maybe he would have stayed.”
His voice drops even lower. “Maybe he would have chosen me."
He turns his head, catching your gaze again. The raw, open pain in his expression makes the air punch out of your chest.
"I still feel like that," he admits quietly, shyly. "Like I'm not enough. Like I don't deserve the good things that happen to me, so I just... let them get ruined. I expect people to leave, so I don't even try to stop them."
You can feel his hand tremble in yours. And you realize that he’s holding you more for himself than for you.
"Taehyung, look at me," you say immediately, softly, but with absolute conviction.
He hesitates, but finally turns his gaze back to yours.
"You were a child," you whisper fiercely, leaning even closer so you have to tilt your head up to maintain eye contact. "His failure to be a father has absolutely nothing to do with your worth. He was broken. You weren't."
He exhales, and he sounds so tired. Of letting it all out, or from years of holding these feelings. "Logically, I know that," he murmurs, his voice a low, heavy rasp. His eyes drop briefly to your mouth before flickering back up to your eyes. “But I feel so broken all. the fucking. time.”
The confessions hang in the freezing air. Neither of you tries to fill the silence with empty platitudes, because you both know they won't help. Instead, you just hold on to this moment. To each other. Trying to find comfort in each other's ugliest parts.
Despite the wind whipping across the roof, the space between your tightly laced fingers is burning. You can feel his palms getting clammy, mirroring your own. A heat that contrasts with the chill inside and out.
Looking up at him, at his unguarded eyes and the tension in his jaw, the monumental weight of this moment settles over you. You realize exactly what this is: just two terrified people who expect everyone to leave, currently holding onto each other. It finally makes sense. The two of you played it safe so you wouldn’t be shattered when this inevitably ends, but standing here now, debating if you should ask the other– Please don’t leave me.
He looks down at your hands, still tightly tangled together between you, a wry, sad smile touching the corners of his mouth. "So we’re both fucked up."
You let out a wet, breathless laugh of your own, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with your free hand. "We're a mess."
"A disaster," he agrees softly.
But he doesn't pull away. Instead, his thumb strokes over your knuckles again.
"But for what it's worth," Taehyung murmurs, his dark eyes rising from your hands to meet yours again. "I don't look at you and see a mess, y/n. I just see someone who cares too much.”
You swallow hard, your heart doing a complicated, painful stutter in your chest.
“I’m glad you chose to share that part with me. Thank you,” he confesses, his voice incredibly soft.
“Me too,” you add, the words barely a whisper.
The air between you completely shifts, turning heavy and thick. The conversation is over, leaving nothing but the overwhelming reality of how close he is standing.
He steps fully into your space, the heat radiating off his body shielding you entirely from the biting cold. His free hand comes up, stopping for a second before his knuckles gently brush against your cold cheek. You let out a shaky breath at the contact, the smell of his cologne and the champagne in his breath wrapping around you.
Taehyung’s gaze darkens, dropping from your eyes to your mouth. The shared conversation, the quiet of the roof, of your spot, the bittersweet realization that you are the same kind of broken, it all acts like gravity. He tilts his head, his thumb slowly tracing your cheekbone, the space between you practically non-existent now.
Your heart hammers violently against your ribs. You close your eyes, your lips parting slightly, waiting for the warmth of his mouth.
But it never comes.
Taehyung suddenly goes rigid. His hand drops from your cheek like he’s been burned. His breath hitches, sharply, and he pulls away.
The cold wind rushes instantly into the space he leaves behind.
He takes a full step back, running a frustrated, trembling hand through his hair. A dark, complicated shadow passes over his face – something loaded settling right back behind his eyes. Instead of explaining, he just clears his throat, his voice suddenly strained, miles away. He reaches for the bottle and downs the remains of it.
"We should," he starts, looking anywhere but at you. "We should probably get back inside."
