#koya bt21

[wonderfuldeath]

.o| Maybe a Kiss GoodBye. |o.

Namjoon x Reader

Warnings : Violence, bad husband, injury, self doubt, love, fluff

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"- Stop making fun of me! ”

The glass bursts, a thousand small stars ripening on the ground. It was terrifying, but so usual, that you don't even have a start. Your fists tighten, while you look at what was a plate, having spread to the living room. Your fingers are sweaty. Maybe this time it was the plate, but you know that if you still fail, you will end up like her, breaking on the ground. You hold back the backward movement as he blows, passes a hand against his forehead, certainly trying to calm down. Two years of marriages, three years of common lives, and just as much regret. Your lower lip rolls under your teeth, and you hold a sob. You prefer to die rather than let him see you broken again, unable to defend yourself.

"- You're really not damned to do something good! Do you realize? Our maid does better than you! ”

Maybe it was for this reason that he preferred to spend his nights with her, daring dirtying the confidence you had in yourself, already not much. He had fun ruining it with his hands. Everyone said that you had to leave, that he was toxic. And you always found something to say in his defense, despite everything, he was always the caring husband. You knew that tomorrow, this plate would be forgotten. The marks on your body will not be seen under thick hoodies, or long shirts. You wouldn't have told your co-workers, the plagues that envy you, or those who jealous your husband, that you had simply hurt yourself. That's why you can't move so well. Or that you had such a dark foundation on your skin so light. You are playing fingers together, you listen to him scream, humiliate you and compare yourself to this other who would die to take your place, but who would not like to have it. In the act, no one wanted to have this place. His fingers pass through your hair, exasperating tenderness that makes you shudder, bent under burning touch, while he forces your eyes to looks at each.

"- Do you know how many more would like to be with me? Take your place in this pretty house? And you're not even as good as doing your role. ”

Old rag, you let yourself slip between the pieces of porcelain, ting your already fragile skin, while he hesitates to put a new layer of violence, and without even sketching the first movement, you get into a ball, squeaking at the idea of pain. And it gently makes him laugh, he pushes you with his foot, tearing the skin a little more, mixing your blood with cold tiles.

"- Because of you, the maid will have even more work. You disappoint me. ”

You don't know how long you're staying there, surely waiting to be sure that he's gone. Tightening your fists to get back up, before struggling to reach the bathroom. It was always good, one of the few rooms where he never came to blame you for living. Maybe because it was a kind of zone, like the games you like time, the one where you were sure that no enemy would ever come to attack your virtual character. And you do the first aid, wrapping the white band, carefully, looking at your life. You who had always been the most joyful person in your group, here you are the shadow of yourself. It was almost funny, and if you weren't in such a nightmarish situation, you would surely have made humor.

-X-

"- Excuse me, but can you take care of Namjoon? His makeup artist just broke her wrist. ”

It takes you off guard, you had never had such an important task. You made up the extras, the ones you never saw. But the one of the greatest stars, the one we saw on the entire stage. You don't know if you can, but caught in the storm, you nodded. Levering what you were doing to directly take care of him. Of all, it was still the quietest, when you saw how your colleagues were fighting with the youngest in the group, or with Jimin, you appreciated having come across the Leader. Sitting on his chair, leaning over his phone, he first watches you barely spread your makeup equipment. You didn't have the same as the others, it was the pallets all your life, and you thought that the one in the box was not of quality. Your work may not have been put forward, but you loved it more than anything in the world. Makeup was your art, and when you work, you do it like artists. In absolute silence, with this little air that people make fun of all the time, your little frown, which brought out some of your features. Those that your husband found charming until you lived with him. He had not managed to make you let go of your job, you liked what you were doing too much. You would literally let yourself die at the thought of not wearing makeup anymore, so he blamed you for it. But the slight smile of the star when you put your brushes, tense to the idea that they complain about a problem, it was for this kind of expression that you did it.

"- This is not the usual makeup.

- I'm sorry, I wanted to do something lighter, but if you prefer...

- It's changing. I like it. ”

Your low heart in your chest resonates in your ears as you pinch your lower lip, flattered. And you hide while running to make up the extras, hurrying so that no one is late. This kind of evening was always exhausting, and yet you absolutely wanted to do everything, tidy up, help wash the room. Everything so as not to go home. Terror at the idea that he is still angry with you, for a reason that only he understands, almost makes you want to sleep in the corner of the room. His violence and his way of being yesterday, if there had not been the plate, then you would be the one who would have burst on the ground. Maybe he would even have killed you. So you stay, sometimes even turn on yourself even looking for something to do, an excuse not to go home.

"- You can go there.

- I'm going to stay, there's something else to do.

- You've already done enough, go home. ”

You drag a little with your feet, take twenty minutes to reach the exit, your fingers trembling. You were two and a half hours late on the usual schedule. And you knew that he would most certainly be angry, or that he would kill you with his hands. And the idea makes you want to cry and vomit. You look at the car with a driver, waiting in front of the entrance to the building, and the crazy desire to run on the road, jump under the bus whose headlights you see in the distance. Everything not to go home, even if it means dying to do it quickly. And your eyes must speak for you, since a huge hand rests on your shoulder, making you startle.

"- Don't you want to go home?

- I... Not really..

- Why wouldn't you come for tea at my place? ”

How to refuse faced with his adorable falsehoods, and his tender smile. You let him drag himself to his car, abandoning your driver without any remorse.

-X-

"- Do you have everything?

- I do, but don't forget your passport. And also your charger.

- I did it once! ”

A laugh, while you look at the brunette, who still seems to slip the phone charger into the bag again. You no longer count the days that pass, staring at the man who had replaced your violent husband. When you asked for a divorce, he get here. And you had never seen Namjoon so angry, he had returned to him in one evening what he had done to you in three years. Since then, you haven't had any news. He had taught you to trust again, had helped you to no longer be afraid of your mistakes, no longer really startle in front of a breaking plate. And above all, have confidence in yourself. Over time, you had even managed to go further in your passion, becoming one of their personal makeup artists. Don't let go of your new fiancé to your greatest despair.

"- Don't forget your plush too!

- Why? Don't you plan to sleep with me?

- For on the plane. ”

An Oh, before you turn on yourself, looking with great despair for the plush in the shape of a blue Koala, which you find no one by.

"- Nam, do you know where Koya is?

- Did you lose it? ”

His mocking tone makes you look at him, and you frown your nose as he shakes the plush in front of you, with his victorious air when you gently hit him, before the oldest of the group opens the door of the studio, where all the luggage was stacked.

"- You will give yourself love later, okay? Here we're late! ”

[silly-choco]

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