Take My Hand | KNJ ONE-SHOTS & IMAGINES

Run Away

You push a hand through your hair as you bite your lip against the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. "Stop, stop, stop..." You shake your head, willing yourself to calm down.

As your boyfriend pounds against the door again, you can't keep from flinching. "Open the damn door!! Y/N!!" His voice is harsh as he slams his hand on the hard wood.

"No!" you shout back at him. "Fuck you! Why don't you go cuddle with that bitch you were messaging on Snapchat?!" Just thinking about the messages between your boyfriend and some random girl makes rage flood through your veins.

"Stop being stupid!" Your bedroom door creaks in protest as your boyfriend struggles to force it open. "Maybe if you stopped crying all the time and showed me a little affection, I wouldn't have to go looking for it! We used to fuck three times a week, but now you won't even look at me! You just stay in the room all day in the fucking dark."

"My fucking grandpa died, you insensitive asshat! It hasn't even been a month yet!" Thinking about your deceased grandfather makes your heart hurt. He always thought so highly of your boyfriend. You wonder if he's watching now. You hope not.

"You shouldn't even have gone through my phone anyway. Don't go looking for things you don't want to find." Things quiet down for a moment, and you think that perhaps he may have finally left. But then he speaks again; spewing such hateful bullshit, he can probably taste it on his tongue. "You should get over it. People die all the time. Move on. Grow the fuck up."

Your hands shake with barely-suppressed fury as you get to work packing your things. It's over. With as much bullshit as you've put up with over the course of these last few months, this is the last straw. Your mind wanders back to the time when your boyfriend was so upset about the ending of a movie he gave you the silent treatment for a whole week. You did your best to console him, but he completely ignored you. No matter what you did, he rejected you. You grew anxious, thinking that you did something to make him angry.

This anxiety drove you towards your last ditch-effort: make-up sex. You did everything he liked, riding and sucking him like it was your sole-reason for being. But in the end, you could never fully satisfy him, could you? Nothing you did ever made anything any better. So what's the point in even attempting to reconcile now?

As soon as your hand touches your phone, it vibrates beneath your fingers. It's Namjoon.

Joonie: hey! what're you doing? ☺️

You bite your lip as your boyfriend's muffled voice fills the room. "I'll break the door down if you don't let me in!!"

Your fingers fly across your phone's keyboard as you type out your reply to Namjoon, explaining what's happening. He responds with three letters: omw.

While you're waiting for Namjoon, you put on your favorite song, raising the volume to an obnoxiously high level. You sing along and shake your ass, grinning as your door shakes and thumps against the frame. It seems pretty close to breaking as the wood begins to splinter. Your heart skips a beat, but you keep dancing out of pure spite. Your boyfriend hates when you dance like this. He always says that girls who dance "provocatively" are "attention-seeking whores".

His palm slams against the door. "Turn that shit off!! Y/N!!"

Your phone vibrates again. It's a message from Joon. I'm here.

You feel a surge of relief flood through you as you see the headlights of his car flash outside your window. You head over and slide the window open, catching one last glimpse of your boyfriend as the door separating you finally breaks down. His face is twisted with rage and flushed with fury. You blow him a kiss as you straddle the windowsill, half of your body outside. "Fuck you. I had to fake every single orgasm."