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Marriage Of Inconvenience [part One]

marriage of inconvenience [part one]

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summary: You wake up next to campus heartthrob Min Yoongi, and find out you're married to him. Only- the whole night before is hazy, and you swear he doesn't remember you.

pairing: min yoongi x reader

chapter tags/warnings: marriage, panic, just some cute fluff here and hilarious disasters

You decide that when you wake up you hate the word ‘so.’ It’s a transition, and an abrupt one, too. And it’s so vague. Not as nice as however which indicates a contrast, but also not as smooth as but or and.

Because ‘so’ means that something happened.

In this case, you’ll probably call up your friend and say: “So, I married this guy I met overnight and now I have a giant diamond ring on my finger meaning that he’s probably rich?”

Yeah, it’s that kind of situation. Then you’ll follow it up smoothly by going: “And I checked his phone and someone’s calling him Min Yoongi—as in campus heartthrob, aka campus fuckboy Min Yoongi?”

And possibly, you’ll sob after that. God, adulting is so hard. Whoever told you that you now had to reap the consequences of your actions—well, you wanted to punch them in this moment. In the haze of your headache and the sunlight gauging your eyes out, though, you can’t remember who said those unnecessary words.

On the bright side, you don’t feel sore. Which means that the two of you had enough sense not to fuck.

Yeah, it’s not like the two of you skipped several lines already, heading straight to the finish line of marriage. Oh, you know, like a first date, second date, confessing to each other, and proposing—somehow all done overnight.

This is definitely his room, though. The vast space contains a microphone, MIDI keyboard, and a sound monitor, which explains his love for composing, and how he manages to stay holed up in his apartment all day. With all this equipment, it’s impossible not to be a homebody.

You peer over at the bed next to you, where he’s laying flat on his stomach, oblivious to what’s going on. When you woke up, his arm was thrown over your stomach, legs tangled with yours.

The events of last night are hazy in your mind, like pieces of a puzzle you still didn’t piece together. You still don’t know how you got to his apartment, when the two of you were both drunk and most likely not even able to walk. Though… you do recall the soft smiles aimed at you. They made your heart flutter, and your cheeks flush, especially knowing that the rare expression was pointed at you. But that isn’t a good enough reason to stay married to this man.

Besides, he probably aimed it at thousands of other girls, and that fact makes you get out of the bed a little faster. You hypothesize that he won’t remember. If he does, there’s also no doubt that he’ll ask you to break it off.

It’ll bruise your ego, but at least you’re expecting it.

Stumbling over to his closet, you dig through his pile of hoodies, gnawing on your lower lip. There’s an assortment of colors—blues, grays, blacks, most of them a darker shade. Still, there has to be one that he wears the least and doesn’t mind you borrowing, right?

A memory flashes across your vision. One where the two of you stumbled into a store that sold rings, a chauffeur or secretary or chaperone lingering in the back. Why they followed him without question, you couldn’t understand. Logically, with the giant diamond on your finger, people would think you’re a gold digger. Though you do remember the frustration clearly on their faces, and Yoongi’s don’t fuck with me expression. Not to mention the stuttering of your heart when he slid the ring on your finger and called you his wife in that low murmur. And when he lifted his hand and kissed your ring finger, peering up at you from his lashes.

Heat rises up your cheeks, and you slip on the light blue navy in the bottom of the pile, tugging up your sweatpants and closing the door shut behind you.

You’ve never gotten out of an apartment faster.

“And where were you?” Your best friend, Nara, puts her hands up on her hips when she sees you enter the apartment the two of you share. Grants are a blessing, and with the two of you receiving financial aid grants, the leftover money from working went towards this little home. “The amount of times I called you last night— hold on, is that Min Yoongi’s hoodie?”

You freeze in your tracks, hair resembling a hair’s net and eyes widening in alarm. “No.”

“No,” Nara repeats, the disbelief evident in her face and the arch of her brows. Unlike you, she’s a neat freak, and needs to feel sophisticated in the morning. That means she brushes her teeth as soon as she wakes up, combs her hair, and puts on an outfit before breakfast. With how meticulous she is, escaping from her when she gets tunnel vision on a certain topic is impossible. “So you’re telling me you went and stitched his name on that hoodie overnight or something?”

“What?” The word slips out of your mouth, and you tug on the fabric to see what it says on the back. You mindlessly slipped it on earlier, thinking about the color. Not the name. Who puts their names on their hoodies? That seems like another level of narcissism.

“That’s his favorite hoodie, too. Just what did you do last night.”

She catches the light reflecting off a certain finger.

Sees the twelve carat diamond ring.

And screams.

“I can explain!”

“Don’t tell me you stole that! The Min family will have us in jail within seconds!”

“Is that really how you think of me? You’re the one who left me in the baseball house drunk!”

“You weren’t drunk when I left you!” Nara groans. “When I said I’d help you bury a body, I’ll let you know that I didn’t mean it literally. God, how expensive is that? Is that his family ring? It better not be, I’ve heard that one’s worth more than gold. It’s literally the ring.”

“You can’t assume that I married Min Yoongi,” you mutter.

“Simple deduction.” She lifts a finger. “You got drunk and come home with his hoodie, thank God it’s not his jersey though.” Another finger. “Since your hair is matted and you’re still wearing the same sweatpants as yesterday—who wears that to a party, anyways? I can’t believe I let you enter that house with such questionable fashion sense—I assume you spent the night in his house or with him, meaning you married him. And it’s literally impossible to get married overnight if you’re not in Vegas, which you’re not, unless you’re super rich. Hence, Min Yoongi.”

With a sigh, you topple over the couch, drawing your knees to your chest. “Yes, I married Min Yoongi. No, I don’t remember anything. All that I can recall perfectly is you leaving with Jin and us at the ring shop. The events in between those are all hazy.”

“Jin introduced you to, but I think you were kind of tipsy then. Except… you were ranting about your five-paged biology essay and telling me every bullet point without even slurring, so I figured you were sober.”

“A thesis which I still didn’t finish,” you grumble. “I… I think I was serving drinks all night.” Someone—some other baseball player, and a haughty one, too, asked you for a drink. And like an idiot, after pouring the beer for him willingly, you stood by the keg for the rest of the night. Until Yoongi came by and called it off, demanding for his players to get their own beer.

Guess being captain of the baseball team has its perks. Ever since the baseball seven—campus called them practically bulletproof—came to this university, they reached obvious status. The seven players are no doubt going somewhere in the world, and even you, along with a hoard of baseball bunnies, know that.

Sana bursts into laughter. “That sounds like you. So you married him because he saved you?”

“Ha ha. I’m waiting for it to cut it off.”

“Good luck with that,” she snorts. “He may be a player, but he’s traditional. Once he marries someone, I’m pretty sure he has no thoughts on going back.”

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Marriage Of Inconvenience [part One]

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