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The Bulletproof Duke [yoongi X Reader]

the bulletproof duke [yoongi x reader]

drabble count: 2

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summary: You've always been a wallflower during the season, content with watching the supposed "bulletproof" Duke Min Yoongi have women fawn over him. Except, when he shows up to your home with a wound and curses that'll haunt your family for the rest of your life, you choose to take care of him. What you didn't expect is to gain favor in his eyes.

tldr; Duke Min Yoongi might fall in love with you as you're nursing him to health

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: swearing, slight slow burn

notes: ... I've been watching too much Bridgerton and reading Lisa Kleypas's historical fiction books. this is the aftermath, whoops. and the ao3 version of it is here. i love writing drabbles based on prompts, so if you want one, please don't hesitate to ask. thanks so much for reading! support is also greatly appreciated so my college loans won't cry <33

thinking of making a pt. 2 of this. let me know!

There are certain things to be expected of women in the season.

Chasing after men isn’t one of them. Er, well. You do have to chase men, but not literally. You have to chase them with your eyelashes—which will probably all fly off by the end of the year with the number of times you bat—and with the way you talk, with the way you dress.

Personally, you thought it was stupid. Because you thought it was stupid, you were not only violating one law, but you’re violating another: being a wallflower. How horrendous, your chaperone would say, if she was here. Instead, she’s finding your trouble-causing twin, the chaos loving sister, allowing your thoughts to be alone. You’re the quieter, book-loving twin, and you appreciate the corner. You have your wallflower friends, who are more than welcoming. Certainly more welcoming than—

“They said that the eligible bachelors are actually looking for a hand in marriage this year,” Chunga murmurs beside you. You realize that you’re staring in the center of the ballroom, directly in the sight of Duke Min’s exasperated expression as he twirls a lady around. The unfamiliar lady who has the honor giggles, like this made her whole year. Like she could get pregnant by dancing with him.

Thank goodness you all have the same reaction: snorting. There are a plethora of eligible bachelors, but when Chunga—who rarely gossips, and when she talks, speaks facts—mentions them, you all know what she means. Or, rather, who.

You call them the bulletproof bachelors, the seven of them. Not because they dodged a bullet or survived a gunshot wound—though, that would be far entertaining than seeing them grimace and dodge the love bullets directed their way.

“I can see the marry me eyes coming from Daeun,” Mina comments dryly, and tilts her head to the side. “Though, I can’t blame her. Good for her, for being so forward.”

A smile starts to form on your lips. “I still can’t figure out whether you hate half the people here for are rooting for them.”

“Why can’t it be both?” She replies innocently. “Oh, there comes Cassandra.”

By Cassandra, you mean your twin, along with your chaperone right behind her heels. The former has a face of glee, eyes bright with mischief. The latter is red-faced, crumbling a handkerchief in her hand while glaring at your sister’s head.

“I wonder what she did now,” Mina snickers.

“You know what I’ve heard in the powder room—”

“Cassandra,” your chaperone places her hands on her hips. “You will not run off again. This is the second time tonight. And the first was because your feet needed air.”

Ha. Well, at least she was becoming more diverse in her excuses. You did have to applaud her for that.

Cassandra waves her off, and takes a seat. “The bachelors are all up for the season because of Duke Kim Taehyung. Apparently, the rake thinks it’s time to settle down and find a wife.”

Ah, that makes sense why he seems the most genuine.

“I’m sure it’s because he wants to wed the high class now,” Mina mutters. You didn’t understand what was up with her, but she’s hated him since the beginning. And based on how her face darkened at the mention of him, you didn’t pry.

So you sat there, watching the women fawn over the bachelors and approach them.

That’s how you spent the rest of the season.

“You can’t enter,” you whisper to Cassandra. “He’s sleeping.”

“He’s not sleeping,” she snorts. “He’s dying. Haven’t you heard him groaning and growling in pain? The man is temporarily blind, in a fever haze, and for God’s sake Devon’s taking care of him. We all know that he even rubs his face with vigor, like he’s trying to scratch the whole thing off when he’s simply cleaning himself.”

Your brother in law, Devon—once a rake, sleeping around with all of London, but now happily married to Kathleen—had connections. You know that. You also know that he loves you and your sister more than anything, but what he is unaware of is the unfortunate circumstances the three of you were in.

Kathleen and your older brother who—upon taking the responsibilities, died after a brawl in the tavern because he had the ‘urge’ to get drunk—used to be the ones managing the estate. What was left of it, at least. Devon came and picked up the pieces like an angel, and fell in love with Kathleen, saving them all.

Emotionally.

Financially… you still didn’t have the money to buy fancy dresses, or the carriages to go around the season. The estate was still breaking down daily, from the leaks to the fragile doors. And yet, he had decided to invite his friend, Duke Min Yoongi.

Then he’d gotten into an accident upon coming here. A bullet wound and his carriage falling in the river was how Devon found him. Maybe they aren't so bulletproof after all, you muse.

And that was that. It’s been a few days since he entered your home, because it was impossible to move him elsewhere. Also because—

“Do you think we can find who the murderer is?”

You shoot her a look. “Cassy. Kathleen said no more trouble, especially when the Duke is in the house.”

“But he’s so boring,” she sighs. “There’s a permanent scowl on his face, too. What do you think he’d be good at? Drinking?”

A smile curves in the corner of your lips, and you shake your head.

“Fuck!” A string of curses follow, and the two of you stare with widened eyes.

“I don’t—”

“He’s not—”

“Should we—”

“No,” Cassandra announces. “You should go take care of him. If we let Devon do it, I think the Duke might kill him. Come on.”

Grabbing your hand, the two of you venture up the stairs and down the hallway, where the Duke is. He’s laying on the bed, with Devon disinfecting his gunshot wound, shouting every curse in existence.

“How are you too tired to talk, but not too tired to curse me?” Your brother in law asks in wonder, but hesitates approaching again. And you see the tiredness in the Duke’s face, his jaw clenched, lips pressed together, and hair messy. He hasn’t showered in days, struggling to survive.

But what shocks you is that Devon’s face seems to match his.

“Devon,” you begin. “I can take care of the Duke for an hour or so.”

“Get some rest,” Cassandra pipes up. “You look uglier than the time you stumbled in drunk.”

“What she means is,” you add hastily, “We care about your well being.”

“I can’t leave him unattended.” He shakes his head. “Much less with a young lady.”

“The door will be open,” you respond gently. “And you should spend some time with Kathleen.”

A knock on the door, and Kathleen seems to say her agreement.

And that’s how you find yourself taking care of the Duke.

Believe it or not, the Duke was proud of his ability to steer people away from him. He knew he was an influential figure in society, knew that people came to him for a reason to use him.

Being alone was better than being used.

Yoongi groans—he hates this. The feeling of vulnerability. Of having Devon and his family see how weak he is. But his body did ache. His lungs stopped working a while ago, every liquid going down is throat is like someone is strangling him. He’s a workaholic, not someone who jumps from tavern to tavern. There are things he needs to do.

Laying in bed is not one of them.

His caretaker switched out hours ago. He knows that much, from the hushed whispers of a feminine voice, and Devon’s gravelly one. One of his sister in laws, he assumes.

A cup presses against his lips.

“No,” he manages to spit out, throat on fire.

“Please,” her voice is softer, much better than Devon shoving the thing down his throat. “Water will make you feel better.”

He shakes his head—or tries to.

But the cup stays in place. The only difference is that a palm slides against his. Yoongi jolts at the contact.

They’re soft. Warm. Reassuring in a way.

So he swallows the liquid, even if it came from hell.

In the middle of the night, he feels a warm towel against his forehead. A hand pats his chest, as if he were a kid needing a lullaby to sing.

“Tell me your name,” he grinds out. This whole day, she was taking care of him, and he didn’t have a name for her, much less a face. It annoyed him to no end.

You reply.

Huh, he thinks. It suits you.

Duke Min has a lot of demands, you realize. And possibly a very limited vocabulary when it comes to dealing with people. It’s either “say something,” “come here,” “give me your hand,” or “get me your sister-in law.”

The last one to Devon.

Most of the time, you sit in silence with him, until he makes you talk.

“I like flowers,” you explain. “Not because they’re pretty, but because each one has a meaning to it. It’s symbolic, like a thousand of emotions in one living thing.”

It’s hard, talking about yourself to someone who barely replies. But you do it anyways, because you’re awful with silences.

The Duke grunts in acknowledgment. His fingers find yours, and his thumb caresses your palm. The callouses on his hands rub against your soft ones, and you glance down to see how your fingers intertwine so nicely together.

Thank goodness he’s blind, because you don’t want him to see the flush on your face.

Something clatters downstairs. You’re pretty sure it’s Cassandra dropping a plate. But it’s enough to startle you that you attempt to pull your hand away.

The Duke pulls back, keeping you where you are.

“Duke—”

“Yoongi. We are past that stage, are we not?”

“Ah, yes?”

“Good,” he says, voice lowering. It’s soft. Well, the softest you heard him say so far.

What you don't know is that in his head, he realizes: he might fall in love with you.

@noooodlllleeee @hahaha-darn-it