BTS Oneshots [Requests Open]

Destiny

[Reader x Namjoon]

"Yeah, sorry, but I don't feel like it today." You whined into the phone, rolling your eyes as your friends yelled loudly from the other side.

"Oh, come on..." Andrea groaned in the distance before picking up the phone herself. "Look, we're going and you never feel like it. You know that you always end up having fun, so we're picking you up at 8:30 and you better be ready." Before you could push back, you were greeted by the beeping sound of a disrupted call.

Somehow, you could never say no to her. You'd always had mixed feelings when it came to Andrea. She was fun and spontaneous and everyone seemed to like her. She just was that kind of person, it came naturally to her, but you weren't. So being the little anxious, introverted being that you were, her presence always seemed to make you uncomfortable. Always pressuring you to live up to the standards she imposed: to be bubbly even when you did not feel like it, otherwise you'd be left with the thing that scared you most: isolation.

So at about 7 p.m. you began browsing the clothes in your wardrobe, looking for the ones that would make you look as if you belonged with the rest of the group, because you knew they would go looking their best. About 7:30 you were already mad and ready to throw a fit because you obviously had nothing to wear. Not that your closet was empty, but there was nothing there for who you were... or at least were trying to be right then. You peaked at the clock on your wall and felt your heart skip a beat. You had to be ready in one hour and suddenly you became overwhelmed by a feeling of not giving a f*ck.

Therefore, you grabbed a pair of washed-out, vintage, black jeans with a high waist and a white t-shirt with a high collar. You did not care for being sexy right then and even so, those jeans were tight in all the right places. You began putting on your make-up just like you usually did, preparing yourself psychologically for a party you did not feel like attending and by the time you were done, you already felt a lot less anxious. Putting make-up on was like meditation to you. You slipped into your favorite pair of shoes – a pair of red converse, for a splash of color, threw on your black leather jacket and grabbed your backpack before heading out the door.

"Damn girl..." Your friend Erica laughed as you were walking towards the car. "I know you don't want people to think you're trying too hard, but this outfit looks as if you aren't trying at all."

"Me not trying at all would have been me walking out in my pajamas." You replied sarcastically, getting into the back of the car.

Just as you had expected, they all looked like a group of models: tiny, skin-tight, flashy dresses, loads of make-up and fancy looking hair-dos. Not that you had an issue with all those, but they did not look as if they were going to attend a house-party at all... until you saw the house and it all made sense. Now under-dressed was an understatement. It was a two-story house with a pool, in the rich neighborhood. No, scratch that - not the rich neighborhood. It was the neighborhood where the people the rich worked for lived in.