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Beautiful Woman

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 2.1k Summary: Based on a tumblr text post that goes

“My dad always used to refer to my mum as “the most beautiful woman in the world” and I always thought it was kind of dumb, because I could look at my mum and know for sure that she was not the most beautiful woman in the world, not even by far, and I always thought that my dad was just saying that to be nice. And then one day I met the most beautiful woman in the world.”

If you find it, please link it to me, I’d appreciate it very much! Thanks! X

Note: I found a post on Instagram and read it out to my friends because I saw the OT7 for this but they saw Hobi before anyone else. I’m thinking about making a series maybe? For all of them? Idk. Yes. Hello. I am not dead.

Dad was always really sappy when it came to mom. He gave her flowers, candlelit dinners, surprised her with her favourite things and overall tried to be the husband she always dreamed of marrying. People would always look at them and wonder or wish that they could achieve something like that some day, but having to live with that every day of my life proved to be kind of uncomfortable.

Even though I was born into the world under my noona’s caring eye, she wasn’t there to share my discomfort when it came to our parents’ affections; If anything, she dreamed, just like everyone else, to have something akin to their relationship one day.

Me?

I just want to survive college. Even if my family supports my dancing through and through, I still push myself to do my best in order to make them proud. I major in dance, minor in international studies. Even though dancing is what I love to do and it’s what I want to do for the rest of my life, from where I stand right now I’m not completely sure if it can sustain me right after college is over. Dance companies get really picky with who they recruit.

I’ve just gotten off the phone with mom, she’s called to reconfirm if I was coming over this weekend for dad’s birthday to which I said I couldn’t promise anything, but I’d try. By the time I say goodbye, my eyes hazily drift towards the wall clock in the apartment I share with Joon and I see that I’m 20 minutes late for my first class.

I run to my room, matting down my bed hair as I dig for a decent pair of sweats in the closet. I slip on a black pair as I stick my toothbrush in my mouth before I realise the shirt I was wearing isn’t exactly something that should be worn beyond the walls of home. My inner cheek starts to burn from the minty concentration and I quickly shove the bristles of my toothbrush back and forth before letting it rest again on the opposite side. I’m 6 feet deep into my closet, searching for my yellow hoodie, when Joon comes in my door.

“You’re gonna clean this up right?”

I barely register that his question needs an answer and that my answer should be verbal, but before my brain can send instructions to my mouth in order for me to say yes, I catch a glimpse of mustard yellow under a pile of denim jeans and I shout in victory, little puffs of foam shooting out.

Joon shakes his head with a small smile. He’s gotten too used to this so no further conversation is needed. He walks out of my room as I make my way back into the bathroom to rinse and gargle, the effort of matting my hair down still in process. I check the clock on my bedside table and see that 20 more minutes have passed.

Shit.

I turn the tap on in haste, shoving as much water as I could in the little amount of time I allowed myself. When enough paste was out my mouth I tried to gather the water into my hair as well, maybe a little liquid could help me tame it, I didn’t stay in the bathroom long enough to see if my efforts worked.

Practically ripping my current shirt off, I realise that there’s no use in grabbing a new one since I’m going to be wearing the hoodie all day anyway. I shove it over my head, scampering towards the foot of my bed where my half empty backpack lay untouched from yesterday; with that, I’m rushing out the door.

“Joon, I’m out!”

“Have a good day!”

“Always do!”

The door shuts a little harder than I intended, but hopefully Joon understands that I’m on my way to be executed by my World Literatures professor—he hates me as is, hates people who are late even more… so you can imagine how deadly a pair we make.

The building’s main door almost hits someone as I fly past it, they curse at me, I apologise before running off. I can feel them give me the stink eye but it’s not like I’m in the proper position to care right now.

My World Literatures lecture room is right on the other side of campus—opposite of where I live (because I chose to live closer to the dance studio than all my classes) and I’m running as fast as I can to make it before he locks the door at the 30 minute mark.

I’m turning corners and whipping past people when my phone vibrates in my pocket. My pace slows slightly as I take it out to check who would text me so early in the morning.

Mom 7:24AM: Have a good day at school, sweetheart! We really hope to see you this weekend. Love you xx

I practically wasted time wondering who’d text me so early.

Dad’s told us on numerous occasions how mom’s very persuasive when she wants to be, but she’s not the all-up-in-your-face-saleswoman kind of persuasive, she’s the kind that gets under your skin, into your head and all those things. We were scared of that, but we never really noticed when she was trying to get things to go her way. Kind of like how someone’s furious but they’re passive-aggressive about it.

I’m trying to type up a response about how I love her as well when I crash right into someone. I hear a yelp before my own groan resonates in my ears, followed by the sound of books clattering on the sidewalk.

“Please watch where you’re going next time” she asks me gently, she doesn’t sound angry at all; more so as if she’s used to it by now.

I’m struggling to open my eyes and see her, the bump on my head growing with each pulse I can feel it giving out. So I give her another groan to at least tell her I’ve heard her—and that it won’t happen again.

Damn, I need to wake up earlier from now on.

As soon as the pain thrives out, I look at her to see her back to me. She’s on her knees and she’s desperately gathering the papers on the floor, some books lay open to the side as well but they seem disregarded compared to how much she looks like she needs the papers.

It takes me a second before I start to help her and then I’m scrambling around myself to catch papers before they fly off with the morning breeze. My World Literatures class forgotten.

“I’m really sorry about this, I’m in a hurry, my mom texted me about going to my dad’s birthday, I wasn’t watching where I was going, you have no idea how so—“ she cuts me off with a gentle laugh, her hair obscuring her face from me to see when I pause to look up at her.

She has a really pretty laugh.

“I was on my way back from class actually” she said. Her voice was o gentle I could listen to her speak for hours. I decided right then and there that it didn’t matter what it’d be about just as long as I get to keep listening to her.

“F-from class?” I asked, only then realising what she’d said.

“Yeah, I’m part of the 15% of the student body that opted for night classes” she giggles thereafter, her back now facing me as she gathers the other papers a little more to the left and decides on inserting them into the various folders that had spilled as well. She’ll probably have to rearrange them all later.

“I really am sorry” I mutter, losing my confidence as the guilt builds “for bumping into you”

We gather up the remaining items that fell out of her arms and then I think to myself—just how many things was this girl holding anyway?

I stand up, focusing a little on what papers I had gathered have written on them when I see her hold out her hand in the corner of my eye.

My phone vibrates again, so I absent-mindedly hand her what I’m holding as I give my attention to whoever’ calling me.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sport!”

“Oh, hi dad!”

My smile widens a little, the guilt slightly forgotten.

“So I’ll bet the most beautiful woman in the world has you on your knees for coming home this weekend?”

I laugh, “Yeah, she called like 30 minutes ago” I can see her shift uncomfortably, I didn’t want to ruin a good thing before it started o I rushed to add “Mom’s dead set on making me come home, she even texted.”

She relaxes, as do I.

“Don’t pressure yourself, alright sport? Your noona will be here so your mom and I have some company anyway”

“Okay, dad”

We say our goodbyes and my thoughts drift once more to how he called mom ‘the most beautiful woman in the world’, she was probably listening in and dad wanted to be nice.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand how he could call mom the most beautiful woman in the world.

I look to the girl, she’s been waiting for my call to end and I decide that dad was definitely wrong when he said mom was the most beautiful woman in the world.

How could she be? When the most beautiful woman in the world was standing right in front of me?

“Dad, that’s so cheesy!!” your youngest, Taeyoon, squeals. From where you’re leaning on the doorway, you can see her kicking her legs under her blanket as she giggles in front of Hoseok. Her brothers, Jaeseung and Eujin sat at the foot of her bed, to Hoseok’s right, not quite appreciating the way her frolicking messed up the sheets beneath them.

“Your mom thought otherwise when I first told her what I thought about her.” Hoseok disagreed, sticking his tongue out at her in retaliation to her own. You couldn’t help but giggle from where you stood, your twin boys groaning and laughing at their father and little sister.

The story of how you and Hoseok first met happened so long ago that it really did feel like a fairytale you’d tell your kids before bed—something that your husband’s been doing for a while now.

Your kids have heard it more times than their little hands could allow them to keep track of, the repetition never bothered them because the essence of a true story seemed to give more value to their occasional bedtime story.

“So what happened after?” Eujin asked

Hoseok looked at him with mild surprise; it wasn’t the first time he asked that so his son clearly knew the answer.

“Your father’s going to tell you that he swept me off my feet with the temptation of breakfast and coffee” you say, abandoning the doorframe and making your way to whatever available space was on Taeyoon’s bed. Jaeseung moved to your side, leaning into you as you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead with Hoseok looking over at the two of you fondly. “But the truth is, he was at a loss for words, he stuttered and couldn’t even look at me.”

You smiled widely at Hoseok’s generous laughter, throwing his head back as your children look back and forth between you with smiles that matched the one you were wearing.

The boys had just turned eight a couple of months ago; your youngest was to turn four in the coming weeks but the windows of time in between the big things, windows like this, were the ones you enjoyed most.

“But your father was suave enough to flirt as subtly as he could” you teased, facing your daughter but eyeing her father; he was chuckling to himself—holding his head down. “And I figured maybe this guy was worth giving my number to.”

He gave you the warmest, most grateful smile; the sparkle in his eyes telling you just how thankful he was that you had given him a second glance and then a third, and another, and then so many more after that.

“And then she married me” he smiled

Taeyoon squealed, shivers run through her body by how her parents loved each other so much.

You smiled at him as well, telling yourself that you could never get tired of how his face lights up when he sees you.

“And then I married him.”