230410 - Yoongi Cover For Marie Claire Korea

230410 - Yoongi cover for Marie Claire Korea

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.DarkSide.

Teaser. Part One. Part two.

Pairing : dark! Mafia Jimin x reader (f)

Genre : oneshot, yandere, arranged marriage.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings : No warnings for this chapter tbh, just a lot of cursing by our y/n , hot and sexy jimin, mention of violence and blood, angry and frustrated y/n, annoyed jimin, slight angst, cold and super rude jimin. ( the next chapter is probably gonna be full of filth and gore violence. Jimin's darkside will be visible in the next part)

Summary : after the demise of your father, you were forced to marry a mob boss who was a decade older than you. He has always been ruthless and marrying someone like him wasn't your first choice, but living with him made you crave for his attention. For getting his attention you were repeatedly acting out until one day he decided to take the matter in his own hands.

A/N : this is purely fiction, I don't encourage these type of activities outside the fictional world. Please go through the warnings before reading it. But if you would like to read more please let me know. 💗

You were naive, Naive enough to think that love like fairytales exist. Often as child you heard your mother explaining how you were going to get your prince Charming who would take you away from here and will end your misery. You always believed that one day you'll going to find someone who would love you wholeheartedly unlike your dad.

You knew your dad wasn't too emotionally attached to you but you had faith in him that he would find the perfect Prince Charming for you. you barely knew your dad.  He was the boss of one of the biggest gangs in Seoul, and as his only daughter, you had been kept well away from the criminal lifestyle he led. Expensive boarding schools, lavish holidays abroad during Christmas and summer, a fat allowance every month and free reign with his black credit card that you never had to pay off. Growing up, you’d had everything you’d ever wanted – except for the love and attention of a father.

You loved your father, yes you did but you were disappointed when you heard his last wish.

When you thought of marriage, you always wanted someone different from your dad. you thought of tender caresses and knowing smiles between husband and wife. You dreamed of shy, newlywed touches and a honeymoon phase that lasted forever. You dreamed of being doted on, spoiled, taken care of, shown off – you dreamed of it all and wanted it all.

But your father had different wishes. He promised you to someone who isn't even completely familiar with your presence. He didn't even asked you beforehand. You were too shocked and hurt to even voice out your opinion in front of everyone other than your own mother.

“I won’t do it!” You had yelled, stamping your heels against the marble floor of your foyer. “Mom, I swear to God. You can’t make me marry some man I don’t even know, just because Dad wanted me to! For fucksakes, I’m meant to be going to las Vegas with the girls next week! The Vegas, Mom! Not a wedding! Not my own fucking wedding!”

“You have to.” Your mother had said simply. “It’s been arranged. It has been for a long time. You may not have known it, but your father and the Park family have been planning this union for years. To bring the two biggest families in the city together as one. It’s what your father would have wanted. And Park Jimin has graciously agreed to marry you. It’s all set.”

“Fuck Park Jimin ” You had whined. You knew him. You had seen him around the few summers you had actually spent in your hometown. He was older than you, a fair bit older. But he was handsome – every girl in the area was crazy about him. He was also silent, brooding, dangerous – the man in charge of the one gang bigger and deadlier than your father’s. “I don’t care what he’s agreed to. I’m not agreeing. You hear me, Mom? I don’t want this. It’s not happening. It won’t happen. I won’t let it!”

Your wedding was held privately, only yours and Jimin's family were present. You had to admit, Jimin was looking the finest piece of ass on your wedding.  Shoulders broad and fit snugly into a black and white tux. Blonde hair neatly gelled back. You wondered if Jimin is really forced by his parents too. Because every time he looked at you, he smiled. The softest kind of smile. The kind of smile which told you he isn't here because he was forced to.

You never knew Jimin personally, you've only heard about him. Even if he's smiling at you like he's the kindest person you've ever met,  you should know he is NOT. He's the head of the underworld's dirty business, he takes care of every illegal shit out there with a smile. He's ruthless, cold, dangerous and what not, you've heard every thing about him.

You still had a vague memory his, when you were in  your last year of school and your cousin had taken you to a club, showing your fake id to the security. You saw him there, surrounded by girls. There were rumours about him, about his bachelor lifestyle, how he used girl after girl and then discarded them without a second glance. Somehow, it didn’t make sense for a man like that to be settling down.

But Jimin seemed so assured as he said his vows, exuding power and charm with every word he spoke; even the small crowd seemed amazed by him. Which was crazy to you, because all of them must know that this whole thing was an act, right? But when it was all said and done, and Jimin leaned down and kissed you, pressed his pillowy lips softly against yours and held your jaw gently as he did, you could feel your heart flutter just a tiny bit.

Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

_

" Fuck, it taste like shit. " You whined as you tasted the kimchi stew. You exactly made it like the recipe which the maid gave you, but guess you can't actually cook. For once you wanted to do something like an actual housewife does. But it's all in vain, you can't serve this to Jimin. You pinched your nose in disgust and threw the food in the bin, washed your hand and settled down on a nearby chair.

Jimin would be home soon- you called him before to make sure if he's coming tonight or not. Almost every three or four days in a week, Jimin stayed outside because of his illegal work. You thought of making him dinner but now you are back to zero.

You have to think fast before he arrives. You can't serve him nothing, nor like he would care- you murmured bitterly. You walked up to the front door, swinging it open. The guard on duty raised an eyebrow at you.

" What do you want Mrs. Park.? " The guard asked.

" I cooked shit, so make one of your guys go and get rose ttaekboki for two people along with some cheese gimbap and make sure to add the glass noodles in ttaekboki. " You ordered and the Guard immediately nodded his head, gesturing to the other guy to bring it for you.

Jimin sure did have a lot of guys stationed outside his house – “Anything else, Mrs. Park ?” the guard asked.

" No, that will be all. " You as you closed the door and went back inside. That was one perk of being the wife of Park Jimin -  having about a dozen of his   men working for him at your beck and call. They’d get the food and wine and anything else you asked for, knowing Jimin would do something drastic like have them killed if they disobeyed.

You wonder if they knew what happens inside the house.

Jimin isn't really fond of you. He made sure to let you know that when you guys returned back from your wedding. As depressing as it sounded. You didn’t even know why you were bothering to ensure there was food for him when he got home. Because he had let you know from the moment that he married you, he hated your guts.

When you first arrived here, after your wedding you still remember his actions. You had grown up with money but it was nothing compared to how lavish Jimin's house was. He had pools, tennis courts, an indoor cinema, he practically lived in a palace. And he had stood to the side, hands in his pocket and an unreadable expression on his face and you on the other hand were feeling giddy to see such luxury.

Your room’s on the second floor, third door.” Jimin had said curtly. “All your suitcases have been unpacked. The maids are in their quarters downstairs if you need anything else.” And then he had left. Without another word. Just turned on his heel and walked out the door, probably to attend to some type of his wicked business – on his wedding night no less.

And three months later, it was still more of the same. Jimin barely looked at you, barely spoke a word to you unless he really had to. You hadn’t even seen the inside of his bedroom, and he had never stepped foot inside yours. Your bedroom which was all soft pastel coloured and girly, fluffy  rug and vanity table and everything. You wondered if he’d ordered it to be decorated exactly to your taste, thinking it was what you’d like – which it was – but no. Jimin barely knew you, he hadn’t even tried to get to know you.

The only time Jimin did act like a normal, nice and loving husband was in public. In the eyes of other people, he was perfect, doting, amazing. Often, you’d go to events with him, club appearances or charity galas thrown by his business partners – fronts for more money laundering, undoubtedly, not that Jimin ever shared any inside knowledge about his business with you.

And you’d be on his arm at those galas, dressed in some expensive dress you’d bought with his money, letting him parade you around with his large hand on the small of your back. And you had to give Jimin props for his acting skills, because he’d look at you with sparkling black eyes that actually looked like they were in love – how did he even do that? – and he’d introduce you as his wife, he’d kiss you, whisper softly to you, tuck your hair behind your ear. And everyone would smile and congratulate you both on being such a beautiful couple.

And then you would come home, and he would go to his room and you would go to yours. No words spoken. No more touches. No more smiles. Not even a look.

So you couldn't understand why we're you stressing yourself for him. You shouldn't care if he's well fed or not. Three months into the marriage and you can't believe nothing has changed, and you don't think it'll ever change.

But still you try, wearing a cute blue knee length dress, bought by of course Jimin's card now, styled your hair in a cute messy bun and few strands of your hair were falling on your face which made you look cute tbh.

You wish that Jimin might today notice and realise that, oh my wife is looking actually cute and hot and maybe i should treat her more like a wife or maybe a human atleast......... You thought bitterly.

The doorbell rang. It was one of Jimin’s guys, a bag of food in his hand. He handed it to you quickly, barely making eye contact with you before scurrying away. That was another thing. Ever since you’d married Jimin, no other man ever looked your way. Which sucked, because you had liked the attention. And it wasn’t like you were getting any from your husband.

You had just finished setting the table when his Highness came home. Jimin was imposing as he walked in through the door, acting like he owned the place – which he did. He had on a white dress shirt, collar button undone and sleeves rolled up, and specks of suspicious red dotting the otherwise pristine white fabric. He had his suit jacket scrunched up in his hand, and his blonde hair looked tousled, like he’d run his hand through it many times throughout the day.

He looked like he’d come straight home after torturing some poor somebody, but you had to admit he still looked unreal. He always looked handsome.

" Hyung, I don't want to deal with that shit right now. I have a lot to deal with already, just take care of it and I'm not repeating myself. " Jimin was obviously talking to someone while he walked towards you.  It was pretty normal for you now, just some criminal men talking about criminal shit everyday which you found plainly boring.

Once Jimin finished talking, you looked up then only. God, you would stop breathing if he continued to run his hand through his already messy hair. Words caught up in your throat as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you want to say something? " Jimin asked as he tossed his jacket on the sofa and wiped his sweat from his forehead.

" You must be hungry, I ordered the food. Have some. " You said as you tried looking somewhere else other than him. You practically cringed because  of your wavering tone.

Jimin threw a glance towards you and then sat on the on the chair.

" I have some people coming over tonight.” He said, surveying the food, the kitchen, the fridge, the floor, and then gracing you with eye contact that lasted about two seconds before it was back on the food again, “You need to be inside your room around 9pm. Get all you need from downstairs before then. Don’t come down here after that, got it?”

He said and he didn't even waited for you to respond, instead picking up his plate and heading down towards the office. His office, where he practically lived. Where he would go disappear whenever he chose to stay at home and you hated the fact that he doesn't give two shits about you.

" Are you Fucking serious.? Huh? " You said as you stood abruptly from your chair making a skeech noice. Jimin stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at you.

What the fuck is his problem? You can't fucking believe him. Is he doing this on purpose? Making you loose your mind? You don't even fucking know at this point.

" What do you think of yourself? Are you my dad? Ordering me shits around. You can't just lock me in my room every fucking time jimin. It's also my fuckin house. " You raised your voice as you walked towards him.

" Watch your tone y/n. You won't like to cross your limits. " Jimin's eyes flashed warningly, his tone authoritative yet somehow still nonchalant. As if he was speaking to one of his subordinates, rather than his own wife. “And I’m serious. Grab your things and go to your room before 9pm.” He said as he continued walking towards the hall, you followed him. You can't muffle your thoughts this time.

" Why, why the fuck do you want me to stay in my room after 9pm . What, is your other whore gonna be around? Is this the reason park? " You asked sarcastically really letting it go with the expletives. God. He made you so angry – marching into the house, not even thanking you for the food – it was takeout, but still he should have thanked you- and then ordering you to go to your room like you were five fucking years old.

" Don't you dare talk like that to me love.” Jimin eyed you annoyingly because you could say that you were crossing your limits, and as if on cue, his phone began buzzing in his pocket. It was probably some cranky drug lord on the other end, since those were the type of people you knew he worked with on a regular basis. " I don't have time for this drama of yours right now but I'll talk to you later about this. " He ran his hand through his hair for the 6-7 time annoyingly before turning his heels back.

He twisted the knob of his office door and said, " Don't make me repeat myself y/n. Go to your room before 9pm or else you'll regret it. " And with that he disappeared in his office.

Fuck him. You thought, stewing and swearing as you stomped your way up the stairs. Tears stinging your eyes as you marched towards your room. Out of sheer irritation and spite, you took out your phone out and quickly bought one necklace and anklet of Cartier along with 3 heels from Manolo Blahnik, rapidly typing out Jimin's card information before you could change your mind. The notification from his bank would probably piss him off, but it wouldn’t really make a dent on his bank balance. No. This wasn’t enough. You wanted to push him even further.

It seemed like the only time Jimin spoke more than two words to you was when he was ordering you or angry at you. Well. You could give him something to get angry over. You could give him plenty to get angry over. No more playing at caring little housewife. It was time to get creative.

-

taglist : @sweetwolfcupcake @silversparkles11 @janvibutbetter @strawberryjimin13 @manchuria @bangtanbts-fics @crazy-eight17 @juju-227592 @joonyoongi @sumzysworld

_

andante cantabile || MYG x reader

pairing: myg x f!reader

genre: historical / regency au, fluff, smut in epilogue

chapter rating: 13+

wc: 10.4k

summary: You are convinced Mr. Min is nothing but a rude and gloomy man after he leaves a horrible first impression on you. His friends' attempts to convince you otherwise are met with mixed success.

warnings: pianist!yoongi, jane austen rip-off, enemies to lovers if you squint, slow burn, mention of parent death, jungkook is the reader’s younger brother, full ot7 as supporting cast

note: I’m finally crossposting to tumblr again! A little nervous, mostly excited 😊 It’s exactly two years ago that I first posted this story, and I’m still really proud of it. The writing style was a fun challenge, definitely a bit of an experiment but I hope you enjoy!

(Posted as a oneshot on ao3, split into smaller parts for tumblr. That does mean the first part has relatively more screentime for the supporting cast, but there is a lot of regency!Yoongi goodness coming up 💕)

masterlist: 1 | 2 | 3 | coda

“Jungkook.” With an urgent whisper, you shook your brother awake. “Kookie!”

Your little brother had been sound asleep, curled up in the sheets, but he stirred at your insistent poking of his cheek.

“Wh— what’s going on?” he asked groggily, trying to escape your prodding finger. The five-year old boy sat cross-legged on the bed, his mouth hanging open as he blinked tiredly at you.

“It’s a full moon, remember!” you said, jumping off the bed. You pulled back his heavy curtains with a dramatic flair, an effect somewhat ruined by the fact Jungkook’s window did not afford a view of the aforementioned moon.

His only response to your words a bleary stare, Jungkook looked on the brink of falling back to sleep.

Unacceptable!

Drawing yourself up to your full eight-year old height, you pulled Jungkook out of the bed and to the window. He yawned loudly, rubbing at his eyes as he dragged his feet.

“Come on,” you urged him, lifting him up to sit in the window sill, then clambered up yourself and undid the latch. “We have a ghost to catch!”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” he said, pouting at you. “Jimin told me so.”

You sniffed. “Jimin is only seven. Do you trust him over me?” The cool night air brushed against your bare arms as you opened the window and you suppressed a shiver, hastening to readjust your cloak.

Jungkook put his arms around his knees, nuzzling into the fabric of his nightgown. “No,” he finally admitted.

“Then let’s go!”

In the end, you never caught any ghost—though Jungkook did catch a terrible cold. Still, for a long time you insisted one haunted the orchard until the passing of years forced you to grow up and put an end to your nightly adventures, the full moon a beautiful sight but nothing more.

“Miss Jeon!” a voice called out across the meadow.

The wind almost caught your straw bonnet when you looked up from the field of yellow flowers. With one hand you clutched onto your hat, the other filled with the flowers you had picked. You smiled at the sight of Areum Kim, your neighbour and oldest friend. Though she did not always carry herself with the greatest sense of propriety, you could not fault her for that. Indeed, she was the one person in whom you failed to recognise it as a fault at all.

She hurried down the stone path to you, her sister-in-law in her wake.

“Areum, Mrs. Kim,” you said warmly, giving a small curtsy. “What brings you here?”

Doyeon Kim, a delicate woman with striking eyes, sent a teasing smile Areum’s way. “Seokjin received a letter from his cousin today,” she said.

“Oh, do let me tell,” Areum protested, clutching onto Doyeon’s arm. She turned to you without waiting for an answer, radiating excitement. “My cousin Namjoon bought a summer home right here in Southdon, and he is coming over next month! Not only that, but he’ll bring his brother and some friends from London. London!”

“Your cousin? That is wonderful news!” you said. You had met him once before at the wedding of Seokjin and Doyeon Kim, though his younger brother had been too sick to travel at the time. He’d been a handsome man, with smart manners and a dimpled smile that motivated you to keep him in high spirits.

Areum nodded with enthusiasm. “And you will finally meet Taehyungie! Your brother is almost of an age with him, I am sure they will get along most splendidly.”

Doyeon laughed, a bright sound she hid behind her hand. “I have yet to find the person Taehyung does not get along with. That being said, his temperament does seem like a good match for Mr. Jeon’s.”

“Then I look forward to the two making their acquaintance,” you said, always pleased to see your brother make new friends.

The month passed by with little happenings of note. An expectant vibration hung in the air of Southdon, anticipating the arrival of Namjoon Kim and his party; particularly the well-to-do bachelors from London he was rumoured to bring. While your hometown was not without society, the city of London always cast a spell of curiosity and marvel.

Your younger brother was particularly excited, eager for the opportunity to expand his social circle. Frequently you overheard him with your other neighbour, Jimin Park, crafting plans for activities they could undertake with the newcomers.

As for your father, he made sure to note their bachelor status, though he knew better than to press the subject. The generous condition of your family’s financial and social standing meant you did not want for attention from suitors, but it also provided you with the luxury to be quite selective about a potential husband. Jungkook had once horrified your father by suggesting you not be married at all and instead become the residential spinster of Aberton Hall, where Jungkook assured he’d provide anything his beloved sister desired.

Now, while your disposition towards marriage was not wholly unfavourable, Jungkook’s half-serious jests always put your mind at ease, erasing any pressure you might have felt. He enabled you to approach the subject strictly on your own terms, and for that you would always be grateful.

So you awaited the arrival of the much anticipated party with no frivolities clogging up your thoughts, no expectations begging to be dashed. Instead you merely enjoyed the prospect of reacquainting yourself with Namjoon Kim and the doubled efforts that society would put into their events this season. Already Areum gushed to anyone who would listen (or pretend to) about the preparations she was making for a ball to welcome her cousins. She only needed the slightest provocation to throw an event, and her brother tended to indulge her fancies.

It was when Jungkook and you were engaged in a friendly practise bout of fencing that a letter arrived—and quite timely as well, for your brother had been beating you quite handily. His skills with the foil were unparallelled in the county and so sparring with him always brought mixed feelings on your part; you appreciated the challenge, but hated to lose. As much as you enjoyed going up against your brother, there were only so many defeats your ego could bear.

Your mask tucked under your arm, you thanked the servant for bringing the letter. Jungkook wiped his forehead, skin shiny with perspiration, watching as you read the letter and took in its contents.

“Who is it from?” he asked once you had finished.

“Mr. Kim,” you said, gently folding up the paper with a smile that refused to be contained. “He has called upon us for dinner next week. His cousins will also be attending.”

Jungkook’s face brightened with obvious elation. “How fortunate! I have been pestering father to invite Mr. Namjoon Kim and his companions over as soon as possible, but he insisted they must be allowed to settle in peace.”

His fervour brought out a warm laugh from you. “Father has a point,” you conceded, “but we are lucky to have such a considerate neighbour. He is kind to include us while he must have plenty of catching up to do with his family.”

“Which they can do just as easily in our presence,” Jungkook said, resting his forearms on your shoulders as he leaned against your back. With an exaggerated flair you fell forward, pretending to buckle underneath your brother’s weight. He laughed and held onto you to keep you on your feet. “You must agree, do you not?” he said with the pleased confidence of a man already sure of the answer.

You put the letter aside and took up your foil once more. “It does not matter if I do,” you teased. “We have been invited, to refuse would be most rude. Now, let’s continue!”

“Are you certain? I would hate to wound your dignity even further,” he said, the grin on his lips saturated with mischievous pride.

“Oh, I doubt you would,” you said, putting your mask back on. “But you will have to beat me first!”

If there was one circumstance that allowed you a fair chance to beat your brother, it was when his confidence soared too high. You would not pass on this rare opportunity, too enticed by the lure of victory. Jungkook’s eyes glinted as he also donned his mask, rising to your bait. You slid into a proper stance and Jungkook did the same, carrying on your ‘friendly’ practise bout.

Once Namjoon Kim arrived in Southdon, taking residence in Bexlow House, it took no time at all for rumours to circulate about him and his companions.

Hoseok Jung and Yoongi Min stirred up dust in particular; a rich yet eccentric patron of the arts and the pianist he doted on. Apparently Mr. Min was making quite a name for himself in London (or so Park told you, whose aunt spoke of him in her letters) but he came from old money, leading you to suspect his growing fame might not be based on skill alone. Fortunately, Mr. Seokjin Kim’s invitation ensured you did not have to wait long for the opportunity to turn hearsay and speculation into solid fact.

You could not help but tease Jungkook for his palpable enthusiasm as the carriage rode you towards Mr. Kim’s estate, a shine to his boyish face. “I swear,” you said, “you are more excited about them than Mrs. Lee and her daughters.”

Unabashed, Jungkook grinned at you. “Of course! After all, we do not often have new faces around here.” He looked his best today, in a fitted tailcoat of deep burgundy and his dark brown hair parted with an artful tousle to reveal his forehead, while the narrow shape of his waist evidenced the presence of a corset.

“Of course,” you affirmed with a smile. Surely his eagerness had nothing to do with the deep admiration that Namjoon Kim had instilled in Jungkook when they previously met. Three years of age difference made quite an impact, and Jungkook had followed the older boy around like an imprinted duckling.

The past years had done little to temper Jungkook’s memory, his idolisation back in full force. But Namjoon Kim had also left quite a positive impression on you, so you could understand your brother’s feelings. You only hoped the man had aged well, saving Jungkook from bitter disappointment.

With Acton Field only two miles from your home, the carriage ride did not take long. You had a beautiful view of its apple grooves, a lush green after the trees already shed their flowers through spring.

“Mr. and Miss Jeon! Welcome!”

Seokjin Kim gave you a jovial greeting, a wide smile painted across his beautiful face. Your neighbour had always been an attractive man and years of a flourishing marriage had only increased his charms. Always a proper man of the house, he made introductions between the various parties.

Expectation lived up to reality; not only as handsome as you remembered, but the years had lent Namjoon Kim a maturity that suited him well. His younger brother Taehyung made a striking figure himself, with large eyes and an intense expression that bordered the line of intimidating, until a rectangular grin softened his face when Seokjin introduced him.

Perhaps the Kims’ elegance attracted company of equal refinement, you mused. Mr. Jung certainly matched them with his sharp jawline, the very picture of aristocratic dapperness. And then there was Mr. Min, whose dour expression could not diminish his delicate features. Skin pale as porcelain contrasted by dark hair and dark eyes that regarded his surroundings with a certain caution. Not the most charming of men, but undeniably fair to look upon.

Areum drew you into a conversation with her youngest cousin, pleased to finally have you meet him. You quickly came to understand the confidence she had in a friendship between him and Jungkook; he was an amicable sort, earnest and up-beat. You spared a glance at your brother, and concealed a sympathetic wince.

As personable as Jungkook was, he had never grown out of his shyness—a consequence of living in such a small and unchanging community, you suspected. You did wish your father had not kept you and Jungkook so sheltered, but you understood where his protectiveness came from.

Now Jungkook stood next to Mr. Jung and Mr. Namjoon Kim, a clear battle in his doe eyes. His instinct to disappear into the background clashing with the desire to speak with the man he so looked up to. Fortunately Jung proved talkative enough for three men combined, easily entertaining with tales of London.

Besides, Jungkook was not the only quiet one in the drawing room.

Mr. Min stood with Seokjin Kim and his wife, and while he politely answered their questions, he struck you as distinctly unhappy to be there. Mrs. Kim was the very embodiment of hospitality, her face lit up with a smile that ought to lift the spirits of any guest. Yet Min proved immune, eyes restless as they wandered around the room. Did he truly think the company so poor? Seokjin’s japes were not so horrible.

The rumours had led you to believe Mr. Jung was the eccentric one, but at least the man showed himself to be likable. You adjusted your expectations of Mr. Min’s skills on the pianoforte; for people to put up with his disposition he must be talented indeed.

“Don’t you think so, Miss Jeon?” Areum asked, interrupting your inner musings.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” you replied without missing a beat, effortlessly stepping back into the conversation. “There are some rich fishing waters on our grounds, I am sure my brother would love to take you.”

There, a seed planted to create a connection, you thought, satisfied at your efforts to help Jungkook. Taehyung responded positively to the idea, adding that Mr. Min was an avid fisher as well.

You smiled, but your lips were pressed together tightly. Concealing the dreadful impression Mr. Min had made on you, you smoothly proposed a group outing for the men. After all, Seokjin Kim would be distraught if left out.

You cast a furtive glance at Yoongi Min, but was startled to find his eyes already on you. With a sudden rush of embarrassment you dropped your gaze to the ground, annoyed at yourself for feeling caught when he was the one who had been staring.

Fortunately a servant announced dinner was ready, and the group left the drawing room to partake in the meal. Dinner opened with a serving of white soup and the atmosphere was easy; even Jungkook relaxed now there was food to distract him from his own inhibitions.

Once again Mr. Jung proved himself a natural entertainer, speaking of his exploits in London. “I truly believe it is the arts that bring meaning to people’s lives. That is why I became involved,” he said with a beautiful smile, a calm timbre weaving through his voice while he spoke seriously of his passion. “It gives a voice to our inner self, allowing us to speak of what we fail to put into words. Like the music of our Yoongi here!”

The musician in question stiffened at the mention of his name, then made a soft hum of acknowledgement and brought another spoonful of soup to his mouth, leaving his response at that. However, the group did not allow him to eat in silence, their interest drawn by Mr. Jung’s remark.

“How long have you played the pianoforte, Mr. Min?” Seokjin Kim asked. “Professionally, I mean.”

Min swallowed slowly, ducking his head down. His eyes were almost lost under his dark hair, which he wore longer than deemed fashionable. “Not long,” he said, glancing at Mr. Jung and not elaborating further.

With an easy chuckle, Hoseok Jung picked up the thread of conversation that Min had dropped so carelessly. “I had to convince my friend here to share his performances with the public! If not for me, he would still be locked up inside his house.”

“And perhaps happier for it,” Min said in a stony voice.

You and Areum locked eyes at once, though she was less successful at keeping her face neutral. But Jung burst out laughing, a loud cackle that sounded through the dining room and defused any negative effect Min’s brusque comment might have had on the evening’s ambiance.

In the corner of your eyes you noticed your brother, whose eagerness to contribute had been building for a while now, his nerves calming and smile broadening. You turned back to your soup, your own lips curling upwards as well, pleased to see Jungkook on the verge of opening up.

Your joy proved short-lived.

“My sister has some fair skill on the pianoforte herself,” he said, and the corners of your mouth dropped before you could catch yourself. “She plays quite wonderfully!”

Jungkook. Your doting brother, the staunchest of your supporters and biggest champion (unless it concerned fencing). Any other day you would have been endeared by his belief in your talents, even the nonexistent ones, but today you had to make an exception.

Your skills were acceptable, and that was the kindest word on the subject you could spare without risking yourself delusional. One of your failings as a lady, and one you were painfully aware of.

“Jungkook, you flatter me,” you said with a small laugh. “That is higher praise than I deserve.”

Your words were not enough to repair the damage and you felt the eyes burning into you. The local branch of the Kim family smiled at your humility, too polite to say the words themselves, especially since they knew Jungkook would not be happy with them for it. Only Areum dared a raised eyebrow of scepticism, but the gesture went unnoticed.

However, their cousins had no way of knowing your words were not a display of false modesty. Namjoon and Taehyung Kim gave you looks of curiosity, taking Jungkook’s praise at face-value. Even worse; Min’s glum expression broke for the first time, an inquisitive glimmer in his dark eyes as he studied you with renewed interest. Sitting directly opposite of you, his attention was an unpleasant weight.

But Mr. Jung trumped them all, offering the suggestion you most dreaded. “Well, I would be remiss if I did not hear a performance,” he said, a geniality to him that assured you his request was honest with no ill-intent. “Who knows, I may have to sweep you off to London!”

The audacious words sent a burning flush through your already heated skin, your laugh growing ever fainted. “I fear London is too bold a stage for my limited abilities,” you said. “Besides, surely no one is interested in an amateur’s efforts when we have a professional among us.”

You gestured towards Mr. Min, catching his gaze. Imploring him to save you from embarrassment, you poured a silent plea into your smile. He looked back at you, a feline quality to his eyes—though his current expression brought to mind a grumpy tomcat rather than any sleek elegance.

“By that logic I would rarely have the opportunity to hear the playing of others,” he said, sullen.

“Ah, of course,” you acknowledged, shoulders slumping. There was nothing more you could do except praying for the party to forget about this particular conversation by the time dinner finished.

A lull settled over the table, the subject closed by Min’s statement. You continued to eat your soup, attempting to savour the veal broth but your efforts came up short. Namjoon Kim gave you a curious look from the seat next to you, then his face softened in a sympathetic smile. “Miss Jeon, I see your father is not with us today. Is everything well? I was looking forward to meeting him again.”

The change of subject loosened the knot in your chest. “Sadly, our father had to leave urgently to distant relations in Antwerp,” you explained. Only two days ago he had departed, after a pressing letter from your grand uncle that he was needed.

“I hope there are no health issues?”

“No, thankfully. There is business to attend to,” you said. “Our grand uncle is deeply involved in the stock market. I do not understand all the finer aspects of it, but father intends to return before the end of summer. I’m sure he will have the opportunity to explain it himself, if you are interested.”

“In the meanwhile, I am left in charge of the estate,” Jungkook interjected, and you heard a mixed jumble of pride and resentment in his voice. As pleased as your brother was to be entrusted with this responsibility, you knew he yearned for the opportunity to travel. However, the indignation was only subtle, soothed by the presence of new people right here in Southdon.

Various members of the party made suitably impressed noises, and Taehyung Kim questioned Jungkook about the grounds, specifically the fishing waters you had mentioned to him earlier. Conversation picked up again around you, and you gave Namjoon Kim a silent look of thanks for his smooth intervention. A slight nod in return, and then his attention turned to the topic at hand; organising an outing together to test out those waters. Seokjin Kim showed the most blatant enthusiasm but even Min eased into a small smile, a reminder of his supposed interest in fishing.

Basking in the obvious happiness of your brother, you calmed down and almost forgot about the earlier incident. Though you could not let it slip from memory entirely, not with Mr. Min casting persistent glances your way (much to your displeasure). You distracted yourself by regaling Namjoon Kim with stories about the town.

He burst into a dimpled laugh as you narrated how a flock of chickens once upset the Sunday sermon, when they had somehow gotten into the church and one laid an egg right on the pastor’s bible, another building a nest in the man’s hair. A tale from many years ago, though perhaps you should not be as fond of the recollection as you were, proof of your misbehaviour during that time of your life.

Of course, you left out the part about who was responsible to Mr. Kim, but you suspected he knew anyway. Father always blamed the lack of a maternal presence for your period of rebellion, but in time you settled down and matured into a proper lady.

Dinner continued to the next course, with such enjoyable conversation around the table that you entirely forgot about the looming threat waiting for you.

Hoseok Jung, the self-proclaimed patron of the arts, had not.

As the servants took away the final plates he pinned you with a slow smile, sparing no mercy. In his defence, he did not seem aware of the fact that you required such a thing. “Miss Jeon! Is now the time for you to grace us with a song?”

With no means to decline without risking insult, you supposed it was. Though ‘grace’ would not be the word of your choice. You nodded in agreement and could only hope your smile did not show the strain behind it.

Ever the excellent host, Seokjin Kim led his guests back to the drawing room. Usually his wife would be the one who played to entertain guests; Doyeon was far more musically accomplished than you. She gently touched your arm as she passed by, though you did not know whether it was intended as encouragement or sympathy. Under other circumstances she may have tried to take your place, but both of you knew Jungkook would take heavy offence.

All too aware of the eyes on you, you took place behind the pianoforte. It was a beautiful instrument, purchased only last year as a gift to Doyeon from her husband. You rifled through the music sheets and quickly found a sonata by Haydn you felt reasonably confident of. The others spread through the room, making themselves comfortable on sofas or by the window or, in Min’s case, standing by the bookcase behind the pianoforte.

You felt a stab of unease at his presence behind you but ignored him best you could. Bolstered by the proud shine on Jungkook’s face, you pressed your fingers to the keys. You focused on the music, fooling yourself into believing your brother was the only other person in the room. When he listened he did not hear mistakes, only creative improvisations.

And today, you very much appreciated to be indulged.

Music filled the drawing room as you made your way through the movements, starting off with a brisk allegro. You needed a few measures to hit your stride, but by the time you reached the minuet you found a sliver of peace deep inside you and latched onto it. Then, the third and fourth movements followed easier than you had anticipated. Not your worst performance, you reflected as you returned to one final allegro, building to the last crescendo—and then it was done.

Your fingers hovered over the keys as the climactic notes faded in the air, and you took a deep breath before lifting your eyes from the paper to face your audience.

A polite applause greeted you. As predictable as ever, Jungkook beamed at you as though you had just given a spectacular concert, but what truly warmed your heart was the appreciative smile of Doyeon Kim, an acknowledgement of your efforts. The performance had been… acceptable.

“Mm.”

You froze at the sound from behind you, far closer than anticipated. Quickly you recovered, smoothing a hand over your high-waisted dress as you nodded at your audience in thanks.

“That was excellent!” Jungkook said, then turned to the man standing just behind you. “Mr. Min, what did you think?” He smiled expectantly at the professional pianist, clearly anticipating a raving review. Your smile was more rueful, sympathising with Min for being forced in a position where he, if not outright lie, at least had to tip-toe around the truth.

Mr. Min sucked in a breath and when your eyes locked, his dark gaze caused a swelling of vulnerability deep inside you, invasive and unwelcome. “Your left hand is not as quick as your right,” he said. “It would help to first practise with just your left until you’ve mastered the part, then play with both hands.”

Any relief you might have felt at making it through your performance unscathed was cruelly doused by the sharp chill of humiliation. Your neck burned with a cold heat, creeping further to your cheeks.

Silence fell in the drawing room.

Decorum broken, you stared at Mr. Min, incapable of ripping your eyes away. His brow furrowed until he broke the contact himself, turning his head to the side. “Of course,” he said stiffly, “otherwise you played well.”

In the corner of your vision you saw Jungkook, his chest puffing up and a dangerous intensity drawing over his face. Wordlessly you begged him to remain quiet and not cause a scene, but a saviour presented himself before Jungkook could formulate a response.

Seokjin Kim clapped his hands together and let out a buoyant laugh. “How about we enjoy a glass of port, gentlemen? Come, come,” he said, putting his hands firmly on Jungkook’s shoulder as he led the young man back to the dining room with clear deliberation. “Let the ladies catch up on their gossip!”

Perhaps you were mistaken, but Mr. Jung gave you an apologetic look as he followed the others. They left you with Mrs. and Miss Kim, who rushed to assure you of how well you played. But, you thought bitterly, only by your standards.

Not by Mr. Min’s.

“And did you know he has seen a hot air balloon ascension?” Jungkook said to whoever would listen. On this particular day, that meant you and Jimin Park. “Mr. Kim has been studying technical drawings of them as well. Is he not amazing!”

Park, Jungkook’s lifelong friend and neighbour, looked at him with an indulgent smile. His light brown hair shone in the soft sunlight that fell into the parlour, cheeks lifted into an affectionate grin. You could still see the shadow behind his face of the adorable boy you used to know, but there was no denying Park had grown up into a beautiful young man.

“I look forward to meeting him at Miss Kim’s ball,” Park said, and you caught a pinch of jealousy at tomorrow’s planned fishing expedition, though not explicit enough for Jungkook to notice.

A blunder on Park’s part; Jungkook was the host for this outing and well within his rights to invite others, something he would do happily if he thought Park was interested. But fishing had never been a passion of his, only partaking when Jungkook forcibly dragged him along. If anything, your brother would believe he was doing Park a favour by leaving him out.

You looked up from your book, quietly developing a strategy. “What a shame though, that is still two weeks from now,” you said carefully.

Park’s lips parted, frozen in a response, then curled up as he recognised your efforts. “A shame indeed. Only so many weeks in a summer, then they’ll be back in London.”

“And Taehyung Kim is of an age with you! It would be lovely if you had the opportunity to meet sooner.” You chanced a look at Jungkook and felt a surge of triumph at his expression.

Rubbing a fingertip at his temple, cogs turning behind his eyes. “Oh, Jimin! What if you join us tomorrow?” he said, a wide smile bursting across his face. “You do not care for fishing, I know, but the company will make up for it!”

“That is so thoughtful,” Park said sweetly. “I will gladly take you up on that offer.”

“I do have to warn you,” Jungkook said, his expression souring, “Min will also be joining us. I saw no way to exclude him.”

You would never admit it, but part of you was thankful for the bite to Jungkook’s voice—though another part of you was flustered at his protectiveness. It had been a humiliating experience, one you’d rather forget, and so far Mr. Min had made no efforts to make repairs. The other Londoners had been sociable enough; the Kims had joined you and your brother when you crossed paths on a morning walk and Mr. Jung had happily chatted with you after church. Meanwhile, Mr. Min had utterly ignored you.

It was enough to convince you he did not care about the effect his impropriety had on you, which spoke ill of his character indeed. You struggled to understand why Mr. Namjoon Kim and the others associated themselves with such a man, but perhaps they simply were kind to him for the sake of Mr. Jung or so impressed by his musical skills.

“That is fine,” Park said, his eyes twinkling. “I must admit, I have become rather curious about him.”

Jungkook sniffed dismissively and instead returned to the subject of Namjoon Kim and his many exploits.

Park stayed all through dinner and joined you for a round of cards afterwards. As always the stakes became somewhat heated, nobody willing to walk away the loser. Jungkook looked at his hand with an insufferable quirk to his lips, confidence glimmering in his eyes.

“I propose I deal the next round,” Park said tightly, lifting an elegant eyebrow.

Smile turning dangerous, Jungkook cocked his head. “What do you mean to imply?”

“Oh, I imply nothing!”

“Good,” Jungkook said, “because unlike some, I do not resort to foul play to win. I don’t have to.”

You peeked over your cards to watch their bickering, already formulating a plan on how to best use this to your advantage. The more they riled one another up, the better your odds at taking away the victory.

Park bristled at the accusation. “Years of friendship, and this is how you treat me?” he sputtered, eyes wide.

“He treats you in the way your game tactics call for,” you said, hiding a playful smile behind your cards.

Park gave you a stricken look that spoke of the deep stab of betrayal you had just inflicted on him. But before he had the chance to respond, you were interrupted by your steward.

“Mr. Jeon, I am sorry to bother you, but could I have a moment of your time?” he said, ever polite. Jungkook excused himself and let the steward pull him away. Your eyes followed them, wondering what was important enough that it could not wait. However, your steward did not look particularly alarmed which assuaged most of your worries.

When you turned back to Park he was smiling at you, all belligerence of the game faded away. “Thank you,” he said, “for your assistance earlier.”

You chuckled, putting down your cards. “You are very welcome. I could not resign you to a fate of not meeting the Kims and Mr. Jung until the ball.”

“Ah, the ball…” he mused, drawing his thumb over his lip as his eyes twinkled at you. “I do hope I still hold the right to your first dance even with these fascinating newcomers around.”

“Of course you do!” you assured with a laugh. “I would not have it any other way.”

“Good.” The way his smile transformed his eyes into crescents was almost enough to make you forget about his fraudulent tendencies while playing cards.

“It truly is a mystery to me!” you exclaimed, struggling to keep your composure.

Areum was all sympathy, patting the arm you had looped around hers while she accompanied you on your morning walk. The touch of soft cotton was a slim comfort, but it assured you at least one person remained on your side.

For just a few short days your brother staunchly supported your dislike of Mr. Min, to the point that it embarrassed you at times! But hindsight made you appreciative of even those moments, now that they were lost to you.

One outing of the gentlemen together and Jungkook had changed his mind on the matter entirely. One single outing! Ever since then he tried to persuade you of the man’s intelligence, of his sense of humour. The latter had you convinced this was all part of some elaborate joke Jungkook was playing on you, though you did not understand what his endgame might be.

“I do not wish to speak ill of your brother,” Areum said, on the cusp of speaking ill of your brother, “but perhaps he simply lacks a certain sensitivity. It is easy for men among themselves to forget the wrongs they have inflicted on us.”

You smiled at Areum’s loyalty; you knew how partial she was to your brother, but she did not hesitate to choose a side. “Or Jungkook is simply having a laugh with me,” you said. “If Mr. Min truly is the man described to me, he would have apologised for his behaviour, but he has not even deigned to deliver a letter.”

Areum let out a deep sigh. “Seokjin also spoke of his thoughtfulness, it is baffling. Perhaps Mr. Min is just the sort of man who only gets along with other gentlemen. Oh!”

Her face lit up as she spotted something in the distance. You followed her gaze and saw a trio approaching you through the fields by horse, and even from this distance they were easy to recognise.

Jungkook and his two companions all looked in high spirits as they drew near, laughing brightly. Perhaps it was because they were so close of an age, but the three had become quite taken with one another. Areum’s smile gained a smug edge, satisfied to know her prediction had come true.

As for you, the sight of them getting along so amicably warmed your heart. Jungkook had truly come out of his shell around the youngest Kim, his efforts rewarded with what would surely become a treasured friendship.

“Good morning, Miss Jeon, Areum!” Taehyung Kim was the first one to call out to you.

They came to a halt near you and Areum, each astride an impressive Thoroughbred; the pride of the Park family’s stables. Greetings were exchanged, and Jungkook enquired after the well-being of Areum. She launched into an animated explanation of her newest ideas for the supper to be served at her event, staring up at Jungkook with a brilliant smile.

You bit your lip to hold back your amusement, but failed when Park sighed. His eyebrow quirked up at you, then he chuckled and shook his head. He liked Areum well enough, but once she got started on any given topic… You hoped they had no pressing matters to attend to.

However, Jungkook clearly did not mind. He asked in depth about her meal plans, though his focus lay with her choice of meats.

Taehyung Kim observed the conversation with interest, his head cocked to the side. “Do you think there will be strawberries?” he mumbled, more to himself than anything else. Then he blinked, as though to snap himself back into reality, and turned to you. “Did you enjoy the mackerel, Miss Jeon?”

The sudden change of subject threw you, and you needed a moment to realise what he meant. “Oh! Yes, yes very much,” you said. Freshly caught and prepared by your skilled cook, it had made for a delicious meal.

“Min caught it, did you know?” he said, his smile proud as though he had been personally responsible.

But your smile turned sour. Ah. Min again. “Yes, Jungkook mentioned it.”

Kim beamed at you. “He caught two, while Jeon had no luck at all so he was generous enough to share.”

Was there some conspiracy afoot? Had the universe turned itself against you, when all around you everyone sung the praises of Yoongi Min’s kindness while he showed you none? “Yes, very generous of him,” you said with as much warmth as you could muster.

It seemed to satisfy Kim, and you quickly took advantage of a lull in the conversation to close off this particular topic. “Areum, I am starting to feel peckish,” you said gently. “Would you like to join me for breakfast back at the house?”

Areum hesitated but she recognised something in your expression and nodded in agreement. “Yes, of course. Gentlemen, we’ll leave you be,” she said with a light bow. Everyone said their goodbyes, then you parted ways with the trio. Areum was more than happy to continue her chatter about the ball preparations to you, and in turn you let yourself be distracted by her planning.

As agreed she joined you for breakfast and you savoured the light-hearted banter as much as the fresh apricot jam. But eventually it was time for her to return home and you sent her on her way, insisting she take your carriage.

And then, Aberton Hall suddenly was far too quiet.

With Jungkook still absent, you made your way to the drawing room. There was something you had been putting off these past few days, and you needed to confront it. You were childish to avoid it for so long, while you believed yourself to have outgrown that particular trait. So now it was time to deliver proof.

Inside the drawing room, the pianoforte waited for you.

The instrument stared you down, but you stared right back at its black-and-white keys. One deep breath, and you sat down on the stool, rolling your wrists and stretching your fingers to prepare them for practise. Face steeled with focus, you ran through your warm-up exercises.

Despite your lack of natural talent, you always found the routine calming, the habitual rhythms and passages a place of solace that emptied your mind of distractions and discomforts. And so you felt ready to continue onto the next step after you finished.

A familiar sonata rested on the music desk.

You refused to let one memory—one man—spoil your enjoyment of this piece. You refused!

Yet, your hands hesitated above the keys. His words, his criticism, topped off by his disingenuous compliment; the faint ghost of their memory sang through you. Your expression hardened and you took another deep breath, then placed only your left hand on the keys and began to play. A strange sense of spite had taken hold of you, as though mastery of this piece would somehow deflect your feelings of embarrassment back onto Mr. Min. That it would prove him wrong.

By the time Jungkook returned to the estate you were still practising, but he must have discerned your state of mind, for he uncharacteristically made no comment.

Finally, the day of the ball arrived.

Wanting to look your best for Areum’s event, you put in every effort. You wore a sheer gown of cotton gauze, a satin petticoat underneath. Aiming for fashionable simplicity, the dress was white with beautiful embroidery forming a delicate trimming of leaves, while a ribbon tied around the waistline brought an accent of Pomona green to the ensemble. Your high waist was contrasted by a low neckline, the occasion allowing for such exposure of skin. It showed off the necklace of small pearls you wore, a fond memento of your mother.

The maid helped you prepare, carefully fixing a pearl ornament in your hair that complimented the necklace, and she buttoned up your long evening gloves. Together you finished in good time, so in the end it was you who had to wait for Jungkook, struggling to decide on the manner to tie his cravat.

You took the carriage to Seokjin Kim’s country house; a ball was one of the few occasions you would bother to do so. Already a significant crowd had gathered, filling up the splendorous home, and Areum stood absolutely radiant in the center of it all, relishing her role as hostess.

“Miss Jeon!” she greeted you eagerly, taking your hands in her own. “I am so happy to see you, we will start the first dance soon. I would not have you miss it.”

At her words your eyes instinctively darted through the crowd for Park, though you could not find him at first glance. A string quartet played a lively tune, lifting up the ambiance even further, and you saw people making introductions and socialising.

Instead of Park, you found Mr. Namjoon Kim. He looked as smart as ever in a charcoal tailcoat with a green vest underneath. The dimples in his cheeks greeted you before he did as he disentangled himself from a conversation with Mrs. Lee and came over to you and Areum. “Miss Jeon, might I have the honour of your first dance?” he asked after a light bow, a cheery gleam to his eyes.

“Ah, Mr. Kim, I am afraid my first is spoken for,” you declined him with regret.

“Well then,” he said, “I shall have to wait for your second!”

You smiled at the ease of his recovery. “And I shall look forward to it,” you assured him, but let out a soft ‘oh’ when you finally located Jimin Park. Kim followed your line of sight and chuckled, then excused himself, presumably to find an available dance partner.

The bustle of people meant that Park needed some time to wade through them to reach you. Meanwhile you spotted the other newcomers, taking up much of the attention with people eager to be introduced to them. Hoseok Jung thrived in this environment, his smile brightening up the assembly room, but even he could not disperse the gloomy fog that surrounded Mr. Min, who shifted on his feet beside the sociable patron. Taehyung Kim had been captured by Mrs. Lee and her daughters, but appeared to handle the situation with grace.

Then Park stood in front of you, bowing while you curtsied, though he went through the formality with a playful slant to his lips. His eyes flickered to Areum, who strode to the center of the dance floor with Jung Hoseok by her side, then back to you.

“Are you ready, my lady?” Park winked, offering you his hand.

“For you? Never,” you teased, but allowed him to take you to the dance floor.

Other couples followed, including Seokjin Kim and his wife. Doyeon’s marital status meant she outranked Areum, but Areum’s position as hostess gave her the honour of leading the first dance. She could not have chosen a better partner; Mr. Jung proved to be one of the best dancers you ever had the pleasure of seeing. Effortlessly he glided over the floor, taking Areum with him in his wake. You and Park followed their lead, as did the other couples. The slow minuet allowed for conversation with relative ease, a fact you gladly took advantage of.

“It truly makes me happy to see you and Jungkook get along so well with Mr. Kim,” you said, moving gracefully through the sequence.

An accomplished dancer in his own right, Park accompanied you with poise and finesse. He smiled at your words. “Kim is a good man,” he said. “I’d say I was lucky to have met him, but then I’d be selling you short.”

You laughed in response. “And now you give me too much credit, Park! At the most I moved up your meeting by a few days.”

Though his smile stayed in place, something of the cheer faded from his eyes, leaving you to wonder what you had said wrong. He saw your confusion and sighed, shaking his head. A partner-switch temporarily broke you apart, but you kept your eyes on Park while you danced with Mr. Lee.

“I apologise,” he said once you were reunited. “It’s just… sometimes I forget you don’t call me by my given name any more.”

“No,” you said with a weak chuckle, no less confused, “not since we were little.”

Back when you were children. Back when Park took care of your brother even though he was only two years older; still a child himself but wanting to be there for the boy who lost his mother. Jungkook had been too young to truly understand what it all meant, but Park did.

You swallowed thickly, a sudden gratefulness swelling up from deep inside you.

And while your smile faltered, Park’s returned in full force. “I suppose I’m simply not used to your devotion to propriety these days.” He let out a soft giggle. “Not when I remember how you snuck frogs into my bed.”

“You deserved that,” you said pointedly, lifting your chin in a huff, but then you sighed, the breath filled with nostalgia. “I had to grow up sometime.”

“Hm,” he mused, “but at least you still remember how to hold a grudge. It is reassuring to know some things never change.”

The words came with a teasing lilt, but you could swear they physically struck you, causing you to almost trip when the dance called for another switch. Mr. Lee must have thought you a dreadful dance partner, so distracted by Park’s comment.

Was he implying you were too hard on Mr. Min? That you had to give him a second chance without any apology at all? You had not even spoken to the man since that first dinner together, a direct result of his avoidance of you.

Park was quick to see how his remark had affected you when you returned to his side. A rueful smile tugged at his lips and he squeezed your hand as you circled around each other. “Don’t pay me any mind,” he said. “Clearly I have turned into an old man already, sentimental about my wasted youth.”

You laughed at his dramatic statement. “Don’t even say that! You are younger than me,” you pointed out. “What does that make me then?”

“An elderly spinster,” he grinned, relishing your affronted gasp.

The moment of discomfort had passed, and you relaxed into the rest of the dance. When the song ended, it was with some reluctance that you and Park parted ways—until you remembered your promise to Namjoon Kim.

The gentleman waited with crinkled eyes as he smiled at you, and he led you into a faster paced reel. Joined by Jungkook and Areum, you laughed often as the dance took you through interlacing figures and sequences of complicated footwork.

As the dance ended, you were both elated and in desperate need of catching your breath. Mr. Kim brought you back into the crowd, where he left you with Doyeon and went to look for a new partner himself. She gave you a knowing smile; Doyeon had a talent for making you feel as though she was aware of your every secret.

“How are you tonight, Miss Jeon?”

You wondered how much Areum had relayed to her about your grievances, but when Doyeon’s gaze drifted over to the new figure approaching you, a meaningful look in her eyes, you wondered no longer.

Mr. Min joined you, though by the look of him you would think he was only here under threat of death. He hesitated, then bowed lightly. You and Doyeon curtsied in response, exchanging a glance when Min stood before you, chewing on the inside of his cheek and glancing off to the side.

Was he trying to swallow his pride, finally using this opportunity to make amends? You had been waiting for him to do so, of course, but surely this was not the right occasion?

“I hope you are well, Mr. Min,” Doyeon said, and you were grateful at least one of you still remembered her manners. The man truly unbalanced you.

“Ah, yes,” he said, his eyes flickering up for just a second. “Very well, thank you.”

“Don’t you think the music is excellent tonight? Areum worked hard to procure the services of this quartet,” she pressed on after a moment of clumsy silence. You couldn’t help but feel for her, trapped in the uncomfortable pressure between you and Mr. Min.

He nodded slowly, as though he needed a moment to process her words. “They are very good. Miss Kim should be proud of her efforts,” Min said, and finally his eyes met yours properly. For one brief moment, you were struck by the absurd notion he was about to ask you for a dance. Then he shook his head, and the moment passed. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kim, Miss Jeon, you have to excuse me.”

His departure as sudden and awkward as his entrance, Mr. Min was gone.

“What… what just happened?” you asked Doyeon, but almost immediately another abrupt arrival interrupted your conversation.

Mr. Jung swept in with a cheerful greeting, the unexpectedness of his appearance the only similarity to Min’s clumsy manners. “Miss Jeon, may I be so bold as to ask you for your next dance?”

Though he caught you off guard, you still agreed gladly; his opening dance with Areum made you eager to have him as your partner. He provided easy conversation until the next set began, while Seokjin Kim came over to invite his wife to a round of whist. You pitied their poor opponents, their combined skill at cards left not many who stood a chance to beat them. A lethal couple indeed. You had no time to consider them for long though, because Mr. Jung led you to the dance floor with a charming smile.

To your own surprise, you found yourself fighting off a spot of nerves. Until now you had only talked to Mr. Jung in a group setting, and his undivided attention proved to be intimidating. However, you liked to think your heart was not so faint, and thus you smiled back at him as you took position for the dance.

It all started so well.

Mr. Jung delivered to your every expectation, floating over the dance floor with a grace that seemed contagious. Just a light touch of his hand was enough to lead you through the sequences with confidence and you felt like you were dancing on a cloud.

“So, I noticed Yoongi came to talk to you,” Mr. Jung said, and the cloud rained away from underneath you.

“I am not certain ‘talk’ is the appropriate word.”

He hummed. “I do hope my friend has not continued to make a bad impression on you,” he said, his tone playful but a glimmer of solemnity behind his eyes. “I’m sure I speak for him when I assure you he meant no offence.”

It occurred to you that perhaps Jung only asked you to dance because he saw your exchange with Mr. Min. If anything, you had to admire his loyalty. You sighed, thinking back on Yoongi Min’s clear discomfort. Something resembling a pinch of sympathy edged at your thoughts and you sought him out in the crowd. You found him conversing with Namjoon Kim, near the tables set up for cards.

He looked placid now, clearly favouring Mr. Kim’s companionship over yours. Then the latter whispered something to him and Min broke out in a laugh, the smile transforming his face. It highlighted just how soft his features actually were, and even from this distance you saw a hint of his gums, the sight strangely endearing.

Your mood soured at once.

“Yoongi would not have answered your brother’s question so honestly unless he esteemed you,” Jung said, taking your continued silence as a signal to persist. He did not sound unkind.

But the damage had been done.

“I do not mean to discredit your insights of Mr. Min,” you said, bitterness clinging to your tongue, “but I am decently sure of his esteem for me, and it is none.”

The final drop had spilled. You had grown weary of people’s insistence to defend the qualities of Mr. Min. Qualities he surely had (to accuse so many of your friends and acquaintances of lying would be unseemly), but deigned not to show you. If everyone else spoke of his kindness, and everyone else was granted his good humours, then his problem lay with you and you could think of nothing you had done to wrong him.

In this moment, more than ever, you felt justified to hold onto your resentment of Mr. Min.

Clearly Mr. Jung sensed he should drop the issue, focusing on the dance instead. You regretted disagreeing so openly with him, but a sudden exhaustion took hold of you and it took all your concentration just to keep up with the steps. After the dance finished, Jung moved on and you had a quiet moment to consider your words. You sighed and smoothed out your dress, fighting the urge to bite your lip.

As loathe as you were to admit it, Park had the truth of it when he said you still knew how to hold a grudge.

The following morning you immediately wrote a thank you note to Areum, showing your gratitude for her hospitality as proper. A routine task, yet you found your thoughts so scattered that the letter took far longer to finish than expected. After finally closing the envelope and handing it over to a servant, you considered taking a walk to clear your head. Except the idea of being outside, where you could possibly encounter other people, it wrapped around your chest in a rigid tightness, constricting your breath like a poorly fitted corset.

After your dance Mr. Jung had left you in decidedly cooler spirits than he had approached you, and you felt the sting of embarrassment over your behaviour. At the very least you could have pretended to humour his attempt at bridging the gap between you and his friend.

You took a walk around the drawing room with your maid but it failed miserably as a distraction. You tried a book of poetry, but the text swam in your vision, reading words without ever comprehending them. For a moment you entertained the idea of seeking out Jungkook for a bout of fencing, but your desire to isolate yourself won out.

In the end you winded up behind the pianoforte, fingers brushing over the keys without pressing down.

You sighed, the irony not lost on you that the one activity you associated with Mr. Min provided your best chance of forgetting about him. And indeed, the comfortable routine of your warm-up practise helped you find a quiet space inside your head. By the time you had gone through them, you did not hesitate to go through Haydn’s sonata again, a test performance with both hands.

Diligently you had been practising with just your left, and though perhaps your own opinion was not the most impartial, you thought yourself much improved. The hours of rehearsal were paying themselves back; you would never be an effortless virtuoso, but your execution of the first two movements approached the level of a performance more than acceptable. Perhaps even decent.

To your frustration, you caught yourself blundering during the slower andante, little mistakes slipping past you as you struggled to coordinate your hands. With a deep sigh you stopped, gathered yourself, then returned to the part where your trouble began and went back to using only your left hand.

Patience, you told yourself. Patience was all you needed. Patience… or perhaps obstinacy. That was a trait you had plenty of, and its power had always gotten you very far. You played through the andante with deliberation, repeating every part where you faltered. But eventually you reached the end of the movement, finishing with a satisfied smile.

The piercing sound of a lonely applause suddenly rang through the drawing room.

You startled, but only for a second. This was not an uncommon occurrence; Jungkook enjoyed quietly slipping inside to listen to you play, unaware of an audience other than your personal attendant. “Jungkook, I didn’t hear you co—” you said as you turned around, then froze again when you saw not one, but two spectators.

Jungkook, as expected… and Mr. Min.

His dark eyes studied you carefully, something undecipherable in his gaze. If you were not careful you would be trapped by him, that you knew for certain. You quickly averted your eyes, your attention drawn to the envelope in his hand.

“You sounded great today,” Jungkook complimented, then patted Mr. Min on the shoulder. “Min has some business with you, so I will leave you be.”

Before you had the chance to think of an excuse to keep him in the room, Jungkook was gone. Fortunately your lady’s maid stayed in attendance, saving you from scandal, but even so you still felt abandoned.

Mr. Min cleared his throat, tugging at his cravat before he spoke.

“It is good to see you again, Miss Jeon,” he said with a light bow, awkward, and you quickly stood up to curtsy in return. “I’m afraid I created a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

He nodded, stepping further into the room until he hesitated and came to a halt.

“Oh, please sit!” you invited him, remembering your manners, but he shook his head and remained standing in the middle of the drawing room.

“I was, uh, I came here to deliver this letter but your brother insisted I talked to you in person,” Min said, scratching his cheek. “He is a very persuasive young man.”

Despite your discomfort, your smile was genuine. “That he is.”

“But what I am here for…” he said, then trailed off for a second, as though trying to arrange the words in his head. Clearly he had not expected to be speaking to you. “Hoseok led me to understand you believe I have no esteem for you.”

You winced, having not expected Mr. Jung to be so frank with Min about your conversation. “I apologise, I—”

The words slipped out before you fully realised what you were saying, and you would have been annoyed at the fact you were apologising to Mr. Min if not for the hand he held up to stop you. “No,” he said firmly. “I am the one who should apologise. I should never have spoken so bluntly to you at Mr. Kim’s.”

Your hands clutched at your dress, restless as you tried to process the situation. This was a good thing, was it not? Why the sudden knot in your stomach?

“Then I aggravated the situation by not making amends at once. I thought…” He hummed lowly, lips drawn in a tight line. “I thought it better to keep my distance from you, to spare—”

He interrupted himself, looking away for a moment, then met your eyes again with a steady gaze.

“No, that was not honest of me,” Min said, frowning. “I did think you would prefer to avoid my company, but I was also embarrassed by my mistake. I will not make excuses for that. So instead… I apologise for any hurt I have caused you, and wish you to know that I do, in fact, esteem you. Highly.”

His eyes flickered to your maid, who stood just behind you, as though only now remembering you were not actually alone. It took you a moment to realise he had finished speaking, waiting for your response, and you stammered clumsily.

“I— Thank you, Mr. Min,” you said, ducking your head. “I appreciate your visit, truly.”

The platitude was an inadequate response to his words, but you could not muster any more.

Mr. Min chewed the inside of his cheek, nodding as though you had said something more profound. “Thank you for hearing me out, Miss. I will leave you be,” he said, and began to turn away. Just as he stood at the door opening he paused, and looked at you over his shoulder with a pensive smile. “I hope this is not out of line, but you made some remarkable progress. Quite impressive.”

Then he was gone, leaving you to wonder just how long he and Jungkook had been listening to you play.

Something heavy weighed down on you, your hands digging into the fabric of your dress. You finally had the apology you so wanted, that you deserved.

So why did you feel so burdened?

It was not until much later that you realised he never gave you the letter.

→ pt. 2 💕

Love this!! Need to know what happens next omg thanks a lot for this one!💗💗

most undesirable || (M)

Spring has sprung and engagement is on the forefront of all of Regency London's young ladies' minds. All except for yours, of course– the Queen's niece who a certain notorious author has named the Ton's most undesirable.

pairing: lord!jungkook x lady!reader

word count: 5k

genre: BRIDGERTON AU, regency era, angst, eventual smut

warnings: cocaine usage (not oc or jk), oc has dead parents

A/N: this fic was commissioned by the lovely Baby. As per her request, it features me and our beloved izzy! please do let me know if you would like a part two, i have big plans for whats to come next ;)

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PART ONE **UNEDITED**

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A word of profanity left your painted lips as the outsoles of your lace-up boots danced across the limestone floor of the palace, making haste but not in a manner that was unbecoming, your head held high despite your mood running low.

You reached the door of Her Majesty's room with purpose, hands fiddling with the satin of your dress to make sure it covered your shoes. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate the influx of garments your dear aunt had gifted you upon your arrival. Still, the heels Her Majesty had deemed in style this season were particularly uncomfortable. She would no doubt grow sour to see you parading in countryside shoes in her home.

"Your highness." One of the oldest guards snickered, his eyes flicking towards you knowingly as he and another guard moved to open the grand doors to their Queen's private quarters.

You crunched your nose, "Shh." 

Of course, the guards had already read the paper… Rotten gossips.

Willing a smile onto your face, you were let into the room. Your aunt sat at her sofa, the furniture floral in design, its fabric dyed a luxurious red. Between her hands were the source of your dismay, the newest Lady Whistledown papers fresh off the press. 

You hadn't had the pleasure of reading this week's issue personally, but word traveled outrageously fast in the palace; both maids and guards suckers for a good scandal. You knew quite intimately the matter of its content as you were the matter of its content.

"Ah. Niece. There you are.” The Queen called you over, setting the paper down beside her unceremoniously.

You walked closer stiffly, "Aunt Charlotte, you wished to speak to me?"

"You know I adore you, don't you? You're like a breath of fresh air in this miserably dull palace."

Your once tense shoulders relaxed instantly, taking comfort in knowing she hadn't called you in for a scolding.

"It is you that lights up every room you enter, your Majesty." You bowed your head slightly, knowing well that flattery was your best line of defense should the tides change against you. 

"I do, don't I?" She agreed with a grin, before it fell off her face suddenly. "Sorry– whatever were we talking about?"

"Um–"

"Ah, yes! Well, there's no point mincing words. I'm sure you've seen it by now. I mean, can you believe it? That sorrowful sow Whistledown attempting to soil the reputation of my bloodline with such a frivolous title as… as…" She snapped her fingers, forgetting the word she was looking for.

The sound echoed throughout her enormous chambers, currently barren as your aunt was in the process of renovating.

"Ice Princess." You reminded her quietly. She tutted her tongue in recognition.

"How tactless, how tasteless! It is me who sets reputations. Not her. No, no, this simply won't do."

You watched in silence as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Remind me, darling. Why weren't you at the Danbury Ball?"

You shifted, thinking back on the excuse you had given her, "I was… ill."

It was a lie, of course. You had been feeling quite well actually when notice of the ball came 'round. But could anyone fault you? Ballrooms and gowns weren't exactly your area of expertise.

Growing up, your mother and your aunt couldn't be more different; you often heard stories of the two sisters butting heads from your grandfather. One sister went on to marry the king of England, the other a humble traveling merchant. One stood throne in England; the other lived simply in France's countryside. Despite their differences, it was no secret that your aunt loved her older sister dearly, writing to her often in hopes of convincing her to come move to England. When she learned that your mother was with child, she even went as far as to purchase land for her sister and soon to be niece.

But your mother was every bit as stubborn as she was kind. She loved her husband and the life she had built with him, staying by his side until she passed last year. Your poor father was grief-stricken; by eight months, the stress on his heart had become too much, dying nearly a year after your mother.

It was your aunt who had reached out first, offering her deepest condolences and, far more noticeably, all the money you could ever need and your very own suite in the palace.

You weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to such a lucrative proposal. You, much like your mother, adored the countryside and the small town you grew up in. And perhaps that was why you agreed, not to move in, but instead to visit. She was family, after all, something you didn't have very much of left, though you have since come to know of a cousin Friedrich, recently married to an Edwina Sharma that your aunt raved on and on about.

In the week you had been here, you had come to know far more about British aristocracy than you ever wished to know, entirely out of your element amidst the corsets and personal maids. Only recently had you managed to lower your number of attending maids to two, a far cry from the original seven you were greeted with.

You did your best to fit in, but you were no fool. You knew nothing of soireés– or how to dance for that matter, so the moment your aunt spoke of a ball, you knew you had to conjure up some excuse as to why you woefully must decline.

"Exactly! For heaven's sake, you were ill. How dare Whistledown suggest otherwise." She gestured at the staff in the room as though they were her audience.

The sound of the Queen's chamber doors being thrown stole the attention of everyone in the room. Unsurprising to you, two young maids barreling in, tripping on each other.

"S-Sorry, Your Majesty!" The blonde stuttered out.

The brunette nodded in agreement, "Our apologies, Your Majesty. We didn't know where her highness had gone–"

"–We came running as soon as we realized she had snuck off."

Isabella and Roselia. Of course. Your two personal maids. You had only just managed to shake them from your trail when you heard the news that the Queen had sent for you. You should have figured they'd inevitably catch up with you.

They were pleasant enough company, the duo were quite funny, actually, but the constant shadowing was something you learned you rather detested. You understood they were under strict orders by the Queen to ensure your every need was attended to but still… surely even nobility understood the concept of wanting to have a moment alone?

"Oh— Are we interrupting something?" Roselia's cheeks went pink, eyes running over the room as she took note of the Queen's pursed mouth. "We'll just… we can wait outside actually."

"Outside, right! We'll be just outside." Isabella chimed in, heading bowing as the brunette maid yanked her back and out of the room.

"Sorry for the intrusion!"

You stifled a snicker, watching as the young maids slipped back out of the Queen's chambers, shutting the grand doors as they went. Your aunt merely rolled her eyes at the bumbling maids.

Suddenly, her Majesty sniffed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. All her maids ran towards her, offering handkerchiefs as if their life depended on it. You nearly laughed at such a ridiculous display of servitude, but seeing as you had spent well over a week in the palace, you had become accustomed to such theatrics.

"Whistledown is right about one thing, you know." Queen Charlotte said as her nose was blotted at. "Everyone needs to meet you. And meet you they shall."

In surprise, you pulled your eyes from the doting maids, "They shall?"

"Certainly. We shall have a ball. Here in the palace, of course."

You felt your stomach plummet into your leather-bound boots, your aunt's words echoing.

"All of London's marriage-minded ladies and lords are to be invited. We'll show Whistledown just how splendid you are. Oh! How glorious if you were to find a suitor! That certainly would put to rest that frozen title once and for all."

Just faintly, you could make out the sound of white noise buzzing, mixing with the words the Queen spoke. Anxiety flooded you, deafening your brain's attempts to self-soothe and rationalize that this wasn't the catastrophe you felt it was.

"Aunt Charlotte," you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt stripped of all moisture, "I… I'm not sure if that is wise–"

But it was as if she hadn't heard you, rambling on as if you hadn't objected, "I'll be arranging for etiquette and dance lessons since my beloved sister undoubtedly failed to do the same for you. Are you free this afternoon, darling?"

You stood for a moment, no doubt looking foolish as you struggled to get your words out, "I… I suppose I am…"

"Dear, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Are you feeling well?" The Queen cocked her head at you, eyes sizing you up with concern.

"I… I am not feeling my best." You admitted.

"That's the second time now. Growing up in the countryside— all that sun and dirt— it's made you weak of constitution. Hm. Very well. We'll wait until you're feeling better. In the meantime, I will begin planning!"

You averted your eyes politely as she bent over suddenly, inhaling a white powder off her tea tray through a nostril. She sat up with an exhale, eyes fluttering open with a smile.

"Oh, how I love having you come to stay in the palace for a change. I'm terribly bored these days, you know." She sighed. "Did you care to assist me with planning?"

Despite how you felt seconds from unearthing your already digested lunch, you managed an apologetic smile, "I'm not sure I'd be of much help. I'm afraid I've never hosted a party before."

"Yes, my dearly departed sister never cared much for such things, did she? Such a shame she raised you out of the aristocracy." She said.

A furrow found your brow.

"You're wrong, you know." You disagreed before you could think to hold your tongue. And just like that you had become a magnet, all eyes in the room snapping towards your frame.

"Oh? About?" The Queen offered you a pointed look.

"About the way I was raised. I wouldn't change a thing about it. My mother didn't fail me… she loved me. I had a mother and father who loved me. That was worth more to me than any new dress could ever." You said, gesturing to the gifted garment you adorned today, with perhaps a touch more spite than you should've.

Of two things those in the palace knew to be true. One— Her Majesty was not wrong. Ever. Her opinion was the first to seek and the only to matter. Anyone was someone because she said so, whether explicitly or subtly.

And two— her love for her niece ran deeper than even she anticipated, as watching you stand before her defiantly didn't fill her with rage as the staff in the room assumed, but rather with melancholy. 

You looked like your mother just then. It seemed you reminded her of her sister more and more as the days rolled by.

"Your mother would be pleased to hear that." She merely replied, wondering if her sister might be looking down on you both at this moment. At her words, your entire demeanor softened.

"Very well. Off you go." Your Queen sniffed, a handkerchief at her nose within seconds.

Bowing, you moved to exit the room.

"And niece," she called one last time, causing you to turn around, "must you wear such unsightly footwear under your dress?"

You felt your face grow hot, muttering a quiet apology before exiting the room altogether.

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"Chin up, darling." Your aunt reminded you.

You followed her instructions coolly, hoping you didn't look nearly as nervous as you felt.

It was undoubtedly a soirée for the books; every square inch of the ballroom was gilded in gold, the chandeliers' gleam diffusing luxuriously as it bounced around the room.

Eligible men and women of all shapes and sizes had come from far and wide, donned in their absolute best; every possible hue of pink, blue and purple on display for Her Majesty. The ballroom looked akin to the royal grounds, you thought; the cool-toned dresses reminding you of upside-down bellflowers, floating across the marble floor in a synchronized dance.

Flocks of the most noticeable families and town figures had swarmed their way to the royal estate, drowning themselves in champagne as corseted woman fluttered their eyes at the Ton's lords.

But despite their poised smiles, neither woman nor man spared you more than a cautious glance and courteous bow. As the hours ticked by, you couldn't help but feel increasingly uneasy. Was it fear of Her Majesty sitting beside you that kept them away from you? Or was it the less than auspicious picture a certain faceless author had painted for them about you?

"It's rather hot in here, wouldn't you say?" The Queen spoke to you suddenly, looking larger than life from her magnificent throne.

"I suppose." You agreed absentmindedly, far too occupied with how a group of ladies' eyes flickered your way.

She continued, "Perhaps some champagne will cool you down. Why don't you fetch yourself a glass, dear?"

The meaning behind her words was clear. Go. Socialize.

"A splendid idea." You concurred.

Granting yourself one final shaky breath, you straightened up, walking towards the table where drinks were being freshly poured.

"What shall it be, my lady?" A servant greeted you politely as you reached it.

"A glass of champagne, please." You smiled, grateful for a friendly face, perhaps the first of the night.

The servant nodded, moving to open a new bottle.

"She doesn't even hold a title, you know. That Ice Princess."

You blinked, growing still as your ears caught wind of a conversation between party goers not far from you.

"But she's the Queen's niece?"

A sinking feeling washed over you, the kind that made all the other noise in the room disappear. You flirted briefly with abandoning your spot in the room altogether, but the bubbling pour of golden liquid into a glass kept you still. You thanked the servant with a halfhearted smile.

Bringing the glass to your mouth, you turned an ear to the three gossiping ladies, careful to avoid their gaze.

"Word has it her mother married out of the aristocracy." One of them babbled, pulling noises of disbelief from the others.

"Pity. Though, I suppose that explains the appalling way she walks in heels. You'd think she grew hooves from all that time she spent in the countryside." Another prattled. Stifled giggles rang around the group like they were all in some sort of secret, one that wasn't theirs to know. "Can you believe she thinks herself better than us?"

"One more glass, if you please." You asked the same servant, quickly making your way back to the Queen, now with a glass in either hand.

You approached her wordlessly, merely offering her a glass.

"Ah." She accepted the drink eagerly, and for a moment, there was silence, the two family members enjoying the cool velvety acidity of what was no doubt costly champagne.

"It appears the Ton thinks poorly of me." You blurted out.

You felt rather foolish telling this to your aunt. It wasn't as if you really cared what three cankerous aristocrats thought of you. But who else were you to tell? You knew no one.

Your Aunt Charlotte furrowed her delicately painted brow, "Darling, it'll do you well to realize that this Ton doesn't think. They merely reiterate what they've been told. They don't know you. Never mind what they think they know."

But her words went in one ear and out the other, merely background noise to the way you suddenly felt all eyes on you.

And suddenly, your dress was too tight, the ballroom too small. You felt your breath grow shallow, a sure sign of panic. How may others deemed you the subject of gossip tonight? What else were they saying about you?

"I think I should step out for a moment." You muttered.

"Take your maids with you!"

You were halfway across the room before you could even think to register your aunt's reply. Blinking away your tears, you pushed yourself through the crowd, muttering absentminded apologies as partygoers scoffed in protest.

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How small you felt sitting alone in the palace's rose gardens. You wept on a stone bench, wishing ever so badly that your mother was here, looking back with sorrow at how she used to pull you into her lap whenever you were upset. How she used to wrap her arms around you, and everything seemed better, if even for a moment.

How you missed her. How you missed your father. How you missed your life away from this shining, hollow palace.

But they were gone, and the simple life that awaited you back home was gone. Aunt Charlotte was all the family you had left. Without your parents, your home was gone.

"Oh! My lady… forgive me!"

A soft voice caused you to gasp, turning to face the man that had walked in on your self wallowing.

You were up on your feet in seconds, wiping away at your face. 

"No… no, it is I who should apologize! I'm sorry you had to see me like that." Your cheeks burned.

"See you like what?" The mysterious raven-haired stranger pressed, a note of cheekiness to his tone. "Human? Heaven forbid."

You laughed gently, sniffling away your shame. You knew at once he was no threat to you.

The young lord wasn't exactly sure what had led him to the palace gardens; most of the event seemed to be taking place indoors as the night nipped and chilled unforgivingly. Still, a few stray bodies mingled underneath the string of lights that the palace servants had strung up. He had briefly greeted them, passing through the clouds of cigar smoke and small talk before bounding down limestone stairs.

He had tucked his hands into his pants pockets, sighing as the night's festivities grew quieter the further he slipped away, the crunch of wet grass kissing the underneath of his dress shoes. His mind was heavy with thoughts, hardly noticing where his legs had taken him.

It was the sound of your cries that pulled him from his thoughts and jerked him back to his senses.

He was in the Queen's rose garden; he immediately recognized the vibrant flowers and tall bushes. What he failed to recognize, however, was the weeping girl sitting on a stone bench, a look of embarrassment written plainly on her pretty face as she realized she was not alone.

He was quite handsome, you noticed despite your humiliation. He was younger than most of the lords inside, his face still featuring a certain softness despite his sharp features. His gaze was inherently kind, his warm brown eyes all but beckoning you to lower your guards.

"Lord Jeon.” He introduced himself with a bow, eyes never leaving yours. "Forgive me if I frightened you, my lady. I shall return at once and grant you your privacy."

You sank back down onto the bench, pulling the shawl wrapped around your shoulders closer. Your dress was beautiful— you were beautiful… puffy eyes, smeared makeup and all. He couldn't imagine why a lady like yourself would be weeping in the rose gardens unattended.

"It's alright. I supposed I'm not the only introvert at this party tonight. The garden is big enough for the two of us."

Lord Jeon shrugged, "A bit of fresh air is good for the soul."

You watched cautiously as he walked closer, sitting beside you on the opposite side of the bench. 

"You know… I've been told I'm a decent listener." He said suddenly, brown eyes admiring the roses surrounding you.

You blinked, "Is that so?"

"Well… not explicitly. But I've got two ears, so I'd say I do alright." He teased.

You smiled softly, contemplating how much to reveal to this stranger.

"It's… I suppose I'm just a bit out of my element here." 

"You?" He seemed surprised, a slight chuckle of disbelief accompanying his question.

"You laughed." You raised a brow.

He bit down on his lower lip as if contemplating his following words.

"Well, it's just… I can't imagine someone like you having trouble at these events." He confessed.

For a moment, you wondered what he could mean. Looking down at your lap, you realized he must be referring to your extraordinarily fanciful garments.

"Ah. These clothes were a gift, and this hair— well, none of this is me. Not really. Truly, I don't know why I came." You sighed. 

He nodded, "Beginning to feel that way myself, actually. Most lose interest when they hear my name. I'm a bit of a nobody, it seems."

"Funny. It would appear you and I have the opposite problem." You nearly laughed.

"Uptown girl, are you?"

"I'm afraid I've got a bit of a reputation. And no one cares to know whether it's true or not." You said.

He let out a sigh.

"Terrible soirée full of terrible people. I can't say that doesn't happen here often."

You let his words hang in the night's cold air, your fingers intertwining themselves across your lap.

"Is that all?"

Your head turned to face him, growing warm to find him already looking at you.

"Forgive me, it's just," he continued, "your sadness… it feels heavier than you're letting on."

He watched as your body language changed, suddenly tense as if you had built your walls back up.

He was back up on his feet within seconds, his shoes coming into view by the bottom of your dress as he stood in front of you.

Swallowing down a sob, you allowed yourself to look up at him.

"May I?" He asked, extending a hand out as if wanting yours.

Hesitantly, you gave it to him, assuming you would be ushered back onto your feet. To your surprise, however, he merely flipped your hand over, your palm now facing the night sky.

Your eyes widened as he took a finger and traced a line onto your palm. 

No. Not A line. A letter.

L-O-V-E-R-? 

He wrote into your palm. You stared at your hand, skin still buzzing faintly from where his finger had run across.

His mother used to do such a thing when he was younger and much angrier, often struggling to say the words when something troubled him. He only hoped it would work for you the way he had for him.

Frowning, you shook your head. He wrote once again.

F-A-M-I-L-Y-?

A tear fell from you as if instinctively. You nodded your head, confirming his suspicions. Spurred on by his touch, you moved to grab his hand, flipping it upside down as he had done to yours.

L-O-N-E-L-Y you wrote.

"… I just wish I had a little bit longer with them." You found yourself saying once you had finished.

"No time is enough when it comes to the people you love." He spoke with heart as if referring to his own personal melancholy.

Another tear fell from your eyes as his thumb ran over your palm, not to spell anything but to offer his condolences.

"No. I suppose not." You sniffed, a shiver running over you as a crisp breeze passed the two of you.

He wrote into your palm again.

C-O-L-D-?

You let out a laugh, shrugging dismissively.

"Here." Lord Jeon suddenly peeled his suit jacket off his shoulders. You froze, stunned silent as he gently draped it over your shoulders, a gentle smile on his face.

Your chest tightened, moved by the gesture of kindness. But before you could think to thank him, his warm fingers were at your palm once more.

F-R-I-E-N-D-?

His smile tugged at your heartstrings. You wondered how anyone inside could possibly look down on him. You didn't need to know his name to see that he was kind, a worthy suitor for any marriage-minded aristocrat.

F-R-I-E-N-D. You wrote back.

Happy was the girl who sat on the cement bench of the palace's rose garden, wrapped up warm under the jacket of the first person to show you genuine, unconditional kindness since arriving weeks ago.

The two strangers sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the quiet of company. Neither of you knew the other, but there was comfort in the silhouettes of the adjacent shadows at your feet, knowing that neither had ill intent towards the other.

"Do you ever wonder what it might be like to live in a palace?"

You fell stiff, mute as you turned towards him, watching how he looked over at the illuminated estate. 

"Lonely."

"You think?" He pondered.

"I'm not fond of big empty rooms. They tend to make me feel small." You explained quietly.

"Well, should I ever have a palace, there would be no empty rooms. Every room with music and the sound of children's laughter. I would decree it so."

"Children? And where do you figure you might obtain those?" You chuckled.

"Well, they'd be mine, of course." He grinned lopsidedly.

You grinned back at him. "Then the happiest of children they would be."

You suppose the young lord reminded you somewhat of a child. He was a man by every definition of the word, standing tall and proud, but there was something about the way his large eyes took in the palace that was decidedly childlike. Eyes wide and glimmering with awe.

You watched contently as he suddenly noticed the silver plated container that sat by the leg of the bench; an unopened bottle of champagne sat neatly in a bed of ice, several glasses along side it.

Your dear aunt thought of everything when it came to party planning, you were coming to find out.

"Shall we?" He smirked suggestively.

"I don't see why not." You laughed.

The two of you giggled as he attempted to open the bottle, champagne spilling everywhere. He tried to pour you a glass neatly, but your new friend had no future in bartending, champagne spilling over the glass' edge and onto your fingers.

Sticky but smiling, you brought your glass up, mirroring him.

"A toast." He decided, his own glass now only half full from his carelessness.

"To?" You questioned.

He contemplated for a moment, meeting your inquisitive eyes innocently. A boyish smile broke out across his face.

"To us, of course. Tonight's most undesirables." He declared, making you chuckle.

But before you could touch glasses…

"Your highness!"

Your eyes went wide, your stomach dropping as a certain blond maid came scrambling into the garden.

"Isabella! Please! Just 'my lady' will do." Heat rocketed up your neck, ears no doubt hot to the touch. 

Her hands fell to her knees, clearly out of breath from running around the palace grounds, undoubtedly in search of you.

"My lady, I should advise you to return to the party. Her Majesty the Queen has someone she wants you to meet." She cautioned.

You cursed internally.

"Of course, she does. Give me just a moment then. I'll be over shortly."

The young maid's eyes flickered over to Lord Jeon, cheeks rosy.

"But your highness—"

"Thank you, Isabella." You cut her off curtly. 

The young maid gave you two one more final look over before nodded, pardoning herself with a curtesy.

Hesitantly, you turned back towards Lord Jeon, unsure what to make of the look of disbelief clearly written across his face.

Awkwardly, you brought your glass to your mouth, taking a cautious sip.

"Your highness? You're a princess?" He gawked, eyes still wide. 

"No!" You quipped. "Not… technically?"

The young lord merely blinked at you, his doe eyes telling you everything his mouth wasn't.

You were rambling before you could help yourself.

"M-My mother is the Queen's sister. Technically speaking, she held the title of 'Princess.' Though, I suppose if my mother were born a man then, yes, that would make me a princess— titles are patriarchal in nature, it's all… very complicated, really…" 

You felt like you couldn't take in a deep enough breath, the chilly air now burning your lungs.

"So… not a princess. Just… daughter of a princess." He reiterated, clearly stunned.

You felt a frown form on your face, all your etiquette instructor's reminders of poise and manners slipping from your mind.

"I am the Queen's niece. We shall leave it at that."

The handsome lord had the most fascinated look on his face, eyes locked on the way your jaw twitched, mouth shut rigidly to hold back the slew of word vomit you instinctively felt compelled to let out.

The way he held your eyes – the intensity behind his dark orbs – made you uneasy yet engrossed you all the same.

You bit down on the side of your cheek, "Are you upset that I didn't tell you?"

He shook his head suddenly as if trying to shake off his shock.

"No. I'm not."

"Are you… disappointed?" You grimaced.

You hadn't the faintest clue as to what was running around in his handsome head.

"Disappointed?" He cocked his head.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what the hell you're thinking right now, and it's frankly unnerving." You frowned.

The raven-haired man let out a noise that toed the line between amusement and disbelief. 

"I think you owe me a toast… your highness." He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you failed to fight back a smile, bringing your champagne glass up to meet his, his smirk assuring you that whoever your aunt wished you to meet could wait a moment or two. 

Big Bad Wolf | KNJ (M)

🔴 Summary: Your mom has always warned you not to venture too deep into the forest, for legend has it, in it lives vicious, man eating wolves. You’ve always listened to her words until one day when your love of animals gets the better of you and you end up in the woods, chasing after a wounded cat. When you stumble across a secluded cottage in the middle of the forest and meet one of these “Big Bad Wolves,” you learn that maybe not everything is as it seems.

🔴 Pairing: Wolf Shapeshifter!Namjoon x Human Female!Reader

🔴 Genre/AU: Angst, fluff, smut, fantasy, strangers to lovers

🔴 Rating: 18+ | R

🔴 Warnings: profanity, non-descriptive talk of murder, mention of guns/a gunshot wound, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, knotting, marking

🔴 Words: 19.7k 🥴

🔴 Note: It’s finally here - my fic for @hobeemin​’s Bangtan Grimm Event!! The fairytale my fic is inspired by is Little Red Riding Hood. Full disclosure here, this is my first half human/half animal fic so to anyone that reads this that is much more seasoned with hybrid-esque fics, it’s not the same as others you probably have read lol. 

Thank you soooo much to @lavienjin​ for this amazing banner!! ❤️❤️ ENORMOUS thank you to @playmetheclassics​ for literally being my hero and beta reading this chonker of a fic in a few hours after I finished it 🥰🥰

This fic has been a journey to say the least. Writer’s block has had me in an absolute chokehold these past few months, but I’m so glad I was able to finally finish this! Please enjoy my longest fic to date 😂💖

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somewhere between the lines | KNJ

⟶ title: somewhere between the lines

⟶ au: exes to lovers

⟶ trope(s): lives at the office ceo/chief

⟶ pairing: namjoon x f. Reader

⟶ genre: romance, smut, angst

⟶ rated: 18+

⟶ wc: 9.8k

⟶ dialogue prompt: “You still look beautiful in red.”

⟶ warnings: mentions of divorce and loneliness, Namjoon is a girl dad (yes i think that needs its own warning), mentions of regret, smut in the forms of: oral (male and female receiving), breast play, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, tons of kissing, tons of teasing, unprotected sex (lets be smarter than that tho), fingering, bit of an impregnating kink

⟶ summary: you can hardly wait for your date New Year’s Eve. It’s the first time you’ve felt confident enough to dress up with the intention of letting someone who isn’t your ex husband, undress you at the end of the night.

Mother Nature has other plans for you though, bringing a very unwelcome snow storm and your ex husband to your door. But perhaps this snow storm is what the two of you really needed.

A/N: hellllooooo lovelies, this fic is my contribution to the wonderful Resolution Revolution collab event hosted by Amelia @knjsnoona and Ash @jimilter! Find the masterlist for the collab here. My amazing banner for the fic was made by the amazing Dee Dee @sugasbabiie​, thank you so much again, its perfect!

Is this fic a bit cheesy and unrealistic? Yes. Do we all just need that sometimes? also yes lol. Hope you’ll enjoy a bit of dad!Joon and leave me some feedback if you can!

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Six months. That’s how long it’s been since you signed your name on the dotted line of the divorce papers.

Five months since your middle daughter, HeeJin, who was named after her fathers best friend had her third birthday party, where you and Namjoon had to put on your happy faces and pretend it didn’t hurt to see each other.

Four months since your one year old daughter had her first double ear infection and Namjoon had to meet you at the hospital in the middle of the night. You argued over medical insurance and who’s fault it was that she was sick. You were both in the anger stage of dealing with the grief you felt from the divorce.

Three months since the two of you had to attend your five year old daughters play at her preschool. Both of your families were there and it was the most awkward night of your life, but the happy faces were on in full force once again and you made sure that everything went perfectly.

Two months since you stopped wondering what he was doing every night and whether he missed you as much as you missed him. If he was lying awake and losing sleep over you. 

One month since it stopped feeling like there was a hole the size of your heart gaping in your chest. Time truly healed wounds but this one would never fully close. And you know it was all avoidable. It never had to come to this. 

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