cowboy like me - yoongi x reader

takes one to know one

late august 1793

it all happens so fast. one second, yoongi is standing in front of you. and although you tried to guess what his next move would be, yoongi is pining you down on the ground before you can even process it. you look up at him as the tips of his long hair tickle your cheeks and jaw, his face only a few inches from your face.

"please, yoongi, let's take a break," you beg as you squirm under his hold.

"you asked for this."

you never really thought of knowing how to fight as a necessity. you were always mostly focused on fixing than harming, learning about the healing qualities of certain herbs and how to treat wounds.

but then again having some self defense skills would come in handy, especially as a woman. (who also happens to want to kill the most guarded man in the kingdom.)

so you asked yoongi for help, and you regret every second of it. every move done wrong, you have to do again. you know he's acting this way because he wants you to be able to take care of yourself, but you're hot, sore and tired, and all you want is to lay down.

but yoongi won't take no for an answer.

groaning in frustration, you get up from the ground for another round of yoongi teaching you how to defend yourself.

however, with minimal effort, yoongi is able to tackle you down to the ground once more, your body meeting the ground with a loud thud. he looks unimpressed at your weak defense as he gets up from the ground.

"well, this is it," you sigh dramatically, face down on the grass, "you've killed your only friend. goodbye."

he rolls his eyes at your dramatic display, nudging your shoulder with the tip of his shoe. "i haven't killed you. also, we're not friends."

for your own sanity, you decide to ignore his comment and roll over on the grass, wincing at every muscle in your body feeling like they're on fire.

"can't i just seduce the king so i can kill him when he's not looking?"

he snorts at your offer. "you really aren't hot enough to think like that."

"and you're really not tall enough to talk to me like that," you fling back, closing your eyes to focus on catching your breath.

"whatever," he mumbles, his eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. "you still have no idea how to defend yourself. what of something happens when i'm not around?"

one eye opens in interest, the corner of your mouth curling up into a teasing smile. "are you worried about me?"

"i am," he says matter-of-factly, "cause you're an idiot. you're always unprepared, thinking everything will be fine. you're a naive optimist."

"and you're a cruel pessimist," you huff out, sitting up straight on the ground.

"at least one who won't get themselves killed trying to hug a tiger."

"...i hope i get so fucking strong i'll be able to strangle you with my bare hands."

_____________________

as yoongi prepares a simple vegetable broth for dinner, you put chew on some devil's claw to help relax your muscles. yoongi is quite a good cook, knowing how to prepare a decent meal with the few ingredients you have available.

"you did well today," he suddenly says as he stirs the broth over the fire.

"really?" you asks, your tone surprised and expression confused, "but i got my ass kicked."

"it's not about winning, it's about not giving up. you always act so casual about everything, but today i finally saw some fire in you."

you eyes flicker with surprise at his words, and you hesitate for a moment before accepting the plate he offers you. you didn't expect him to notice how determined you were to learn how to fight, because you were complaining the whole time. you don't know why you do it, but you always pretend nothing bothers you, like you could care less about anything and anyone. it might be a defense mechanism. if you don't care, no one and nothing can disappoint you.

"thank you," you say with a genuine smile, "that means a lot."

you both eat in silence, listening to the fire cracking and the sounds of nature in the background as your mind starts to wander. you've been so used to yoongi being an outcast like you, that you can't really picture him being born as royalty. he grew up in the palace. he's been called a prince and treated like one. and now he's here. eating vegetables in hot water with 'a naive optimist.'

"what were you like as a child?"

his eyebrows raise at your question, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes for just a second as he thinks about his childhood. "i don't know…" he mutters, "like any other child."

you don't pry any further. he obviously doesn't want to talk about it. you feel slightly guilty about bringing it up, seeing his mood change so drastically.

"you must've liked teaching me how to fight," you tease, trying to lighten the mood, "having a pretty girl underneath you."

"i don't care about a low-born whore."

your body stills at his crude words, feeling a pang of hurt in your chest. you turn your body away from him as your cheek turn pink with embarrassment and anger.

"i was only joking," you mutter, looking down at the bowl in your lap.

he sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair before placing his face in his hands. "i didn't mean that," he says softly, his eyebrows knitted together in guilt and frustration.

he slowly looks at you as you remain silent and he starts to feel a little desperate. he's not good at talking about his feelings, especially if it's an apology. he didn't mean to lash out like that. of course he doesn't think of you in such manner. he just felt angry when you brought up his childhood, but the anger wasn't directed at you.

"i was quite artistic as a child," he begins softly, hoping you'll see he's apologizing in his own way, "i played piano and sometimes painted."

you listen to his reply, your gaze softening at hearing him talk about who he was as a child. it's a little weird to imagine him being calm and peaceful enough to even lay off the alcohol for a moment to play the piano. you wonder how he'd look dressed in royal attire instead of his simple clothing. his hair tied up with a manggeon instead of it hanging loose like now.

you feel a little sorry for him, seeing how much he's changed. he never wished or asked for any of this.

but then again, neither did you.

with a heavy sigh, you decide to be the bigger person and hold up your cup for him, "here's to being stuck with an enraging asshole."

a relieved smile appears on his face as you make a toast, and quickly holds up his cup as well, "here's to being stuck to an insufferable whore."