A Date!!!! They Are Gonna Go On A Date!!!!!

A date!!!! They are gonna go on a date!!!!!

Dating advice | Part six

Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, low self-esteem, mentions a parents death in the past, awkwardness,

Authors Note: Thanks for all the love so far! Things are about get a bit spicier.

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“You bring dates here now?”

Everything in you goes tense at the sound of the voice. It’s light, the words sound like they’re an attempt at a joke, but when you look at Yoongi his face doesn’t reflect the tone. His eyes are wide as they flick between you and the man next to you, his smile looks forced. Part of your brain tricked you into believing, perhaps hoping, that Yoongi wasn’t working tonight to see this, but of course, there he stands.

Even after all the drinks you’ve had tonight, you feel sober under his gaze. You force a smile to your lips as you watch Yoongi’s eyes continue to flick between you and the man stood next to you. Yoongi has never seemed like someone with a judging character but even you can see his mind working.

“This is Jimin,” you refrain from looking at him as you stick your thumb in his direction, you know the smile that hasn’t left his lips since he convinced you to bring him here will still be there. “My stupid friend who’s bought me way too many drinks tonight already.”

“And who’ll be buying her at least one more,” Jimin cuts in, moving forward to make himself comfortable on one of the bar stools. “We’ll have two of your finest G&Ts please Yoongi.”

If Yoongi catches the fact that Jimin has called him by his name without you introducing him, he doesn’t say anything. You take a seat next to Jimin as you watch Yoongi pour out your drinks. If your leg was closer to the ground and not dangling off the bar stool you’re sure it would be bobbing with nerves. You can practically feel Jimin buzzing next to you. He really needs to calm down.

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I loved this series! They were like tasty little tidbits of fun!

fwb with bts ♡ masterpost

What happens when you are friends with benefits.

⤑ word count: 7k (around 1k per member) ⤑ genre: smut ⤑ pairing: bts x reader (a drabble for each member) ⤑ warnings: mentions of sexual topics, sexual intercourse (warnings will be added to each chapter) ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ read on AO3 ⤑ masterlist

⤑ Jin [22/05] ⤑ Namjoon [23/05] ⤑ Yoongi [24/05] ⤑ Taehyung [25/05] ⤑ Jimin [26/05] ⤑ Hoseok [27/05] ⤑ Jungkook [28/05]

you can find the masterlist here and share your feedback with me here, if you want to. if you enjoy reading my stories, please consider supporting me using buymeacoffee. thank you! :)

Omg how relatable was this date?! Can't wait for the next chapter!

Dating advice | Part Seven

Summary: It’s been months – ok, it’s been years – since you last went on a date. And you’re sick of it. Sick of seeing couples kissing and holding hands in the street. Sick of your friends settling down. Sick of everyone buying houses and having families. You’re going to do something about it. You’re going to snap up a man, you’re going to tie someone down, you’re going to finally commit, you’re going to – you’re going to need a bit of advice.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: fluff; angst; smut

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, low self-esteem, mentions of misogyny, awkwardness.

Authors Note: Here is it. THE date! I hope you enjoy it.

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“You have legs.”

Yoongi frowns even as his lips pull back to show his teeth. His eyes flick down to his legs and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s checking you’re right or because he’s become bashful by your comment.

You don’t know why you said it. You’ve seen his legs before, it just felt like a good thing to say, something funny to break the nerves bubbling in you. Now you’re wondering why you didn’t just say hi.

“You know, because there’s normally a bar blocking them from where I’m stood,” you explain, the enthusiasm that was previously in your voice has seeped away slightly.

“I think they say if you have to explain a joke it’s not very good,” Yoongi scrunches his nose at you, cute but you think supposed to be a way to show he’s teasing you.

“Well, they’re nice,” you say lamely, trying and failing to salvage whatever this is. “Your legs that is. As in, you look nice. Your outfit. Because I normally see you in work stuff and this is different. Nice.”

You watch Yoongi’s smile go from small to large over the course of your catastrophic monologue. He doesn’t even reply when you finish, at least not in the few seconds you give him and decide to just carry on.

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⟭⟬ nicknames

anon: I love your writing style so much. Not sure if you're taking requests atm but how about bts and nicknames they use for reader ?

JIN

Say what you want, disagree if you may, I will die on this hill: Seokjin is the biggest “babe” guy to ever babe. It’s not too cheesy, not too lovey-dovey and the perfect amount of lighthearted but he wouldn’t call anyone else that

If we’re being real, he could say the cruelest shit and it would sound heavenly coming from him. The liquid smooth voice makes anything, anything sound heart-stopping

“Babe…” he said it with a dragged out whine, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you down into his lap, not liking the way you hovered over him. “I’ve had such a hard, taxing, excruciating, exhausting, unbelievable day. Stay here.”

You weren’t planning on fighting his desires to begin with, but that name is so irresistible. You’d feel almost evil denying him your attention, which was all his anyways

“Only if you insist.”

SUGA

See because… the thought of pet names makes him throw up in his mouth a little? The whole honey, sunshine, cutie, lovebug ordeal gives him shivers but calling you solely by your name is worse

That being said, top enthusiast of beloved. It’s elegant in a way, which is far from what he’s trying to achieve but it also feels like it’s coming from his heart

“So? What do you think, my beloved?” Yoongi slid the chair beside you out, taking a seat and propping his elbow up on the table to rest his head. Anyone could see the hearts flooding his eyes at the sight of you enjoying a small snack he whipped up for you

“It’s terrible…” you muttered with fake disgust, laughing ridiculously hard at the pure shock written all over his face at your insults. Quick to cheer him up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing all over his cheek. “Of course it’s great. Why is that even a question?”

He wasn’t ready to forgive just yet, but your proximity was making it harder and harder to stay mad at you

HOSEOK

Every single name in the dictionary, it changes everyday but it’s been years since he’s said your actual name. You never know what to expect next and maybe that’s one of the things you really like about Hobi

Cupcake, sweetie, honey. Anything sickeningly sweet that you could possibly think of, he’s already called you it with that cute, heart shaped smile spread across his face. He has no shame in showering you with all of his love and undivided attention

“Look at you, my precious angel!” He announces at the top of his lungs in the cramped dressing room, geeking out because you just looked too cute in the merch that staff provided you with. “So cute. I might faint.”

“It gets better,” you tease him with a giggle before turning around, displaying JHOPE written across your shoulders in pretty colored bold letters. His eyes light up and he simply cannot contain his excitement, enveloping you in his arms and swaying you around the rooms, down the hall, etc.

“Perfect! It’s so perfect!”

NAMJOON

Namjoon calling you doll. That’s it.

Need I say more? The name itself exudes confidence, it’s smooth yet endearing and it suits him so very perfectly. The first time he called you it left you speechless, your stomach flipping and your heart fluttering in unison

“Are they bothering you, doll?” Joon joked as he entered the room, almost feeling sorry for you considering you were sandwiched between Tae and Jimin, watching them play against each other in a video game and letting them scream in your ears at each other. “Sorry, they can’t help that they’re stupid.”

He wedged his way beside you, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder, massaging your skin while watching the boys go at it in the fighting game. It took a few seconds to process the nickname and to calm your racing heart, but this was him. It was right with him.

“Thank you for saving me, I was afraid I’d lose hearing.”

JIMIN

Sure, I would love to say that he comes up with the cutest and most creative pet names for you and maybe he does. However? There’s one name that has really stuck with him, and it’s always said with a singsong tone

“What’re you up to down there, sexy?” He planted a kiss on your temple as if he didn’t just deadass say that to you seconds prior, dropping into a criss cross position with you on the floor

He had dragged you to dance practice, although he forgot to think about how boring it might be for you, just sat on the floor and watching him work. “It’s great. I’m living the dream, nothing could make me happier.”

You wanted to scold him for the nickname, let him know that it was raunchy and that it could be sweeter, but he flashed you that smile. You know the one

Suddenly, it didn’t seem like a big deal. You got used to it fast and just decided on your own that this was Jimin’s way of loving you up. This was his effort, this was his humor, this was just him

TAEHYUNG

Taehyung is a real life prince (most of the time). He’s charming, beautiful, graceful. He treats you like royalty and this also applies with couple names, his favorite being ‘darling’

In a way, it makes you laugh a little because it makes him sound like a grandpa. But on the other hand, being Tae’s darling feels so good

“Darling? Are you asleep?” V whispers in your ear after finding you sprawled out across the bed, face stuffed in the pillow and covers thrown all over your body. “I didn’t mean to be out so long.”

“You weren’t,” you mumbled with a smile, making room for him to flop next to you, which he did as soon as you rolled over. “Did you have fun? Are the boys all doing well still?”

“Mm.” The comfortable silence was nice, warm, fuzzy. He let you twirl his hair with your finger, relishing and breathing in your scent as much as he possibly could. With the way he clung to you, you could tell that he missed you dearly

JK

“Buttercup,” Jungkook sang from the back porch, signaling for you to make your way out.

Coming from anyone else, the name might’ve been cringe-worthy and gross. But from him? From the Jungkook, the same guy with tons of tattoos and piercings, the same guy who excels at everything and who has millions of fans on their knees? 

It just feels so loving. It makes you feel special, it’s sweet and fitting and so painfully him. He even calls you his buttercup baby when he’s feeling extra sappy and gooey

The guys tease him every chance they get about the name, mostly because it’s unusual and also because it’s so sickeningly sweet

“Yes?” You peek your head out, watching as he ran back and forth in the backyard with Bam. Leaning on the railing, you watched your two favorite boys enjoying themselves with love in your eyes, not even caring what he needed before

Ugh this was so good! Can't wait for the next chapter!!!

Pinch of Sugar | One | kth (m)

Summary: As a powerful CEO - Kim Taehyung cannot afford any mistakes to his image. He has taken to the employment of sugar babies - women paid to keep quiet about how he lives his life and to positively influence his public image. But when a contract goes sour and his last sugar baby exposes Taehyung, he needs someone softer to sweeten up his image. And you are just the pinch of sugar he needs.

♦ Pairing: sugardaddy!Taehyung x sugarbaby!Reader

♦ Genre: sex worker, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

♦ Word Count: 12,472

♦ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

♦ Word Count: Explicit language, reference to sex work and paid relationships, mention of Taehyung experiencing hate and homophobia (he is a bi-sexual king) in the media, anxiety about paying bills, a little bit of ranting about economic stability and socio-economics, a little bit of insecurity about power dynamics from a monetary point of view at the end, mentions of toxic relationship with Taehyung last sugar baby - sorry, there's no sugar in this one :)

♦ Type: Series

♦ Main Masterlist: here

♦ Series Masterlist: here

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A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in my Reader’s Choice poll to see which fic you guys wanted to read in July! Pinch of Sugar won the final voting by three votes! I have no idea how I managed to get this chapter out by my ridiculous deadline, but here is the first chapter! This is 100% unedited. I will edit later but my eyes, back and hands hurt because to be honest with you, I pretty much just wrote about 7k straight this afternoon. Please note that the second chapter probably will not come out for another two weeks or more - I have got to try and finish another WIP and should not have even started this, but I needed a change of pace. Also - I totally derailed in this chapter. Taehyung was supposed to be a lot more arrogant and cool but I made him soft for reader write out the gate like a fucking simp.

Kim Taehyung does not like inconveniences. He taps his nail on the table of the teakwood desk. For a moment, he stops to examine his nails. The cuticles are slightly overgrown, nails longer than they should be. He makes a mental note to ask Jimin to make an appointment for him to get a manicure. Perhaps an entire spa day.

He’s certainly stressed enough to spend an entire day somewhere in a tropical paradise while he soaks in a seaweed wrap.

The thought is pointless. Taehyung can hardly relax for an hour, much less an entire day. The thought is a funny little dream he has for himself. Something like a private joke that when he’s sitting in his office at 11 pm while all of his friends are out celebrating another promotion, or a birthday, or someone getting engaged, he can think Ah, should have taken that spa day.

The stress, however, isn’t from work today. It’s from the fucking thorn that has been growing in his side since the one thing Taehyung did indulge in to relax, got it in her head that they were an official couple.

He had addressed that immediately. Not only is it always in the contract, but it is something that Taehyung makes a topic of conversation any time his lovers got too comfortable. He is not there to date them, they are not there to change him.

Convenience.

Taehyung, above all else, admires easy. Not because he had it easy his entire life, or because he is lazy. It’s the opposite: Taehyung is constantly busy with work on the day-to-day, running an empire as a well-oiled machine and expanding technologies under Kim Tech while constantly jockeying with his father’s various demands.

He isn’t just a CEO of his father’s company. He is a lead thinker, a brain that brings an insane amount of progress, function and ideas to the table. Taehyung must split himself between being a designer and a dreamer for their tech and being the CEO, the decision maker, the person who signs on the dotted lines.

So convenience is important – no – convenience is imperative outside of his life from work. He must move around the demands of his father and his job, and he needs efficiency. Like the artificial intelligence that he creates.

Machines are so much easier. Their idiosyncrasies make sense to him. If there’s a bug, he can go into the programming and work it out. Coding and running diagnostics and numbers are so much easier than people. Than feelings. Than people who want more of his time, who want more of him, who want more of an emotional investment that he doesn’t have time for.

First, Taehyung had tried casual dating. There were plenty of men and women looking to get their rocks off on dating apps. He was always in social settings for work: events, happy hours, galas, ribbon cutting ceremonies, charities, birthdays, anniversaries.

There was no shortage of hookups in the world.

But without boundaries and clear definitions of where things ended and began, it began to get messy. People called and texted him when they knew they weren’t supposed to, showing one hookup favoritism because they were closer to his villa or because he liked the way one sucked dick better than the other became an issue.

Inconvenient.

Which is why Taehyung sought to invest in the world of people he paid for their time. But it was more complicated than that. Taehyung was an extremely successful businessman and his father’s company that he built from the ground up had a reputation. An important name in the world.

Discretion was Taehyung second item on the list, right after convenience. So he had asked around a few of his business friends: how do you go about paying someone to be discreet? What is ethical? How soundproof is this? What are the limitations?

He was given a company: Eden.

Where angels fall, Taehyung thought the first time he entered the building to meet with the founder and CEO, Kim Seokjin. He still rather liked Seokjin, despite Taehyung’s most recent contract with a veteran employee going the worst way it could.

There are still unopened text messages from Taehyung’s father. It had been almost three months, but Taehyung didn’t have the stomach to look at them. There is no point, when Kim Jaesung can tell them directly to his son’s face.

Running a hand over his face, Taehyung feels the tension twisting in his shoulders. It creeps up his neck, making it stiff and aching to turn. A spa day would be nice, but he cannot afford the time off, not when he’s close to launching an entire new artificial intelligent assistant to rival the creation of KAIA.

Kim Artificial Intelligence Assistant.

KAIA had been his father’s child – his real child, if Taehyung’s childhood had any say. It had changed the way the world integrated technology into everyday life. Siri vanished from phones. Alexa was no longer a household name. Google could not compete with the reactive thinking and cognitive ability of KAIA.

The many iterations of KAIA were each better than the last, and now KAIA was almost sentient. At least, it felt like that at times when Taehyung cracked a joke to himself and the robotic voice humored him. Taehyung had worked on KAIA’s personality coding himself, a series of complex learning behaviors and statistical numbers that would make her grow with the user.

Now, he’s working on a smaller integration and one that is more cost-effective and most importantly: affordable.

Taehyung was still fighting the battle of the pricing for whole sale and commercial sale, as well as in general, what the value of MAIA was. MAIA – Mini Artificial Intelligence Assistance – was a smaller version of her big sister KAIA and was meant to be accessible by the lower income division and used in charity integrations among school districts and various government-funded programs.

We already do charity, the board – including his father – had told him. Taehyung didn’t care. Enough people on the board of governors and investment team thought that it gave them a good look – to hell with actually helping people – the PR would be great.

But the god damn price. It’s something that Taehyung takes a stance on every day because affordable to the one percent is not affordable to the mass population, and definitely not affordable for those in lower income cities and neighborhoods.

Inconvenient. Much of his work is inconvenient, and now Taehyung has gone three months without getting fucking laid because Amaya became inconvenient and outed herself as a paid employee of Kim Taehyung that he uses for sex.

A sugar baby. A sex worker. A prostitute. An escort.

Amaya had been called all kind of names, but she had not cared. She had preyed on Taehyung’s tolerance of her breaking rules and contract and he is still paying for it.

Taehyung’s cellphone goes off on his desk. He frowns when he sees his house keeper calling. In all the years Merallta has worked for him, he can think of maybe two times that she has called him. One time was because Miss Ysabel has broken into Taehyung’s office and the other was because his step mother had let herself into his home – something she never did.

So Taehyung picks up the phone, a crease already in his brow and his tone hushed and concerned. “Hi, Merallta.”

“Mr. Kim, there is something wrong with Yeontan. I think he had an allergic reaction. I’m taking him to-“

“I’ll meet you there.” He stands swiftly. “Text me the address.”

Because if there is anything in Taehyung’s life that he will tolerate being inconvenient, it is that damn dog he bought on a whim and that he loves more than anything else on the planet. Even work.

Taehyung grab’s his coat and storms out the door, asking KAIA to bring the car around as he does.

-

Your eye has been twitching for two weeks. You feel it as you push the rolling chair backward, reaching to shove a manila file back into its proper place. You glance at the clock and try not to yawn. The night shift at Midway Veterinary isn’t bad – it’s usually the emergencies that happen in the middle of the night, but few are ever really life threatening.

It’s traditionally the same: my dog ate a toy, my dog has a really bad rash, my dog ate a roach trap, my cat started vomiting all over the couch.

Pet emergencies at night always feel more powerful, like they are more dangerous than those during the day. It is something about the threat of not getting to the animal hospital in time or being worried everything is closed that got to people.

That’s where you come in. Keeping a calm voice on the phone when pet owners dialed at midnight to tell you that they dropped their hamster was always incredibly important. Though you cannot physically treat the pets themselves, your job as the front desk admin for the night shift is to keep them calm, keep them rationale, and to get pet parents to tell you exactly what happened.

There are plenty of times you can talk them through something on the phone. My dog accidentally ate a piece of chocolate, is he going to die? My cat swallowed a grape, what will happen?

Those are the easy answers, usually. You’ve been at Midway long enough to know when to tell them to come in or when to walk them through purging their pet’s stomach on the phone.

The door to the waiting area rips open and a man strides in through the front door. You notice several things at once, and mostly in an order that you know is not most to least important.

First, he is absolutely stunning. His golden hair looks like it had originally been styled with gel in a careful, brushed back look with and exposed forehead. A few strands escaped now – hanging artfully over his brow. It looked good – though anything would look good on him.

Dark brown eyes wide with panic, honey skin that is unblemished to the point that you feel the need to touch the breakout on your chin, a sharp jaw line that you read about in smutty romance novels, an a carefully sloped nose that would look too large on anyone else but is perfect on him.

Second, you realize that he’s dressed like he just strolled off a set somewhere. Vogue, perhaps. You’re not too in-touch with fashion, much to Hoseok’s distress, but you can recognize that he knows how to dress. Black trousers, velvet black fest, a jacket that fits specific enough to hint at personally tailored, and a charcoal tie.

He is exquisite.

The third thing – and probably the most important – that you notice, is the fluffy in his arms as he starts speaking to you over the counter. You blink up at him, dazed and confused for a moment. He repeats himself and your brain is still trying to put the pieces together.

Very cute black and tan dog – beautiful coloring for a Pomeranian – held tightly in his arms, snout swollen and eyes bulging slightly.

“Looks like an allergic reaction,” you say, barely hearing your own voice. “Are you a current patient with us?”

“Yes, Kim Taehyung.”

Fuck. No wonder this man looks the way he does – you know the name instantly and you’re unsure how you did not recognize his name in the first place. Not only was his company worth billions of dollars and in the very computer you pulled up his – Yeontan’s ­– file, but he had a massive scandal a few months prior.

Shoving all of that aside, you check them in and assure Taehyung that Yeontan will be just fine. A vet tech is out within moments, greeting Taehyung with familiarity before taking the dog from his arms and telling him to wait. Taehyung protests but you say his name with a soft voice, drawing those eyes to you.

His eyes are the most beautiful thing about him. You don’t know him at all – you know of him. In the media, on magazines, on interviews. But that cannot tell you much about a person, but from looking at the way his eyes water and the way a tech billionaire stands in front of you about to crack, you know that he is kind.

“He’ll be okay,” you assure him with a soft smile. “I sent over everything you told me. You only can’t go back because it’s a bit of a full house back there tonight with some stay overs and we’ve got a big girl back there who doesn’t like men much. Sadie is a sweety to us, but she’ll give you a good snap.”

“That’s a dog, right?”

Laughter bubbles to your lips as the joke goes over your head. “Yes, Sadie is a German Sheppard. She came from an abusive home and hates men. Though I’m sure you’re great.”

He sighs. “How long?”

“Probably not very. They’ll give him an antihistamine and give him a good check just to make sure there’s no respiratory issues.” His eyes go wide. He’s standing close to your desk, so when you reach toward him without a second thought, it’s easy to touch his hand delicately. “Yeontan will be okay. Namjoon – Doctor Kim is a wonderful vet. I’d even trust him with me.”

Taehyung deflates a little, letting out a slow breath and giving you a shaky smile. Your hand is warm where your fingers touch the top of his. You snatch your hand away, realizing how inappropriate it is to touch guests without asking.

Clearing your throat, you gesture to the waiting chairs in front of your desk. He nods and takes one, knee bouncing up and down as he begins scrolling on his phone, chewing his bottom lip.

You try to get some filing done and paperwork sent out while Taehyung waits, but it is nearly impossible. His presence eats up the room. You can smell the faint lavender and rose – a surprisingly light scent for a man who radiates something akin to power.

Now that his eyes aren’t on you, you study him over the top of your computer. His really is dressed well and the watch on his wrist that glints in the light looks expensive. He types away furiously on his phone, looking up occasionally to look at the door where the vet tech took Yeontan.

When he looks for the tenth time, you snort.

“Mr. Kim, looking at the door won’t make it any faster. It’s been ten minutes.”

“Well you said it wouldn’t take long.”

“I said it wouldn’t take long, not that it would be miraculously fast.” He sends a frown your way. You squirm under his gaze. “I spy, with my little eye, something…. Green.”

His frown deepens. “What?”

“I spy something green. Come on, you never played I spy as a kid?”

“No.”

“Well do you know how it works?”

“In theory.”

“Then what do I spy, Mr. Kim?”

His lips are rosebud pink. You wonder if they’re always that color, soft like a petal, or if perhaps its just the contrast from his tan skin. The corner of his mouth tilts upward and he raises his brow. You raise yours in return, determined to take his mind off of the obvious stress he is showing, and to entertain yourself – he is the only other person in the room.

Sighing and narrowing his eyes, Taehyung looks around the room with a renewed focus. He begins naming the obvious things – plants, books, magazines, the spray on the shelving that you sell, pictures on the wall.

Taehyung grows frustrated. You lean your chin on your hands, content to watch him purse his lips as he looks around the room.

“I think you’re cheating,” he finally concludes.

You gasp and sit up straight. “I am not cheating! I would never do such a thing.”

“I have named everything in this room that is green!”

“You have not, sir.”

“You can call me Taehyung.

You’re caught off guard by how nice he is. Though you have seen Taehyung in interviews and your friends cannot stop talking about how handsome he is, you did not entirely expect his.

He crosses his arms. “Mr. Kim is my father. I’d like if you called me Taehyung.”

Your stomach flips a little at that. “You have not named everything in this room that is green, or you would have guess it already.” He rolls his eyes upward and you grin. “Keep guessing, Taehyung.”

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“You get my name when you find the green object in question.”

Taehyung’s face scrunches up. You fold your mouth, suppressing the urge to laugh. He looks so different than the man on the magazines. While rationally, you know what you cannot judge a book by its cover, you didn’t expect him to be… endearing.

“I’m going to tell Joon to hire a new admin.”

“Start guessing. The clock is ticking.”

Before Taehyung can make a guess, the door behind you opens. You turn as Namjoon comes out with Taehyung looking around dreamily in his arms. Taehyung shoots to his feet, approaching Namjoon with a friendly familiarity.

“Allergic reaction,” Namjoon tells Taehyung. “Has Merallta used a new cleaner or anything with rosemary in it?”

“Yes, she switched to a more environmentally friendly cleaner.”

“I think that’s what it is. While I admire your efforts to save the world one cleaner at a time, Tae, switch back to the old one.” Namjoon holds Yeontan out to Taehyung, who takes the puppy carefully in his arms. He kisses the Pomeranian on the head briefly. “I gave him some antihistamines, so he’ll be pretty sleepy. Let me know if the rash and swelling get worse.”

“Thanks, Joon.”

“No problem. Tell your brother I said hello. It’s on the house – I’ll send his report over in the morning.”

Namjoon leaves to the back. Taehyung nuzzles Yeontan slightly – you smile and look away, cheeks heating at the sight. While you are certainly not working the grave yard shift at the animal hospital for the men and their pets, it doesn’t help.

Taehyung approaches the desk, absently stroking Taehyung’s fur lightly.

“So what was it?”

“Hmm?”

“The object.”

“I guess you will never know.”

“But I wanted to know your name.”

“Hmm.” You giving him a thoughtful look. “I suppose I can take pity on you this one time. It’s y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats. “Cute.”

“Thanks, my parents gave it to me.”

He smirks. “I wasn’t talking about the name.” He glances you up and down and you feel a flush through your cheek and neck. Suddenly, your desk area is too warm and your hands feel clammy and sticky. “Have a great evening. And thanks.”

“For what?”

“Distracting me,” he smiles.

You watch Taehyung leave while cooing at Yeontan. Cute. He called you cute. While it feels novel, you know that it means nothing. Because though you shared a few moments with Kim Taehyung, someone that most women and men alike would kill for, it doesn’t mean anything. It is a moment you’ll think about later when you go home and stare at the leaky ceiling of your apartment, but chances are that Kim Taehyung will never think about it again.

You’re just not in the same world.

-

Pressing your fingers into your temples, you close your eyes. You want to forget the number on the bill, to pretend that you can’t see it. But even behind closed eyes, you see the daunting figures there.

You always knew that being an adult was work. You never realized that being an adult was work, and then additionally constantly worrying of weather not you were going to be able to pay a bill. With the way the world is going, rent is already impossibly high, gas is so bad you started taking the train to your weekend job despite it often making you late, and electricity is going through the roof.

Something about gas being more expensive worldwide – though in reality, you know that it was another reason for corporations to squeeze money out of the masses.

God. You’re starting to sound like Yoongi, thinking that way. On his worst nights, he would nurse a glass of terrible whiskey and pretend he has been able to afford something smoother and rant about the way the world was built to crush anyone who wasn’t in the one percent.

While you are inclined to agree with him, it was something that you try not to consider.

Yoongi comes stumbling out of his make-shift room, hoodie pulled up over his head. You look up at him. His face is swollen with sleep, eyes barely open. His black hair is hanging in his face – you realize you were going to need to give him a haircut soon – and he has dark circles under his eyes again.

Wordlessly, you slide a cup of coffee over to him that you had poured five minutes prior. It’s how he likes it – single splash of milk, no sugar. He grunts and takes the mug, sipping and making a face.

“It’s a shitty brand,” you defend before he can complain. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can’t you steal coffee from work?”

“Yeah right. Brian takes employee theft so seriously. Hoseok took a cup of tea home with him when he wasn’t on break and Brian threatened to fire him.”

“Brian is a prick.”

“Yeah, well he’s a middle-aged white man running a coffee shop owned by a corporation.”

Yoongi huffs. “Fair. Are you at the vet today or the coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” You pause, chewing on your lip. Slowly, you push the electricity bill over to your roommate. He looks at it before choking on his coffee, holding the piece of paper closer to his face as though he is reading the numbers wrong. “Yeah.”

“We already keep this place on fucking 80 and unplug all of our shit.”

“I know.” He slams the bill down on the counter.

Living with Yoongi has always had perks. He’s silent, he’s incredibly clean, he minds his business, and most importantly, pays half of the rent. But over the last few years as you searched for writing jobs to better support you than working four days a week at a vet desk and three days a week – sometimes four – at a coffee shop, you’d been unlucky.

Yoongi is already working insane hours at a music store down the street, pulling extra shifts to do inventory and working holidays. With the money between you, you are just making rent and bills with enough left over to pay for food and one or two miscellaneous items.

And things just keep going up. Rent. Gas. Food. Utilities. Neither of you have insurance – you suffer through cold months hoping you don’t get respiratory infections and you cannot image what either one of you will do when the air conditioning finally bites the dust. It’s been leaking freon for months, kicking on and off at odd times.

“I’m going to apply to that corner store.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’ll head there today- “

“Yoongi, you have so much going on with music, no. I’ll pick up extras shifts.”

But he’s already shaking his head and waving you off. “You can’t. You’re already going straight from one place to the other already. Music can wait. It’s not like it’s getting me fucking anywhere.” His tone is final. You deflate. “We’ll be fine.”

Yoongi’s words play in your head on loop as you finish paying your student loans on your phone while riding the train to the coffee shop. You’re working the afternoon shift on a Saturday, which is a bit unusual for you, but someone put the shift up for grabs and you weren’t going to turn down money.

Grey skies stretch overhead. You can smell the rain on the air as you tie an apron around your waist, standing in the grimy alleyway that leads to the back of Sugar’d, a ridiculously named and ridiculously overpriced coffee shop. It’s one of many in the city, but it’s the closest to your apartment in downtown.

It smells like sticky syrup and food when you enter through the backdoor. You don’t know how else to describe the smell to anyone who has never worked in food and beverage. There is a specific scent that carries throughout the concrete floors always wet somewhere from a sink or sanitary machine leaking, and there are endless amounts of spilled syrup and residual whipped cream from someone opening a new canister wrong.

Hoseok glances up as you walk front of house. It smells like coffee grinds and vanilla – a scent you actually enjoy. The small café is decorated in muted neutrals and browns. Tinted windows make it darker inside than it really is as the storm clouds gather outside.

A single patron sits in the corner of the café with headphones tucked in his ears and knees pulled up into the chair, book in front of him capturing his attention entirely. Hoseok tosses you a rag as you walk up.

“Please help me wipe down. We haven’t had a chance since the rush earlier and Jungkook exploded like three cans of whipped cream and broke a syrup bottle.”

You grimace but take the rag anyways, always willing to help. “Where is the kid anyway? You let him go early?”

“After the morning he had? Yeah. He was going to go work on some paintings anyway. He has someone interested in showing his work.”

You nod and give a noncommittal hum. Jungkook is the only other coworker beside Hoseok that you love dearly. He’s at your apartment most days, sleeping on your couch instead of the very flat mattress that lays on the floor of the kitchen of a studio apartment he shares with three other guys.

Young, dumb and broke, you used to joke when you first met him during orientation at the coffee shop. He is desperately trying to finish art school which he is on a scholarship for, but it only covered the books and the classes. He is totally on his own with rent and other living necessities and he is no better off than you or Yoongi.

Every movement has a steady rhythm. You let yourself get carried away in the mindless task, making a face when you realize just how sticky the back of the bakery case is. You work in silence, letting the carefully curated playlist that Brian insists stay on pull you into a focus. You’re tired, but you’re content.

A sheet of rain begins pelting the window. You stand up from where you had been crouching, pausing a moment to watch it come down in opaque sheets. The windows blur with the rain, drawing the attention of the patron in the corner and Hoseok for just as second as lightning flashes, purple and white against the windows.

Thunder hums as someone rips open the front door to the café, a gust of wind and mist chasing him as he closes the door, panting and cursing. He turns to look at the storm behind him before looking to see where he has entered to escape the torrential onslaught.

You blink in surprise.

A very wet, yet still divine Kim Taehyung stands in the entry way. He’s looking around, golden hair a few shades dark and heavy with rainwater. He’s dressed in all black again, except this time he sports no jacket. A black button up tucked into black pants with a black vest over the top. There’s a glittering gold pocket watch pinned to the vest, making you tilt your head. How… fashionable.

“I can’t promise coffee will dry you off,” you call to him, surprising yourself by speaking. He looks at you and you see surprise followed by a smile flash across his face. You feel blush creeping up your neck immediately as he approached, shaking the water off his hands. “But it might warm you a bit.”

“What a delightful surprise.”

“Is it?”

“A surprise? Of course it is.”

Taehyung wet is more stunning than he is dry. He stands on the other side of the counter from you, crossing his arms with now wet sleeves that stick to him like a second skin. Running a single hand through his hair, he gives you a wide smile, but you’re too hypnotized by the simple act of brushing his hair back to hear what he says.

“What?”

He smirks. “I said it’s nice to see you again.”

You are acutely aware that Hoseok is watching the two of you from the corner of his eye. He has been wiping the same steamer nozzle for the last two minutes, his motions lazy and unconcerned.

“You too. Though I’m sorry you’re all wet.”

“You know, if I knew you better, I might think that’s a euphemism for something.”

Your eyes fly wide. “Oh gosh – sorry. It’s not, I didn’t mean-“

His laughter creases his eyes as he holds his hands up, allaying your fears. “I’m just poking fun at you.” He glances at the rain pelting the windows. “I suppose I should have checked the weather.”

You hum. “Don’t you have all that fancy software to do those things for you?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye. “You’ve caught me on an off day.”

“Sorry to hear. Can I get you anything?”

Taehyung seems to think about it. “What’s your favorite coffee?”

“I don’t think we’re going to have the same taste.”

He leans on the counter with his elbows, bent over slightly as he holds his chin in his hand. He looks up at you through long, dark lashes and you feel your breath quicken. “Why’s that?”

“I like my coffee terribly sweet.”

His eyes darken and he drags them up and down your figure. You hold your breath. “I like all kinds of things that are sweet.”

“Is that like, built in?”

“What?”

“The switch you flip when you start to flirt. Is that built in or did you learn that?”

He folds his mouth to stop his laughter. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You could order a coffee? I’ll even throw it in for free.”

“Really? So the flirting worked.”

“I’ll give you free coffee if you can guess what I spy: it is tall and shameless.”

His laugh is rich and deep. You smile, chewing the corner of your lip as you watch the way humor makes him light up. “Alright, no free coffee for flirting, then. I will take a vanilla latte, though.”

Taehyung does pay. You don’t actually try to give him free coffee. Kim Taehyung could buy the city if he wanted. But you do try and protest when he shoves a fifty-dollar bill in the tip jar, swatting at his hand. You lose the battle.

You set about making his order, trying to stop the smile on your face. Hoseok is on you in a second as Taehyung trails to the wall of vinyl records hanging on the west side of the shop. He elbows you and you glare at him, trying to give him eyes that say shut the fuck up he’s right there.

Hoseok is persistent.

“What the fuck?” he whisper yells at you. “That’s Kim Taehyung. How do you know Kim Taehyung? You share a one bedroom apartment downtown that you converted with an airwall and he….”

“Owns the biggest tech company in the world with his family? Yeah, got it.”

“How the fuck did you meet him?”

“He brought his dog into the vet a week ago.”

“Did you hear about-“

“Yes,” you hiss and Hoseok has the decency to blush and mouth sorry as you finish making Taehyung’s coffee. “Stop making it weird.

It makes sense why Hoseok is freaking out.

Though you and Yoongi don’t own cable, you do have the internet. And you can read magazines at the corner store while you’re waiting for the unbearably slow cashier moves to scan your late night snack.

Kim Taehyung was mostly known as a tech mogul and for his leadership of he and his father’s company, Kim Tech. You had seen him all over social media at events, galas, movie premiers and charity showings. Taehyung was always alone, making him the city’s – no the world’s – most eligible bachelor. He kept a relatively private life outside of his social responsibility, keeping off social media and managing to keep himself out of the press on a normal day.

Until three months ago.

You remember your brows shooting up into your hairline when you read the headlines.

Kim Taehyung Slammed for Paying for Sex

Daddy? Kim Taehyung is Not Sorry as he Pays Sugar Babies

Life is Sweet – and Full of Sugar For Kim Taehyung

You couldn’t imagine why someone who looks the way Taehyung does has to pay someone for sex. Yoongi had wondered aloud one day on the couch about it, laughing at the fact that in a world where people like Kim Taehyung existed, maybe Yoongi was better at sex than a billionaire and that’s why Taehyung paid men and women.

And there were men and women.

Watching the horrible, disgusting things being posted and said about his sexual preferences turned your stomach. It was like the media were hyenas in wait, lurking for any scrap of meat they could tear from Taehyung’s bones.

At one point, it seemed like people were angrier that Taehyung was bi-sexual than the fact that he was involved in elicit and morally-questionable sexual activities. You went home after train rides of hearing people talking about it, letting their hate rot in your stomach until you felt sick.

Why did people care so much?

There was no answer.

So you tried not to get too deep into the articles, interviews and social media rantings that the woman in questions was participating in. Taehyung ex-sugar baby was going on any tell all she could get herself invited to, sharing her truth: Kim Taehyung pays for sex and relationships.

The thought strikes you like an adder as you reach out to hand him his coffee. Suddenly you can’t meet his eyes and your hand trembles when he accepts the cup with steady hands and a warm smile. Warmth is the last thing you expect from someone known for being a hard ass in his company and paying thousands of dollars for the company of others.

“Smells amazing.”

It shocks you when he speaks. You had been going down the rabbit hole of thoughts when he gives you another grin before turning over his shoulder and looking out the window. The rain has fallen to a very light mist, manageable without an umbrella.

“I guess I should go to my meeting.”

“That seems pertinent.”

His mouth twitches at the corner. “I hope you have a good day, Y/N.”

-

Taehyung does not have a good day. Being drenched in the rain started him off on the wrong foot, though he hoped seeing you meant that it was turning around. You had been a pleasant surprise, both at the veterinary office when you provided him with a brief moment of respite, and again with the subtle humor you offered at the coffee shop.

Fate is not something Taehyung believes in. Hard work, dedication, sacrifices and putting aside desires is what got he and his father to where they were. It was what made Taehyung’s world turn round. There was no pre-determined destiny marching him down his path.

But as he leaves the coffee shop, a little bit drier and definitely much warmer, Taehyung things that it is a funny little coincidence to have seen you twice in a week. Especially that you remember him, though he has to remind himself that he is not a fraction as invisible as he wishes he was.

The rest of the walk to the crumbling parking garage he intends to buy and condemn to build a new facility strictly dedicated to MAIA isn’t unpleasant. The air is a little humid and the sun doesn’t come out, but it doesn’t douse him with rain again. He made the mistake of wanting to take public transportation to the meeting sight as a way to show that he was, in fact, a human being in touch with reality.

In the heart of downtown, the new site was surrounded by neighborhoods in need. He would need an entire new staff, and Taehyung had spent months building a proposal and financial reports: how he was going to make it work, what he wanted the company culture to look like, what kind of financials they needed to produce to pay livable wages, what their hiring standards needed to be like.

Unlike his father, Taehyung had come back from university liberal. It drove his father and most of the members of the board to no end that Taehyung wasn’t a blood-sucking vampire who wanted to bleed the masses to fill his pockets.

Taehyung’s pockets have been full his entire fucking life. He doesn’t need more.

If there is a single thing that he likes about himself, it’s his need to try and make the world a little less unsufferable. He won’t admit that to anyone, but his actions speak for him.

Which is why he had taken public fucking transportation this afternoon to meet with the man who owned the garage. Taehyung is in a bit of a bidding war with a property management company who wants to replace the out-of-use garage with a new, loft-style apartment complex.

Taehyung already has his argument and a ton of financial reports ready for his meeting: the apartment complex is going to be priced out of range for any of the local residents looking for a place to rent. It’s another building that will cost millions to build, and then sit empty because no one can afford to live in it. It will bring in no jobs, no incremental revenue, and ultimately be a waste of space.

The problem? The owner of the parking garage is certainly not fond of Taehyung, and already seems to have an idea of what Kim Taehyung stands for.

Can he blame him? No. The entire fucking city now knows that for the last two years, he has been fucking paying for relationships. The ethical conversations are through the roof and there are now thousands of people calling him a sick fuck, preying on people who they think are beneath him.

In fact, he had read an incredibly insightful article about just how awful he is, abusing his power and money to exploit the poor.

Except every single person Taehyung has ever had a contract with is very much not in need of money and were some of the most recommended escorts in the city – perhaps the fucking country.

The smell of wet pavement chases him into the shadows of the parking garage, where Malcom is standing and scrolling through his phone. He’s dressed modestly in jeans, a shirt and a blazer thrown over it, his orange-hued beard trimmed neatly and eyes unfocused behind owl-like glasses.

“Malcom,” Taehyung greets politely. He keeps the warmth out of his voice. Being friendly or overly welcoming is not going to win him purchase of the building. Straight finances and economics is going to. “It’s good to see you.”

Malcom looks up at him and frowns. “I’m sorry – I thought we cancelled this meeting?”

Taehyung pauses. “No, it was still on my calendar. My apologies – if we cancelled then why are you here?”

“Mr. Kim, there seems to be a misunderstanding. I called your office two days ago to cancel. I’ve decided to pass on your acquisition of the building and sell to GreyStar.”

Taehyung feels a vein tick in his jaw. “I see. I’ll have to connect with my admin on that. I was under the impression you were excited to discuss a possible sale to Kim Tech. May I ask why you changed your mind.”

Malcom stares at him, brown eyes squinting. “It’s just ethics.”

“Ethics?”

“You hire prostitutes, Mr. Kim. I have no desire to be affiliated with that.”

-

“Fuck,” Jimin says. “He said that?”

“Yeah he fucking said that,” Taehyung snaps. They’re at Taehyung’s private bar in the backyard of his villa. Behind them, the sun sets over the world, rolling green hills looking as though they’re on fire. Jimin swears again and sips the martini carefully. “There was no fucking message for me about cancelling the meeting.”

Jimin winces. “It’s… Carina. She hasn’t been going through all the voicemails.”

“Hyeon’s niece that he hired out of nepotism?”

“That’s the one.”

“Fire her.” Jimin groans, throwing his head back up, dark hair falling. “I’m serious, Jimin. I let it slide because Hyeon does good work but that is exactly the fucking opposite of what my human resources department is supposed to be doing. She’s been working here for five months and can’t listen to a fucking voicemail.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll work on it.”

They both know by now that when Jimin say’s that he’ll work on it, he will absolutely do it.

Jimin was an unlikely friend for Taehyung. He had been a model when they met – struggling to pay bills despite being one of the most rapidly growing faces on high-end magazines and social media. Worse – Jimin hated modeling. Hated the way people thought that he was vapid and conceited, hated the way he felt as though he was selling his body, soul and his mind for the job.

Taehyung thought Jimin was so fucking smart. They had met at a charity gala for some large organization that Kim Tech made annual donations to. They’d been sat at the same table, and Taehyung couldn’t help but marvel at the way Jimin let the other men and women at the table think that he was utterly helpless and offer him all sorts of things: my sister’s friend’s cousin works at Vogue, I’ll give her a call; my wife’s cousin-once-removed has an apartment in Paris, you must stay their next month on your trip.

People doled out offers and favors to him after a subtle word, a blush on his cheeks, or simple wide eyes.

You’re a fucking hustler, Taehyung had laughed when he sidled up next to Jimin at the bar. Come work for me. You’re fucking smarter than everyone else at that table, and I need an admin who can shark everyone like that.

At first, Jimin had resisted. He thought that perhaps Taehyung was another pretty-faced boy with a rich daddy who was trying to get in his pants. Only two of three of those things were true, and to this day, Taehyung had never in his life made a sexual advance on Jimin.

Now, they were best friends. Jimin was Taehyung’s personal assistant, but he was so much more than that. He was a lifeline, someone who kept Taehyung’s life in order, someone who could be brutally honest with him without Taehyung getting upset, someone who could help Taehyung navigate the insane lows and the moderate highs of his current lifestyle.

And Jimin was impossibly good at his job, even if he was no longer the one answering the front desk line or checking voicemails when the likes of Malcom called the company line instead of Taehyung directly. (A move that Taehyung things is deliberate).

“I should meet with an image consultant like my father says,” Taehyung sighs. He knocks back the rest of the whiskey. It goes down smooth, the burn pleasant. It’s his first of the night, but after losing the new space for expanding MAIA, he needs another. “Fix my fucked-up media presence. It’s obviously effecting my job more than I thought. Maybe I should step down.”

“Please spare me the dramatics.” Jimin glances at Taehyung from the corner of his eye. The older man is dressed in a light, white shirt that is open at the collar and tucked into jeans. Though he no longer models, it doesn’t make his style or beauty any less effortless. “You should ask Jin if there’s a division that’s dedicated to making you look better.”

“I love Jin but I will never use Eden again.”

“You know, since everyone thinks you’re this terrible, sex maniac who preys on the weak-“

“Get to the point fast.”

“And they think you’re like this cold, hateful vampire who is just rich and unkind.”

“The point, Jimin. The point.”

“Just maybe you should perhaps find a nice person and date them.”

Taehyung looks at him, brow arched. “Excuse me?”

“I am serious. You’re someone who has never had a partner seriously. If you actually found someone nice and-“

“I don’t date.”

Jimin pushes on, undaunted. “If you managed to be in a relationship that was healthy, and with a nice person, people might think differently. People love that shit. Someone who has saved the bad boy – who has turned around the heartless CEO.”

“You’ve come up with these insults rather quickly.”

Jimin sips his martini and makes a face. “I’m online all the time, these aren’t things I think.”

“Whatever. I don’t date.”

Jimin caps Taehyung. “Ever think that might be the problem, Tae?”

Of course Taehyung has never thought that his lack of dating was the problem, but the words chase him for a week straight. Taehyung thinks about it as he showers every night, and as he laying in bed with a diffuser pumping as much lavender in the air as it can.

Dating isn’t for him. He doesn’t have time for it. It’s an inconvenience. It’s not that he doesn’t want that connection with someone. He’s not hiding. He just doesn’t know how to give enough of himself over to someone without them becoming attached and offended that he works more than he has time for anything else.

It wouldn’t be fair. Right?

Jimin’s words plague him so much that without really making a decision, Taehyung drives downtown. The choice to leave the house on a work from home day was on a complete whim. It came after a call where he had to tell his board of directors he still had not found a home for MAIA, but he was working on it.

Dressed in jeans and a loose, patterned button up, Taehyung walks into Sugar’d before he even realizes where he is. He doesn’t know your schedule, and he realizes that perhaps he should have called the vet’s office to see if you were there.

Luck has it, you’re behind the counter talking to a coworker of yours. Afternoon sun shines through the window, hitting you just right that for a moment, you seem suspended in time. Your hair shines, pulled up in a pony and you smile at something your coworker says to you. Your laugh is warm and relaxed, not forced or practiced.

Jimin’s words nip at Taehyung’s heels as he approaches the counter, eyes darting back and forth between you and the man next to you. Neither has really noticed him yet, and he can’t help but get suddenly shy and worry that perhaps you have a romantic relationship with the tall, dark haired and tattooed guy.

You turn to greet him, eyes crinkled at the corner with your smile before you blink in surprise. Your eyes get round and your mouth forms the perfect ‘o’ as you look at him.

“Hi,” you greet, giving him a toothy smile. “What a surprise.”

“What can I say, I really liked the vanilla coffee.”

“Huh. I’ll tell Hoseok. He’s the one who taught me to make them.” Taehyung’s eyes trail to the guy standing behind you watching with narrowed eyes. “That’s Jungkook. He has taught me absolutely nothing.”

“Untrue. I taught you how to use acrylic paint.”

“He taught me how to use acrylic paint poorly.”

Taehyung’s brows are raised as he watches the way you throw a glance over your shoulder at Jungkook. The man seems to get whatever face you’re making and rolls his eyes, backing away. He gives Taehyung a lingering stare. Territorial, almost.

“Same order?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“You know, it’s free if you can-“

“Spy the shameless asshole?”

You smirk. “Today it’s an object. Something…” You look around and he has a moment to notice the way the wispy pieces of your hair stick slightly to your flushed face. You look a little tired, but there’s an eagerness he likes. Cute. “Brown.”

Taehyung glances around. “There is quite a lot of brown.”

“You’re a big tech CEO, you’ll figure it out.”

Taehyung stares for a moment. You cock a brow at him. What comes out of his mouth next surprises him as much as it seems to surprise you. “Go out with me.”

“What?”

“You know, like on a date. Two people enjoying an activity in which they get to know one another, usually with romantic intention.”

“Thanks, Webster, I know what a date is.”

You narrow your eyes at him before looking down at the register to tap in his order. Your silence makes his heart thunder, and Taehyung decides that he is going to absolutely throttle Jimin when he does home. His abrupt question is driven by the long-lasting damage of his previous activities, and Jimin is right – someone nice wouldn’t be terrible for him.

“Guess what I spy correctly and perhaps I’ll think about it.”

“Winning doesn’t get me a yes?”

“Not everything worth having is so easily given, Kim Taehyung.”

He feels chastened. Your voice isn’t impolite, but it’s careful. You glance up at him, eyes soft. Glowing. Expectant.

Once more, Taehyung looks around and his eyes settle on a record. He points at it and says, “That album.”

You grin at him and for a blissful moment, Taehyung thinks he’s won. His triumph plummets as you answer, “Nope,” popping the ‘p’ particularly hard. “There’s always next time.”

-

“He’s here again,” Jungkook mutters as he walks through the back. You’re sitting on a half-caved in box chewing on a sandwich when you look up from your phone. Jungkook crosses his arms over his broad chest, as he adds, “Kim. The big CEO.”

Swallowing your sandwich becomes difficult as your throat goes dry. It’s the seventh time that Kim Taehyung has come to the coffee shop in a matter of a few weeks, and he has entertained your little ‘I spy’ game every time.

Every time he shows up you’re still surprised. Sometimes he’s in business suits and is particularly in a hurry, rushing through his guesses. Other times, he’s dressed a touch more casual, but still just as elegant as always.

You give him the same color every time. He’s named the most obvious things in the café at this point: the drink sleeves, the tables, the cookies in the case, the caramel syrup. He still hasn’t managed to guess what you spy that is brown, and you’ve purposefully done it.

Because while he is warm with you and according to your coworkers, has come on multiple days that you’re not there, something about him seems like a giant red flag. You’ve looked into him more now that he has turned into a regular customer.

What there is to find isn’t the best. The recent news is a total mess with rumors, additional allegations and of course, the big scandal.

But it’s whats before that looks just as unpromising: pictures where he does not smile much, interviews where he is abrupt and to the point. He looks so different from the version of him that you get at the cash register that it throws you that he can be two such different people.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you sigh. “I can always kick him out,” Jungkook offers. “He brings really good tips though.”

“Wow, your loyalty can be bought?”

“I have bills.”

It’s a joke, but it hits a little too close to home.

You pat Jungkook’s arm as you walk out, looking Taehyung up and down as he waits with his hands tucked into the pocket of a pair of ripped jeans. Today he’s in a plain white t-shirt, though you’re sure it’s designer, and his hair is soft and hanging in his eyes.

Beautiful.

His smile is infection when he sees you. you can’t help it as the corner of your mouth curls upward, typing in his order. He gets the same thing every time, a vanilla latte with no alterations. You already see the ridiculously large bill in the tip jar, making you roll your eyes.

“I spy, with my little-“

“My eyes.”

You look up at Taehyung sharply, your mouth open. “You know, I kept going home and really thinking about it. Tried to think what in the hell you would pick that was so difficult. Because you see, you didn’t want me to guess it. You wanted to present me with a challenge, an answer that was impossible for me to guess. It could have been something you were changing every time we play, but you don’t seem like the type to play dirty. I bet you admire being fair.”

“You think so?”

He leans on the counter, a wolfish grin on his face. “I do think so. So it got me thinking: if she wants an impossible game that is still fair, it needs to be something that I’m not seeing. And that’s when I realized it: you spy something brown. My eyes.”

Taehyung is smug as you look him up and down. You cross your arms. You really didn’t expect him to get it, but Taehyung is absolutely right. The answer had been his eyes: brown, but not dark brown all the time. Sometimes they were light brown, like dark honey turned to liquid. Other times his eyes were dark like the roasted grinds behind you, fathomless and endless.

Right now, they were glittering brown, almost gold with giddiness that he had cracked the code. You really hadn’t expected him to get it, but you remember that he’s a leading mind of his tech company. Though there is a single screen in the back office dedicated to a security system run by KAIA and you have the software on your phone (who doesn’t) you’re mostly unfamiliar with his work.

“So did I get it?”

You tap a finger on your arm. “You did.”

It’s hard not to be enamored by his grin. He wears his victory subtly, though there is a new tilt to his chin and a strength in his shoulders as he straightens them and says, “So you’ll consider going out with me, then?”

“I don’t know.” He offers you his credit card and you shake your head. “You won.”

“It was never about the free coffee.” He lowers his voice and you feel your heart flutter. “Trust me, there were much higher stakes.”

Hesitantly, you take his card and run it. When you hand it back, Taehyung’s long fingers brush yours lightly. It’s like a spark jumps between the two of you, your eyes flickering up to meet his. He’s frozen for a single moment before he’s looking down, tucking the card in his wallet.

“What kind of date did you have in mind?”

“Simple dinner.”

“Simple?”

“Simple,” he promises. “Just one night. Please.”

Taking a long, deep breath, you let it out. You know it’s a bad idea. You know it is, but you want to do it. You feel it in your gut that something is going to go wrong. You’ve always believed in fate, though, and it feels like someone is putting Taehyung in front of you over and over again. Is making him determined.

You take that leap of faith and nod once. “When?”

-

“I’m going to vomit.”

Yoongi looks alarmed when you say it, sitting up on your bed as though you’re going to puke right onto him. Instead, you’re pacing in front of your closet, which is shoved so tight of clothes and items that it looks like a bulging pinata.

The best thing about your room is that it does not look as desolate as it could. While Yoongi’s room is an absolute nightmare – mattress on the floor, hand-me-down furniture bought at consignment stores and an airwall that took you both a week to install in the living room correctly – yours looks thoughtfully designed in muted pins, tans and greens.

“Do I need to?” Yoongi vaguely gestures to the bed and you shake your head. He visibly relaxes into your mattress, which is better of the two in the apartment. “What’s the big deal now? You already said yes to the date.”

“He told me simple – Yoongi we’re going to Límon.”

“Holy fuck. That’s simple to him?”

You let out a loud shriek.

Límon is not only a five-star restaurant – it’s the top of the fine dining list in the city with a waiting list of months and months at a time, and a has been given five Michele stars. It’s a Hispanic fusion restaurant that sits at the top of The Mandarin Hotel in the business district, and it is wildly expensive.

You begin to sweat. You should have known that simple to Kim Taehyung was a ridiculously fancy dinner. You have no idea what in your closet would even be passable for dinner – are you supposed to dress formal? Is there a dress code? There has to be a dress code.

Yoongi remains cool as a cucumber after his initial surprise. Peeling himself from your bed while you sit and bend over with your head between your legs, he goes through your options meticulously. You’re too busy hyperventilating to see the options he’s pulling.

Had you know that he was going to take you somewhere exclusive to the tax section you would never see, you would have said no. You debate texting him and telling him that you can’t go. That you’re going to pull an extra shift somewhere and that you’re unavailable for the night.

You type out the excuse. Delete it. Type another one and then delete that.

Because even though you are absolutely panicking, there is intrigue there. The worst thing that can happen is that Taehyung is horrible just like the media thinks he is, or he finds you completely boring and unsatisfactory.

You have a significant amount of money at the moment in case of emergency and being stiffed with part of the bill, direct results from his insane tipping at the coffee shop. But he doesn’t seem like the type for that.

So you put on the black slip dress that Yoongi suggests. Something you’ve worn once but definitely got taken home in. The strap is a little frayed so you wear your hair down to hide it. Your heels are a little scuffed but with some buffing via generic brand paper towel, they look less scratched and more shine.

Nerves eat away at you when you text Taehyung your address. Though you gave him your number at the coffee shop, his texting was incredibly minimal and to the point. So clinical that it almost felt like you were making a doctor’s appointment until he answered your address send.

Kim Taehyung: Oo she lives downtown. Is she artsy?

Me: No, she took what she could afford 🤪

Kim Taehyung: You’re cute

Me: I’m not as cute when I’m hungry…

Kim Taehyung: Five minutes, angel

The finished product isn’t bad by any means when you look in the mirror. Yoongi is on his way out and escorts you downstairs through the winding stairwell that smells like cigarettes and the cat piss because Ms. Norris keeps dumping her liter outside.

Taehyung is just outside your building, leaning against a sleek black car. It’s cliché, really. The black sports car, the black three-piece suit with the gold timepiece pinned again. He’s looking down on his phone as you walk on unsteady feat.

Seeing him hits you with a sudden sense of imposter syndrome. You shouldn’t be going out on a date with Kim Taehyung. The man who clearly doesn’t know how to date, and who has taken an interest in you because… well you don’t know why. Which is part of the problem.

You hesitate, but Yoongi nudges you before walking toward his beat up Honda. “Call me, yeah?”

It’s code for call me if you need me at any time, at any second.

“Yeah,” you agree waving him off.

Taehyung’s eyes are on Yoongi for a moment. He watches your roommate with an unreadable expression before his eyes drift over to you. He slides a hand in his pocket, letting his dark eyes look you up and down. And then up and down again. You almost shiver under his gaze – he hasn’t looked at you like that before.

“You look beautiful.” Taehyung pushes off the car, opening the door and offering you a hand. Shyly, you walk forward and take it, letting him help you sit in the cool, leather interior of the car. “You look like absolute heaven.”

“You look pretty good yourself.”

“I always look good.” Taehyung grins before he gently closes the door to the car.

You have no idea what kind of car or model it is, but the screen hums with the KAIA system and it smells cleaner than any other car you’ve been in before. Taehyung slides into the drivers seat, offering you a lopsided grin as he puts it in gear and drives.

Nerves fade away as you chat on the drive there. Taehyung looks effortlessly handsome, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He doesn’t move to hold your hand or touch your thigh, and you’re grateful because you’re sweating absolute bullets from your anxiety and because it took effort to get dressed.

Taehyung is an easy person to talk to. You almost forget where you’re going as he tells you about his search to find a new building for his company’s MAIA project. He doesn’t think it’s a stupid question when you ask what that is.

His way of speak entrances you. His voice is dulcet and smooth, a rich baritone that you could listen to all night. Taehyung is confident when he speaks, and confident when he pulls up to the hotel and has valet take the car. He’s quick to open your door and help you out, delicately taking your hand in his.

This time, Taehyung doesn’t let go of your hand. You look up at him, eyes slightly rounded as he hands his keys to the valet who seem to be somewhat familiar with him. He looks down when he notices you’re staring at his side profile: sharp and shadowed and so beautiful that you think Jungkook would want to paint it.

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowed. He squeezes your hand, which is warm. Your hand feels tiny in his, but you nod. He flashes a smile. “Great. Did you look at the menu beforehand?”

You almost expect him to drop your hand but he doesn’t.

Instead, Taehyung strides confidently into the hotel lobby and toward the elevator, warm fingers laced with yours. You nod and say, “It was a little overwhelming, to be honest with you.”

“Are there any hard no’s?” You snap your head toward him as he pushes the button to the elevator. He sees your expression and laughs. “With the menu. Although I’d like to know what exactly you thought I was talking about.”

“Ha ha.”

“Hey,” he jests as the elevator opens. “Your mind, not mine.”

Upstairs is a whole new world. You feel nervous in the intimate lighting. The rooftop is split between inside and outside. Taehyung leads you to the back half of the inside part, nodding at the hostess as he goes by.

You are not unaware that eyes are on you. Taehyung transforms as you pass by tables of curious eyes and people turning to look at him from the bar. He’s taller, suddenly and his face is inscrutable. The change is so sudden that you knock into someone’s chair, gasping and apologizing vehemently.

His hand is on your hip, steadying you and looked down at you with a softer expression than a moment before. His micro expressions make you dizzy as you assure him that you’re alright. He nods and his concern melts back into a cool exterior as he leads you to a very private room at the back, the two of you the only people inside.

Taehyung lets go of your hand and lets you walk over to the floor to glass ceiling windows. The entire worls unrolls, a kingdom beneath his feet. Your breath fogs the glass for a moment before you find your seat across from him.

The table is directly next to you, city lights drawing your attention again as Taehyung orders a bottle of wine for you after asking your preference for white or red. You’ve barely looked at the menu, and when you draw your eyes away from the city to look at Taehyung, you freeze.

The menu hasn’t been touched, and he’s staring intensely at you. You suddenly feel small, squirming in your seat. Perhaps your hair doesn’t look right or he’s realized that bringing you here was a mistake. You adjust the hem of your dress and shift in the seat again, wondering if-

“Don’t do that.” You look back up at him. His gaze is burning – more intense than you have ever seen it before at the coffee shop. “You look divine. Don’t get nervous.”

“Well you’re looking at me like…”

He leans back in the seat. There is a cool confidence that is new to you. He’s always been confident, but this is different. Like he has shifted and is more comfortable being… sexy, perhaps is the word for it.

“Look at you like what?”

“So intensely.”

“I apologize. But you really do look like a work of art.”

Your neck flushes and you bite your bottom lip. To diver the attention you mention, “You know, when you said a simple date, this is not what I had in mind.”

“Dinner is as simple as it gets.” You snort. “What? Is it not?”

“I was thinking dinner at like – Outback Steakhouse.”

“I’ve… never been there.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Of course you haven’t. We are from very different backgrounds.”

“Doesn’t mean much. I still think we share things in common.”

You throw him an amused look. “Like what?”

“Like… do you like cheese?”

“Yes I like cheese.”

“See!” he leans forward eagerly. “Match made in heaven.”

“Everyone likes cheese!”

“Untrue. You’d be surprised at how many people I know that don’t eat dairy products.”

Tension evaporates. Taehyung has a way of taking the pressure off, and though as you get to know him, there are still complete differences in your lives and where you’re at. It doesn’t bother you as much as you expect it to – you have no idea where this is going to go, or what he wants out of the date.

Feeling overwhelmed by the menu, you let Taehyung order for the two of you. He does so confidently and easily that you rub your thighs together at the cool aura he emits. Sleeping with him had not even occurred to you, but suddenly as he argues that Inception is not a terrible movie, you can’t stop thinking about it.

Dirty thoughts of Taehyung plague you the rest of the dinner, making you a blushing mess, especially when a little bit of wine slips down your chin and he leans forward to brush it with his thumb, bringing it up to his sultry mouth and swiping his tongue over the pad of his finger.

He looks at you dead in the eyes and murmurs, “Sweet.”

By the time you’re finished eating the best fucking meal of your life, the wine has you feeling warm. You lean back in your seat, needling Taehyung about his personal philosophies.

“I just don’t believe in fate!” He laughs, shaking his head. His gold hair is styled back again, single lock falling devilishly over his forehead. “There’s no way there is just a divine future for everything. Hard word is what gets us where we are.”

“You’re so nihilistic. What about for the things that aren’t as simple as hard work and a little bit of luck? Coincidences?”

“I think you put too much weight in coincidences.”

“And I think you could do with a little more magic in the world, Kim Taehyung. You have such a dry view of everything. Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder. It’s the first time that he doesn’t have a fliry answer. He grows quiet for a moment, spinning the red wine in his glass. You sip yours, waiting patiently as he finds the words.

“I don’t have time for the dreamy shit,” he says eventually. “My life is business and work and then extending that business and work, and bettering and furthering myself.”

“That sounds… boring.”

“Not really. I like being successful. I like creating. But it doesn’t leave room for the fantasies of romance and fate and love at first sight.”

“Why ask me out, then?”

“What do you mean?”

You set the glass of wine down. Your heart thuds loudly, amped by the alcohol and the warmth that is buzzing in your veins. You have a little confidence, putting meaning behind your voice when you ask, “Why ask me out if you don’t have time for romance?”

“Ah,” he laughs. “That.”

You frown. “Yeah? That.”

Taehyung lips his lips and resettles himself in his seat. He leans his elbows on the table, hands clasped and chin resting on top of them. The candle on the table reflects in his dark eyes, flickering and beautiful.

“I asked you out,” he says slowly. “Because you are wildly different than anyone I’ve been with before.”

“Like… poor?”

He guffaws. “No! That hasn’t crossed my mind for a second that we have different economics. Please don’t – fuck, don’t ever think that’s why I did. I meant that you’re incredibly kind, and firm in a soft way, and I don’t know. You seem genuine.”

“You’re not used to genuine?”

“In my line of work? No.”

You hum and chew on the inside of your cheek. The question hasn’t really been answered, though. So you push again. “Still, though. I’m different – but you don’t have time for romance? Or this is to make a friendship I just…” You lift a shoulder. “What do you want out of this, I guess is what I’m asking.”

“You value honesty, right?” You nod your head and he heaves a sigh. “I’m not stupid, I know you’ve probably heard about some things I’ve done. Both true and untrue, it doesn’t really matter. I meant what I said when I don’t have time for the romance. This, right now? It’s the first date I’ve been on in years. Me chasing you at the café for weeks? That’s the most effort I have put forth in a long time.”

“Thank you, I think?”

He smiles. “I like you. I think you’re smart, and I think that you’re honest and a different change of pace. You don’t have any arrests, which is nice. And you volunteer at an animal shelter in your free time, while working two jobs.”

A stone drops in your stomach. “You had a background check on me?”

“With what happened to me recently? Yeah. I did.” You award him that small lenience and nod, but there is something sour twisting in your stomach now. “Speaking of that, my reputation right now is a mess. You saw the way people couldn’t take their eyes off me when we walked in. Everyone is talking about me. I’m losing work deals because of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My decision to pay people for their time was based off of a need and an assement of what I could and couldn’t spend time doing. I needed discretion, I needed trust, I needed people who wouldn’t go through my things or reveal things about my private life.”

“I have to admit that… makes sense.”

“It’s hard to find people who are willing to give up the ideals of romance. I won’t ever be able to attend a birthday, or go to a wedding as a date, or just take you out to the movies.” Taehyung slows his speech as he looks at you with a level gaze. “I cannot go to friends gallery openings or be there for you if something bad happens. I travel, I work, I barely sleep. But what I can promise you is financial stability, someone to blow off steam with, and someone who will be loyal to you.”

The stone in your stomach syncs further. You hear a high-pitched ringing in your ears as you lean back in your seat, staring at Taehyung. “I’m confused- are you propositioning me?”

“Sort of, but not similar to the ones before. I don’t need sex – unless that is something you’re interested in because I would fuck you stupid over this table right now if that’s what you wanted – but I need someone softer. Someone no one knows. I need someone I can trust to come with me to events, who can help me fix my image.”

“And you think that person is me.”

“I think you can help me out, and I would be willing to financially compensate for that.”

“For sex?”

“For whatever you’d be welcome to. But I would in no circumstances be a boyfriend – not really. I don’t have the capacity or the time.”

Silence stretches between the two of you. Taehyung’s words sync in.

Financial compensation.

Taehyung said it wasn’t about being from different economical backgrounds, but what he’s not saying is that it would be mutually beneficial because you’re working two jobs and he’s working one. Because you live downtown in a shitty building and he lives somewhere nice, and owned. Because even though you look nice – you do not look like the women sitting outside of the private room.

Taehyung said it wasn’t about being from different economical backgrounds, and yet he’s offering to pay you as a favor if you do him one.

You don’t know how it happens. You don’t remember making the decision. For a moment, it’s just you and Taehyung staring at one another over empty dessert plates and glasses of wine.

The next moment, he is dripping in red wine, and the empty glass is in your hand.

-

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adonis | pjm x reader

🚨 summary: your crackpot of a neighbor will not rest until you throw yourself at the gorgeous paramedic in town. she's nuts, y'all.

🚨 pairing: reader x paramedic!jimin

🚨 genre: meddling neighbors? horny little old ladies with bad-slash-good intentions? awkward OCs who can't find the words to speak in the presence of greatness?

🚨 warnings: one very mouthy senior citizen, sweet/shy jimin, an OC who can't find a clean shirt throughout the entire fic, one very spoiled pomeranian, smoking, sexual innuendo, literally one line of implied smut

🚨 word count: 3.4K (lmao)

🚨 notes: this is my drabble *snort* for the possum anniversary and i am celebrating the wonderful @starlostjimin who is such a cool, funny, amazing, talented person. did you know that 911 is 911 in america AND canada? anyhoo. i hope you like my very first jimin fic ever, and i hope it delivers on the things that you wanted 💕

thank you always to @hobi-gif for being the most amazing beta and person in general.

If you had to wager a guess, you’d say it was Mrs. Choi from the fourth floor who’d dialed 911. That miserable old bat has always struck you as kind of a snitch.

At any rate, that’s how you find yourself standing outside your condo at ten o’clock at night, wearing nothing but a faded bathrobe and a pair of worn-out house slippers. Lights mounted on top of the fire truck idling at your building’s entrance turn the courtyard into a tragic makeshift disco, everything and everyone splashed in flashes of red and white. 

You mill around on the damp grass with the rest of your neighbors, each of you turned into temporary exiles in mismatched sleepwear. 

Mr. Nam from the sixth floor is yelling into his phone as he paces, giving someone an earful about the disruption. Mrs. Song from the seventh floor was smart enough to grab a lawn chair and she watches the scene unfold like it’s one of her beloved dramas. Mr. Baek from the first floor doesn’t pay any mind to the fuss around him, engrossed in a book good enough to drown out the grumbling and sirens. 

But you don’t spot the woman who lives in the unit next to yours – not right away – because it takes her an absurdly long time to heed this whole evacuation business. 

When Mrs. Yun finally breezes through the condo’s glass doors, she does so with all the subtlety of a pageant queen. She makes a beeline for you, decked out in a Hawaiian-print muumuu loud enough to wake the dead – accessorized by a full face of makeup, a full set of curlers, and her trusty Pomeranian tucked under one arm.

“What is all this fuss about?” she pouts, giving Chichi an affectionate scratch. You lean over to give the dog your own scratch and she licks your fingers as thanks.

“Hell if I know,” you shrug. “I came outside when I heard the sirens. Which, by the way, was about ten minutes ago.”

“I was busy,” Mrs. Yun sniffs, affronted by your reprimand. She sets Chichi down to pat her curlers and make sure each is still in place. “I have a friend coming over tonight.”

“A friend.”

“Yes honey, a friend,” she echoes, tone haughty. “You should try it some time.”

God, you really should. The only man in your life these days is the Doordash driver and the last time he’d come by, he’d made a clumsy joke about your sodium intake. You’d been embarrassed, sure, but somehow that pales in comparison to this reminder that you’re being outsexed by the little old lady next door.

“You should ask someone when they plan to let us back in,” Mrs. Yun says, tapping her foot impatiently. “You should ask – ” she pauses to look out over the crowd, eyes lighting as she points one fresh gel nail in the direction of the fire truck, “ – him.”

You follow the trajectory of that thin finger with your gaze until your eyes land on Mrs. Yun’s intended target. And then you blink as you take in what is surely the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Dark eyes and sandy blonde hair and a jawline so sharp, it could have been cut from granite.

Holy shit.

“I’ll say,” Mrs. Yun grins, and your face burns with embarrassment when you realize you’ve spoken out loud. It flames even hotter when she raises an arm to wave him over. 

“Sir? Sir!”

“No. No, no, no, no, no.”  You panic, whispering in the most threatening tone you can muster. “Put your hand down. Don’t – ”

But it’s too late. Mrs. Yun has already caught the attention of this Earth-bound Adonis. He makes his way towards you both without delay, wearing an easy smile so devastating it makes sweat bead at your temples.

“Hi there,” he greets kindly. “How can I help you?”

“Thank you, Mr. – ” Mrs. Yun pauses to squint at the name embroidered on the man’s dark navy uniform, “ – Park. What’s all this uproar about tonight, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he chuckles, and you find yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Someone called 911 because they smelled smoke, so we had to come check it out.” A radio secured to his shoulder crackles with an incoming transmission and he pauses to listen before he speaks again. “Pretty sure they’re almost done checking the building. Old places like this, we’ve always got to put in a bit more attention where the wiring is concerned. Wouldn’t want to leave you ladies in a dangerous situation.”

“Oh, of course not,” Mrs. Yun purrs, making no effort to hide the cheeky once-over she gives him. “We certainly appreciate you being thorough.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – flushes, clearing his throat as the tips of his ears turn pink. You make a mental note to sit Mrs.Yun down later to explain that a few things have changed since her heyday.

The radio crackles again, a garbled voice coming over the line.

“Sounds like they’re almost done,” he explains, looking down at his feet to find Chichi sniffing at his boot. He crouches down to pet her and she curls into the curve of his hand, eager for his touch. 

Somehow you’re willing to bet this man has that kind of effect on everything in his path – men, women, and houseplants alike.

He gives Chichi a few firm scratches before getting back to his feet. The rigid fabric of his uniform pants strains against the lean muscles of his thighs as he moves and Mrs. Yun’s eyes practically bug out of her face. You’d jam an elbow in her side if you thought there was a chance you could pull it off without being caught.

“I’d better get back,” he says, turning to you with one of those debilitating smiles. Your toes curl inside the shabby velvet of your slippers. “Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”

“Oh, we won’t!” Mrs. Yun calls out, appreciating his retreating form with a lifted brow. You wait until the man is well out of earshot before turning on her.

“What the hell was that?” you demand.

“That – ” she says with her nose in the air, “ – is why you never leave the house without your face on.”

“You were practically undressing that man with your eyes,” you accuse hotly. “You do know what sexual harrassment is, don’t you?”

Mrs. Yun huffs as she bends down to scoop up Chichi. “I wasn’t harassing the man, I was appreciating him. Fine art is meant to be admired.”

“Oh, please,” you grumble. “And don’t think I missed that little detail about the smoke.”

She narrows her eyes at you.

“Mind your business.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

One week later, a knock at the door nearly startles you right off the couch. You frown into your half-eaten carton of ramen and set it down on the coffee table, taking a moment to seriously contemplate pretending not to be home.

But then there’s more knocking – more insistent this time.

You pad across the floor, crack the door open and the ramen in your stomach threatens to come right back up.

“Hi again.”

You blink. 

“Sorry to bother you, it’s just that your neighbor suffered a fall and she said you would have a key to get into her place.”

The Adonis – Mr. Park – looks a little sheepish as he stands in the doorway, waiting for you to speak like a normal human being with a passable set of social skills. He shoves one hand through his sandy blonde hair and the locks seem to fall back in slow-motion.

“I – y-yes of course,” you stutter, so flustered that you nearly trip over your own feet in your haste to scramble for the kitchen. You dig Mrs. Yun’s spare key out of the silverware drawer and rush back to drop it into his waiting palm.

“I hope she’s okay,” you worry, biting at the inside of your cheek. “I’m right here if you guys need anything else.”

“We’ll take good care of her,” another voice promises, and you crane your neck to peer past the stunning Mr. Park to search for the source of it. A second man stands out in the hallway, a heavy duffel bag slung over one muscular arm covered in a myriad of tattoos. His face is boyish and beautiful and soft, a stark contrast to his powerful body.

Jesus. Who’s doing the recruiting in this city?

“We’ll have this back to you right away,” Mr. Park promises, and your neck heats when he rewards you with one of his sweet smiles. 

The second they leave, you make a beeline for the bathroom – and cringe as you stand in the mirror and peel one half-dried ramen noodle off the front of your shirt.

🚨🚨🚨 🚨

15 minutes later, Mr. Park’s picture-perfect partner is knocking at your door.  

“Hey there.”

You might have run a brush through your hair and dabbed on a bit of tinted chapstick in the last five minutes, but he notices that – or the absence of one half-dried ramen noodle, he makes no indication.

“Hi again,” you say. “Is she okay?”

“Oh, for sure. Maybe a little banged up, but otherwise she’s alright. She’s asking for you though, if you can walk over with me.”

“Yes, of course.” You shuffle into the hall and let him lead the way, through the open front door to Mrs. Yun’s unit and the narrow foyer that opens up into her living room. She’s upright on the couch, holding an ice pack to her head. The glorious Mr. Park is bent down on one knee at her side.

“I’ll tell you what,” she says, looking as pleased as a queen holding court, “I’m grateful every day for the very dedicated public servants in this city. That was terrifying.”

“But you’re okay, right?” you ask.

“Nothing broken, so far as we can tell,” the Adonis says. “She’s probably going to be good and sore tomorrow, but for now she’s doing just fine.”

“Thanks to Mr. Park and Mr. Jeon here,” Mrs.Yun says sweetly. A little too sweetly, in fact. The wheels in your brain start to turn and you eyeball her from across the room. She peeks at you from behind the ice pack and dons an angelic smile.

“Yes, they are certainly appreciated,” you say slowly, the skepticism in your voice vibrating at a frequency only Mrs. Yun can hear. She beams at Mr. Park as he gets to his feet and starts to pack up his things.

Mr. – Jeon, was it? – slings his heavy duffel bag over his shoulder. “Be sure and take those anti-inflammatories tonight, okay? You’ll be all locked up in the morning if you don’t.”

Mrs. Yun practically preens at the personal attention she’s gotten from these two insanely good-looking men. “I will.”

“You’re lucky to have a good neighbor,” the Adonis says to Mrs. Yun, turning to you with a genuine smile. Your heart thuds in response. “If it’s alright with you, keep an eye on her tonight? She might need your help.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her, alright,” you say with a tight smile, and Mrs. Yun clears her throat.

🚨🚨🚨🚨

“Promise me – right now – that you really fell.”

“What did I tell you about leaving the house with your face on?”

“Answer the question,” you fire back and Mrs. Yun sighs, tossing the ice pack down on the couch.

“Yes, honey, I did fall. I fell in love with that scrumptious Mr. Park the second I saw him. And if I were a woman thirty – ”

You raise an eyebrow. 

“ – Okay, fifty years younger than I am, I would be taking him for a spin myself. But since I’m not, I’ve decided that you should have him. Did I bend the truth a little? Yes. But for a good cause. I’m a very thoughtful person, you know.”

“You are outrageous,” you hiss, pacing as Mrs.Yun pretends to look for dirt under her fingernails. “This is a waste of public resources! They’re supposed to be responding to emergencies. Real emergencies.”

“First of all – ” Mrs. Yun is defiant, chin in the air, “ – Nothing ever happens in this town. Nothing. And second, there’s dust in your panties, sweetheart. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and Mrs. Yun ignores it, climbing off the couch with ease to cross the room and crack open a window. She pulls a box out of the tiny accent table perched beneath it and proceeds to light an absurdly long cigarette.

“You’re too damned young to be shut away in your house all the time,” she argues, pursing her lacquered lips to blow a stream of smoke out the window. “Work. Couch. Work. Couch. How can you stand it? Let me tell you what I’d be doing right now if I could turn back the clock and have your youth again: Mr. Park. I’d be doing Mr. Park. You should be doing Mr. Park.”

You stifle a disbelieving laugh. The novelty of your neighbor’s loose lips and bad habits wore off a long time ago, but sometimes she still manages to catch you off guard.

“Well, I’ve got an early morning so unless you have any more unsolicited sex advice to share, I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Mrs. Yun blows another long stream of smoke out the window. 

“Nope. I’ve got it all off my chest.”

“Good then,” you say, turning on your heels. You make it all the way to the door before you pause and call out to her.

“And put that thing out!”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

Three days later, you find yourself struggling with an overloaded paper bag from the grocery store. Yes, you’ve purchased the reusable ones and yes, they’re a hell of a lot stronger – but you never miss an opportunity to leave them hanging in the closet on your way out the door.

Something in the bag is wet – well, moist at the very least. And it’s enough to have you gripping the bottom tight with both hands as you try to maneuver your way through the revolving door at the entrance to your condo. It’s an awkward fit inside the narrow sliver of space and as you’re shuffling forward, the door’s momentum dies. You push at it with one foot and lose an onion from the bag, nearly losing your balance in the process.

You blow out a heavy breath and go to push the door again, only this time it smoothly glides away before you even make contact. The misstep makes you jerk forward, but at least the door keeps moving long enough for you to step out of it.

“Think you lost something back there.”

Most of your hair has slipped out of your ponytail holder by now, the strands matted to your forehead with the sweat you worked up on the walk from the car. But when you turn, you can still make out the glorious Mr. Park quite clearly. He drops the onion back into your bag and smiles at you.

“Please, allow me.”

He lifts the bag out of your arms, carefully securing the bottom like you’d done just moments before. With your hands now free, you push your hair out of your face and silently pray that you don’t look as unfortunate as you suspect you do.

“You don’t have to do that,” you demur. “But I appreciate it anyway. Mr. Park, right?”

“Well, I’d much prefer you call me Jimin,” he laughs, the sound of it making heat bloom inside your chest. “But yeah, it’s me again.”

He’s not wearing his uniform, you realize. And though some small part of you mourns the loss of those fitted shirts and pants, his off-duty look – an oversized sweater, jeans and pair of sharp boots – sure as hell doesn’t disappoint.

“Do you… live here?” you ask stupidly, as though a man this handsome could live anywhere on this entire street without someone taking notice. “Or – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “I came by to check on your neighbor. You know, after the fall and all. I told her she could call me if she ever needed anything and she asked me to stop by.”

“You gave – ” you pause, shock forcing your voice at least an octave higher, “ – You gave Mrs. Yun your phone number?”

His cheeks pink at the observation. “She’s in her 70s, you know? Lives alone. I really don’t mind.”

You truly have no idea how your chain-smoking, jazzercising, oversexed hellion of a next-door neighbor has managed to convince this man she’s a frail old woman in need of a hero.

Will wonders never cease?

“Besides,” he says, “She’s kind of...quirky, you know?”

“That’s a very strange way to say unhinged,” you counter.

He laughs.  

“You’re funny. Come on, I’ll walk you up.”

yun: DID YOU HAVE YOUR FACE ON [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: he told me he helped you with your groceries [ 9:15 PM ]

yun: now tell him to help you out of your clothes [ 9:16 PM ]

you: go to bed [ 9:16 PM ] 

Two days later, legs like noodles from spin class, you limp through your front door and sag onto the couch. You might have napped for a second, you’re not entirely sure – but after a knock sounds at your door, you are most definitely alert. Your thighs protest as you force yourself off the couch to answer it.

You crack the door open and it’s him. Adonis. Mr. Park. Jimin. 

And you’re wearing a gray workout shirt with what you are certain is one very sizeable sweat stain down the front. Good God, will there ever be a time when you see this man and don’t look like a complete wreck?

“Oh my gosh, did she call you again?” you ask, incredulous. “You are so sweet to do this for her, really but this is too – ”

“ – She didn’t call,” he interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit bashful.

“Oh.”

“Listen, this is kind of embarrassing and maybe not entirely appropriate given I know where you live, but it’s just that I don’t have your number.”

Your eyes widen and your already distressed legs start to feel a bit more weak. Jimin scrubs a hand down his jaw before he speaks again.

“I was actually wondering if you might let me take you to dinner sometime.”

You blink. 

“Or I could cook you dinner. I make this really great prawn dish? But again, I’m not trying to be a creep or anything and it’s okay if you’re not comfortable with that – ” he’s backpedaling now, his words coming out in a rush.

“– You are not a creep,” you insist, when you’ve finally come to your senses and figure out how to access your words and use them to form sentences. “I just – I was just not expecting that. But yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

Your knees threaten to buckle at the slow smile that comes over him.

“That’s great.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

You fling the silverware drawer open and practically rip Mrs. Yun’s key out of it in your mad dash to her apartment. No, you do not feel guilty for letting yourself into her house, the woman has absolutely no boundaries and could use a taste of her own medicine.

You slam the door behind you when you walk in, and Mrs. Yun squints at you from her perch in the window. She blows out a perfect ring of smoke and then raises a brow.

“Got a bee in your bonnet?”

“Give me one of those,” you demand. “Right now.”

🚨🚨🚨🚨

There’s a knock at your door – again – only this time, you already know who’s on the other side. It’s your beloved Doordash driver, bringing an order of your beloved shio ramen. Two, actually.

You open the door to grab your food and Jimin calls out from the couch.

“Need some help with that?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you say over your shoulder. 

When you turn back to thank the Doordash guy, he’s staring into your living room, eyes wide and trained on Jimin. You clear your throat and he snaps his focus back to you.

“Have a good night,” he says pleasantly.

And then he gives you a thumbs up.

yun: can the two of you keep it DOWN  [ 11:22 PM ]

yun: some of us need our beauty sleep [ 11:22 PM ]