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important ass-et | pjm

Summary: You've been tasked with a very important job that you absolutely can't fuck up. After a long day at work, you're at your wits end and who better to end the evening with than your boss?

pairing: CEO!jimin x employee!reader

word count: 8,489

rating: 18+. this work is not suitable for younger audiences.

genre/au: office romance au, coworkers to lovers (?) | smut

warnings: sir kink • mirror kink • spitting • light bondage • squirting • oral (m. & f. receiving) • dirty talk • dom/sub themes • alcohol consumption (not drunk!) • safeword mention (not used!) • impact play (pussy, ass, and thighs baby) • name calling (bitch, slut)

author's note: this self-indulgent thing is for the lovely siya aka @missgeniality! surprise! but not really since i've been teasing this for a HOT minute huh? this is also my first full length fic for the lovely folks over at @btsgoldnetwork! thank you for accepting me into the network! anyway, i do hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! constructive criticisms are always appreciated!

credits: smoke texture

m.list | ao3

Tick. Tock. Tick.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

When you open your eyes again, you're met with the scowling face of one Park Jimin, lines settling deep into the crevice of his face as he looks at your report silently, eyes darting between line after line of what you've written. Gulping, you school your features into a mask of neutrality, unwilling to betray the nervousness you're currently feeling as you maintain your breathing to endure the scolding that's bound to happen. The waiting is agonizing, the perfectionist CEO in front of you scrutinizing every verb and word choice with pursed lips, pen marking on the margins to make scathing notations on what could be improved upon.

You didn't come this far only to fail. After working for his company for almost eight years of your life, you've managed to climb the ranks quickly, proving yourself with every challenge dropped in the palms of your hands. When the CEO himself approached you in your tiny cubicle, asking you to meet him in his office, you were sure that it was the day you were getting fired and you paced nervously in front of the large wooden doors, thinking about all the mistakes you've done in the past, tears threatening to fall before you push open the doors and await your fate. To your surprise, you're still hired. He lifted an eyebrow at your panicked state, but didn't ask anything as he dropped a large burgundy file on the sleek mahogany table in front of you, an uncaring smile dancing upon his lips.

"I heard you're the best of the best. Show me. Make me proud."

His words still ring in your ears, motivating you to this day. Yet back then, as you perused the file, what you saw was an impossible task in front of you because you were just tasked to lead the audit team for a hotel establishment under Jimin's rule. You should've known than to accept the offer, but something trapped you into saying 'yes'; maybe it was the charisma and sheer power rolling off of the young CEO in droves or the sweet tone of approval in his voice when you signed the non-disclosure agreement, but your mind was off elsewhere when you sold your soul to the devil that day.

Park Jimin has disrupted your simple life since then.

You were giddy at first - trying your best to meet his impossibly high expectations of you by spending night after night in the office. Some days, you don't even go home with the amount of work you had to do; sleeping in the office break room and eating cheap ramen to tie you over. Lately though, you've been feeling frustrated, your needs not being met as you focus on the mountain of paperwork threatening to pull you under and Jimin's offhand flirty comments leaving you absolutely hot and bothered. You've made an effort to ignore your delusions. After all, why would someone like Park Jimin ever want you? With no family name or money to back you up, you're insignificant at best.

"Good," Jimin clears his throat and hands the report back to you. Looks like that's all the praise you'll receive after slaving on the report for two whole weeks. "I've made a few comments on the margins. Please fix them by tonight."

The stress must have made you brave because for the first time, you foolishly snapped, hands balled into fist at your side as you fixed your icy glare towards your boss. "It's 6pm and I'll fix the changes tomorrow."

Jimin blinks, the only twitch in his otherwise cool features that show his surprise. He furrows his brows, tapping his pen against the dark table as he clenches his jaw, sizing you up. The long seconds accompanied by only the clock causes your head to swim, the silence palpable as he looks like he could kill you where you stand. You chastise yourself briefly before opening your mouth to apologise.

Just as the words begin to leave your lips, there's a cat-like grin on Jimin's face as he leans back against his plush white chair, hands folded across his chest. "Answer a few yes/no questions for me."

It isn't a request.

"You've come here to work, is that right?" Jimin leans forward and threads his ringed fingers together before placing his chin on top of it.

You nod.

Jimin stands up then, gliding over towards the edge of the table, propping himself there momentarily. His eyes never leave yours and there's a glint of something dark; something predatory in his gaze. "I'm your boss. Is that right?"

You gulp and nod hesitantly, mind churning in an attempt to find out where he's going with this line of questioning.

"And" - Jimin draws himself to his full height, prowling towards you languidly with his hands in his pockets - "if I asked you to do anything, you'd do it, right?" Jimin drawls the last word, letting it hang in the air as his face leans close to yours, only a hair's breadth between your noses.

You gulp, nodding weakly as you feel yourself get swept away by the intimidating man in a grey suit that surely costs triple your wages for the year. Your own panicked reflection stares at you from his dark sunglasses and he brings his ring-clad fingers to remove them from his face only to toss them carelessly on the table. Jimin tilts his head, colourful tresses falling on his forehead and framing his face, as if he's waiting for something.

"Y-Yes," you squeak out, eventually realising that he wanted to hear an answer from you.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

He lifts his hand and gently cups your trembling face, a dark look in his features that you can't name. Your body betrays you when a gasp leaves your lips, knees threatening to buckle if he comes any closer. There's a dial-up tone beeping through your mind, the roaring of your blood mixing with the fog of desire rendering you useless and all you can do is to maintain your steady breaths, counting the seconds as you wait for him to move.

Jimin's lips turn from a simple smirk into a cruel smile. You can see the flame of excitement in his eyes as his pupils dilate and you bring your knees together as you feel the dampness from your arousal threatening to leak down your thighs.

He chuckles upon releasing you, sauntering away towards his desk and plopping down on his chair as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened; as though he didn't just cause your heart to fall into a thousand floors below you in fear and… in desire.

"Finish it by tonight," Jimin's voice calls out as you dismiss yourself from his office, clutching the burgundy folder against your thrumming heart.

---

Flipping through the notes Jimin left, you gnaw on the inside of your cheeks, thinking about his soft, pillowy lips that were mere inches away from your face and the cologne that has since infiltrated your brain. You've always admired Jimin and you'd be lying to say that you don't find him attractive, but even with the few flirtatious comments he's said towards you in the past, you've never found him so… appealing.

No, you nag firmly as your brain comes up with possible images of a naked Jimin. We are not doing this today.

Huffing out a sigh, you try once more to focus on your work and for some time, the distraction helps. You're well into finishing your first page of corrections when the last employees wave their goodbyes, encouraging you to stay strong. Sitting alone in the dim office, you let your tired body slump forward, putting your head in your hands. You glance at the bottom corner of your laptop screen to find that it's 8pm, which explains why your stomach is growling with hunger. You check through your favourite app for any deliveries, only to find that you're suddenly without appetite for anything they're currently offering. Ah, well, looks like it's another cup noodle day for you.

Making your way to the office pantry is like second nature to you. Hell, this entire office is already becoming your second home. There's a blanket at the very bottom drawer of your desk and extra supplies like a toothbrush, deodorant, and some simple makeup for when you need to look presentable the next day. Showering is easy since the office has a gym on the bottom floor too. All the office needs is a functioning stove and you could probably sell all your furniture to move in permanently into the space. Your musings put a smile on your face as you chuckle while you wait for the water to finish heating up.

"You look nice when you smile."

Whirling around in shock, you're met with your smirking boss leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Embarrassed, you quickly drop into a bow before turning your attention towards the singing kettle. The surprise from unexpectedly seeing him in the pantry causes you to touch the hot piece of metal and you jump backwards, clutching your injured hand and dipping it in your mouth. Heat flames your cheek and you can't bring yourself to meet Jimin's eyes, so you stare resolutely at the bright red packaging of the cup ramen instead.

"Are you okay?" There's genuine concern in his voice that makes you look up. Jimin's eyebrows scrunching slightly on his forehead as he moves closer towards you.

"Yes" - his eyebrow quirks upwards - "...sir," you answer swiftly, ripping open the ramen package and pouring out the hot water into the cup before making a move to dash away, clutching the warm styrofoam in your hands.

There's a quiet, disapproving tsking sound and Jimin's arm shoots out in front of your chest, barring your escape. "Cup ramen is bad for you. If you're hungry, come with me."

"I still have work to do," you mumble weakly, trying to get as far away as you press your back towards the counter.

"I know. I assigned you that work. And I believe we had a chat earlier about doing exactly what you're told to do, didn't we? Hmm?"

When you don't answer immediately, his jaw tenses and, in one swift moment, he rips the styrofoam cup away from your hands to slam it on the counter. "Come with me," he commands quietly and circles his large hand around your wrist as he tugs you with him, ignoring the weak protests falling from your lips.

You stop struggling eventually, letting him drag you to the elevator down to the basement. It's not until he unlocks the car door - a sleek black Tesla that probably costs half of the houses in your neighbourhood combined - and opens the passenger seat for you to slide into that he lets go of your wrist, gesturing with a mischievous bow and a wink.

"Thank you," you mumble as you duck into the car. Jimin simply nods, closing the door after making sure your feet are inside. As he walks towards the driver's side, there's a strange coiling in your stomach as you take in the scent that is so wholly Jimin mixed with the smell of the luxurious leather seats.

"Where do you want to eat? Don't worry, I'll pay." It's with those words that you realise you've left your purse on your desk and another wave of embarrassment washes over you, causing your hands to shake as you attempt to buckle in.

As though he's sensing your distress, Jimin leans forward, warmth radiating from his body, as he helps you push the metal in the slot. You don't know how much your heart can take anymore. And you're unsure if it's intentional, but you feel Jimin's hands linger on your waist, your skin searing underneath the white blouse. When he pulls away, you gasp, feeling his fingers skirting over your exposed thighs and you clamp your lips in embarrassment, noting the devilish smile and the quirk of his eyebrows before you quickly turn away.

A quiet chuckle comes from his direction as he starts the car, drumming his fingers on the black, leather steering wheel. There's an occasional clink of metal as his rings hit one another and it takes everything in you not to look at his beautiful hands. You can imagine them though, and you close your eyes momentarily, reminiscing at the strong grip he had on your wrist, though your eyes snap open when your mind delves deeper in your thoughts, pulling an image of Jimin wrapping those very same fingers around your throat.

Oh my, if cup noodles aren't good for your overall physical health, Park Jimin is not good for your mental well-being.

Jimin plays some music as he drives, a smooth jazz beat that thumps across the car filled with expensive subwoofers. Your ears perk up when you hear him humming, voice lilting as it plucks notes out of thin air, harmonizing beautifully with the low tones of the saxophone. You can't help but slide your eyes to his handsome face, marveling at the way he's moving his body as he sings along to the rhythm. The lights blurring past your speed enhances the rainbow in his hair and you're awestruck.

How can a man be so beautiful?

Jimin must have sensed your eyes on him because he flashes you a grin, perfect rows of teeth glinting at you like a toothpaste commercial. He laughs freely when your cheeks redden and you glare at the road, wishing the car had an 'Eject' button you can push to get you out of this situation. Although your heart betrays the calm demeanor you're trying to project, you can't help the smile that forms on your lips and you realise that it's the first time that you feel comfortable and relaxed in the presence of your boss.

When he stops the car, you gawk at the grand building that stretches so high up, you can't see the top even as you careen your neck. There's a marvelous statue made of gold where small throngs of people walk on the steps on either side, all of them dressed in refinery. Feeling out of place in your simple black pencil skirt and white blouse, you turn to Jimin, eyes pleading towards him to take you somewhere else, but he pays you no heed, already exiting out of the car and tossing his car keys towards the valet before crossing over and opening your door.

"Come," he commands, holding out his arm towards you.

Your eyes turn into slits as you regard his hand, yet you gingerly loop your own around it anyway as he helps you stand. There's a ripple of gasps around you, but before you can figure out what's happening, Jimin's already whisking you away, reminding you to be careful as the marble steps tend to be slippery.

"I hope you like Italian. You didn't say anything in the car and it's been a while since I've been here. I hope the menu is to your liking," Jimin whispers as he leans closer, his breath tickling your ear.

You nod mutely, staring at the large glass doors ahead of you as it swallows the people inside. The ripples of murmurs start again, but as you're about to turn your head to see the commotion behind you, yet again, Jimin captures your attention and your eyes fall back to his side profile.

"Do you like wine?"

You shrug nonchalantly. You're not much of a connoisseur for alcohol, preferring to get drunk on liquor that costs $5 or less. "I like reds," you answer simply.

Jimin makes a humming noise and he slips from your grasp to put his hand on your lower back. The electricity that runs down your spine at the contact causes you to gasp and you stumble slightly forward before his hand shoots up to wrap around your sides.

"Careful," he whispers low.

Finally, you reach the top of the stairs pressed up against Jimin's side and you can note the stares that are thrown your way. What is this place anyway?

"Mr. Park, please, come in," the bellman greeted him warmly, bowing low as he opens the wide door for you.

"Chase. How's the family?"

You blink at the colorful man, surprised that he knows the man's name, let alone make small talk to an employee. It's not that you think Jimin's cold-hearted, but billionaires like him don't tend to care for people like you. Perhaps you've judged him too harshly.

The bellman and Jimin exchange a few pleasantries, laughing at a few shared stories before he says his goodbye, whisking you into the grand, golden building.

The inside is just as luxurious as you'd imagine, tall marble ceilings and plush scarlet carpet trailing to the receptionist desk at the far wall. A gigantic, crystal chandelier glints in the room, swaying gently as it refracts beams of light to dance on the walls. The conversations within the space are hushed, people leaning towards each other intimately. A beautiful, white grand piano is playing on its own in the center of the room, a haunting melody filling the space. There's a few seating areas scattered about the corners of the lobby, gentlemen dressed similarly to Jimin pointing at thick reports and looking sternly at their phones while sitting back on dark chaise lounges.

Jimin veers left, squeezing your waist in indication because you momentarily forget that he's there, too transfixed at the movie set-like interior. You notice the look of surprise on the hostess' face when the two of you enter, but it disappears quickly when she puts on a mask of professionalism, bowing quickly at you.

"Mr. Park, it's a pleasure to see you again. Same table, sir?"

Jimin doesn't talk to her as affectionately as he did with Chase, but he still calls her by her first name and without a name tag on her lapel, you are even more impressed by his memory.

She takes you to the seating by the window where the view outside is of a garden with soft lights filtering from the ground. Placing a menu on your side, she rattles off the specials for tonight, though your knowledge of Italian food is rusty and you can't quite figure out the dishes she's suggesting. The hostess leaves you with a quick bow, letting you know that the waiter will be there shortly with some water.

"What do you think?" Jimin asks without looking up from the menu, legs crossed over the other as his hand rubs his chin in thought. "Anything caught your eye yet?"

Quickly scanning the menu, you find some familiar words like lasagna and beef and your eyes widen when you see that there aren't a lot of zeroes next to the particular number. Maybe you should come here again, treat yourself to a beautiful dress and a wonderful evening with yourself. "I'll have the lasagna, I think. You?"

Just as Jimin starts to speak, the waiter comes to place two glasses of water in front of you, introducing himself quickly before asking if you're ready to order. You point at the menu in lieu of actually saying words, afraid that you'll butcher the Italian words and become more of an embarrassment in front of your boss.

"I'll have the usual. Oh, and a glass of wine for the miss. Anything from '96. Red, please, " Jimin smiles warmly at the waiter, gesturing at you with an open palm.

The waiter bows after repeating the order and informing you that the food will be done in twenty minutes. When he departs, you're hit with the sudden realisation that you're alone with your boss in a fancy restaurant and the awkwardness of having nothing in common starts to creep under your skin. So, you busy yourself with staring straight outside the garden, ignoring the pointed looks that Jimin throws your way. Your mind is in a frenzy. Jimin's always been a kind boss, but he's also been somewhat cruel with his remarks on your performance, expecting nothing short of perfection from all his employees.

Does he treat all the female employees like this? A sudden thought worms its way to your mind. You can't help it, but you feel a pang of something akin to jealousy, but that's ridiculous. Sure, you find your boss extremely attractive, but you don't want to date him… right?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jimin's voice cuts through your daydream and you turn your head to find him smirking as he drinks from the glass. The only warning you receive is a waggle of eyebrows and then he's fucking with you; allowing streaks of water to dribble down the column of his neck, Adam's apple bobbing as he takes in a large gulp.

Don't think about the dampness between your legs. You're only going to make it worse! You groan inwardly, resolutely looking away from Jimin. Yet, as you hear the clinking of rings against glass, your eyes find their way towards him again. Jimin's using a napkin the wrong way. He's patting the front of his shirt dry, that much is evident, but then, he brings it to his mouth, tugging the pillowy lips to bring attention to how pink and utterly kissable they are.

You take a shuddering gasp, legs locked tightly in place underneath the white table cloth. Much to your relief, the waiter returns and captures Jimin's attention, rattling off French names and you assume they're discussing the wine pairing for the night. It takes a while for him to choose and you use the time to really look at him.

His colourful hair is the newest addition, he's been indecisive about which colours to choose from, so he decided that the most logical option is to have all of it. Then there's his hands. You've heard laughter from inside his office when his friends come over, teasing him about how cute he is and how dainty his fingers are, though you frankly can't see it. The man is intimidation walking on two legs. You've thought about those hands ever since he gripped you in the pantry and again when he's plastered you by his side as you walk through the doors of the hotel. Finally, there's his jaw. Smooth and sharp that you'll let him cut you over and over again. Although it's definitely not on purpose, you find the tensing of his jaw incredibly attractive and you've made simple mistakes over the past few weeks just to irritate him. You're not sure how a man can be so perfect; like he's made to literally cause suffering for all mankind because of his beauty.

You blink when you realise you've been staring at him, long after the waiter has left your table. Jimin doesn't seem to mind, giving you a wink when you come to your senses. He leans back against his chair, hands resting on his knees like he's the king. Like he owns the place.

Oh.

Oh.

"Do you… own this place? Wait, is this the hotel you assigned to me/" you ask dumbly, not really expecting an answer.

Jimin laughs anyway, bringing his hand to cover his mouth as he nods. "I own a large part of the building, yes."

"And all the people here?"

"I hired them. I'll let you in on a little secret, but you have to promise me that you won't breathe a word to anyone."

Jimin leans closer and as if you're pulled by a magnet, you do too, faces meeting at the middle, so close to one another that if you scooted your chair forward, your noses would bump.

"Most of the staff here have been in prison."

That's not a sentence you expected to hear.

You balk, but he continues. "I give them a fresh start by working here and if they do a good job, they can continue to climb the ranks. Being in customer service isn't easy, what with having to deal with so many rude customers, but I hope it gives them a new purpose in life." There's a wistful look in Jimin's eyes, a momentary lapse of silence before he opens his mouth again. "The audit I've placed in your hands? You're right. It's this very hotel and everything involving these employees. From their room and board, which they get for free as soon as they sign the contract, to their families. That's why I've been so hard on you. I know you'll do a tremendous job, and you've exceeded my expectations so far, but this is important to me."

As he finishes his sentence, he leans back on the chair, a small, shy smile forming on his lips. Maybe one day you'll find out why he's doing all this, but your heart blooms with pride; with joy, at the epiphany that you're working directly under a CEO that cares a little too much about people. Not that it's a bad thing.

The food arrives shortly afterward and you find that it's much easier to talk to Jimin after knowing his secret, promising him again and again that you won't say anything to anyone. The waiter returns once more as you're digging into the lasagna, bringing a bottle of wine and showing the two of you the label before he pours it into your glass. You'd be a goddamn liar if you knew what the cursive French words said, but you nod in thanks anyway, bringing the red liquor to your lips, swirling the liquid around slightly as you take the first few sips.

Fuck. This wine is better than sex.

You close your eyes, relishing in the way it coats your tongue. The bitter liquid has a sweet, chocolate aftertaste that's so delicious, you can't help the sigh that escapes your lips. You hear Jimin's tittering chuckle and when you open your eyes, he's staring straight at you, an amused smile on his features. Cheeks flushed pink, you set the wine glass down and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, hands trembling as you pick up the silverware to eat again. Dinner resumes with quiet conversations and at one point, the lights start to dim and your waiter comes back with a tea candle and a small vase filled with roses, setting it on the end of the table closer to the window.

This feels-

"...feels like a date, huh?" Jimin laughs, shaking his head to the side, unaware that he just finished your sentence in your head.

You press your lips together, trying to hide the demure smile that's threatening to take over. And perhaps it's the fact that this is the best conversation you've had with a guy in combination with the delicious wine you just finished, but you gaze into Jimin's dark eyes.

"I wouldn't mind if it is."

Giggles burst from your stomach as you take in his shocked expression. For the first time in the many years you've worked for his company, you've never seen him so wide-eyed before and, dare you say, eager.

"Your dessert, sir." The voice of the waiter seems to shock the both of you, heads snapping to his direction as he presents two bowls of vanilla ice cream. "It's on the house. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening."

You stare at the bowl in front of you, mind churning with possibilities on how you can turn the tables on him. Jimin's always been the one teasing you; is it so wrong that you want it to be your turn? With a wink, you scoop the ice cream in your mouth, letting some of it dribble on the corners of your lips as you bring your tongue to swipe the stray streaks. A quiet moan leaves your lips as you lick the spoon clean, pulling it out with a soft pop. There's a telltale sign of hitched breathing coming from the man in the grey suit and his hands shoot forward to grip at your wrist, a flame of desire burning behind his eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare."

You're not sure what he meant by that exactly, but you break free from his hold to do it again, eyes never straying from his handsome face. You relish at the shadow that passes through his features: jaw locked tight as he glowers at you, pupils so dilated that it turns his irises black. He growls in warning, silently commanding you to stop, but you don't care, the alcohol in your system makes you brave as you forget the embarrassment you've endured that night.

When the bowl is thoroughly emptied of ice cream, you take your finger and dip it in, humming as you coat your digit in the cold sweet cream before popping it in your mouth, eyes closing as you suck.

"Okay. That's it." Jimin whispers harshly, slamming his chair back as he grabs your wrist and pulls you up. "Send the bill electronically," he barks at the poor waiter, who could only bow in respect as he scurries away.

---

"You," Jimin roars when the elevator doors close. In an instant, he's trapped you effectively with his body and you're unable to move without meeting either of his hands that are slammed to the sides of your head. "What the fuck was that?"

Giggling nervously, you play with the hem of your pencil skirt as you look up at him through your lashes, tilting your head slightly to give him an innocent smile. "What's wrong? I was only eating ice cream." You bat your eyelashes for added effect, the stain on your panties growing wetter as you anticipate what he'll do next.

You're surprised, but not really, when he wraps his pretty, ringed hand around your throat, giving it a slight squeeze in warning, a sinful gasp leaving your lips when he looks at you with those lustful eyes.

"You're a fucking brat is what's wrong. And I see that you're not the slightest bit trained." Jimin's breath is hot as it fans across your cheek. As you're about to retort, he rolls his hips forward, dragging his erection against your stomach. Your eyes widen at the drag of his cock, eyes rolling backwards when he presses his knee between your legs and digging it harshly on your wet cunt. You grind on the sensation, moaning wantonly in the confined space.

"Pathetic slut," he spits, tipping your chin harshly upwards to meet his glare. "Look at you, all needy and panting when I've barely touched you. Fuck, you've ruined my pants."

Your walls flutter at the derogatory pet name, hands finding their way to grab at his collar to pitch him forward, needing his lips on yours immediately. Of course, Jimin doesn't indulge you, pulling away just as swiftly to flip you over, your cheek pressed firmly on the cold mirror of the elevator as he loosens his tie, using it to bind your wrists together.

"The safeword is 'audit'," he growls into your ear, his back firmly pressed on yours as he rolls his hips again, directly on your cunt. "Say it, so I know your head is useful for something."

You repeat the word back to him and though you know resistance is futile, you make an attempt to loosen the tie, only to have a firm hand swat at your ass. You groan at the pain, loving the way it causes your legs to shiver as you feel him press up against you again. Though you would typically prefer some privacy, it excites you to be doing something so indecent where people can walk in at any moment.

Cold metal grazes your heat as you feel his fingers drag across your panties. You arch your back and push into his hand, whining at the contact. Jimin chuckles, unrelenting in his slow pace as he traces alphabets on your clothed cunt.

"Already wet for me, dearest? Would you like me to fuck you here? Right now? Where someone can catch us at any point in time?"

You can't form a coherent sentence, tongue laden only with moans that almost resemble his name. Your breath fogs the mirror of the elevator, chest pressed up so tightly against the metal that you struggle to breathe. Jimin rucks your skirt up around your waist and strips you of your ruined panties, presumably stuffing it in his pants, a moan leaving his lips when he sees your glistening cunt for the first time. There's not a moment of hesitation when he plunges his middle finger in, the loud squelching mixed with the sounds of your moans rattling the walls of the elevator.

"Pathetic cunt," Jimin hisses and uses his other hand to tip your chin upwards, your eyes instantly meeting your reflection. The girl in front of you is disheveled, clothes wrinkly and eyes glassy as you take in the evident pleasure written on her face. "Look at you, so beautiful like this. So submissive."

When Jimin inserts another finger in your cunt, you abandon all your thoughts. You scratch the mirror in front of you, unable to find purchase in anything as your cunt gushes arousal down your legs, making a mess on the floor. Then, to your horror, the elevator dings. Your attempt at pushing Jimin off of you is met with a slap against your thighs as he picks up the pace.

"Jimin, fuck, please," your mind tries to form coherent sentences, but he takes the moment to run his thumb on your clit, halting your thoughts immediately.

Your cunt seizes his fingers when the elevator doors open and to your surprise, a grand office greets you instead of some poor shocked souls. Walls lined with bookshelves and a gigantic window on the far end casts the moon's light on a large oak desk. There's sofas in the center of the room, a glass coffee table settled between them, and a large persian carpet nestled underneath.

"Surprised?" Jimin laughs, still thrusting into you albeit he switches to a more languid pace this time. "Your cunt wrapped around me real tight when you thought we were going to get caught. Is that what you want, bitch? You like the idea of possibly getting caught?"

He doesn't let you answer, working his fingers inside of you as you howl his name. "That's not my name, slut. You'll be referring to me as 'sir' from now on," he growls, fingers curling inside you to drag across your g-spot.

After a few more thrusts, he leaves your pussy empty as he struts out of the elevator, sucking on his sodden fingers as he winks at you, his reflection smug in the mirror. You try to gather what energy you have left and you stumble after him, hands bound together and legs weak from a high that you haven't quite achieved.

---

"Tease," you pout, bottom lip quivering as the tears threaten to fall from your eyes when you regain your senses. How can a man this beautiful exude so much power?

Jimin chuckles at that, leaving his chair to lessen the distance between your bodies, rings digging painfully on your cheeks as he grips them tightly. "Tease, am I? Pray tell, how am I the tease?"

"You knew we were going to be in this office, didn't you?" you challenge. "The elevator just automatically spits us here. There's no way we were going to be caught."

Jimin laughs, shrugging his shoulders in confirmation. "I believe I wasn't the one enjoying myself. I'll make it up to you, hm? Come here."

Foolishly, you close the gap between your chests fully and Jimin dips his head lower to capture your lips in a chaste kiss. His hand tugs at the strands of your hair and you gasp, letting him run his tongue all over yours in the process. You can faintly taste yourself and you're raring to go again.

"On your knees, darling."

The dampness that pools between your legs threaten to spill on the floor as you watch Jimin finally unbuckling his pants, revealing his thick, veiny cock into his cold office. You gulp at the saliva that's about to spill from your slack jaw and you pant heavily at the sight of the red, weeping head, wondering if it'll even fit inside you.

He strokes his length a few times, groaning as his gaze drifts towards yours, whose eyes are wide in fascination. "Open," he pants, leaving traces of precum on your lips.

Moaning, you do as you're told and Jimin abruptly shoves his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat in one go. You gag around his length, the burn causing fresh tears to roll off your face, but it's so good. With shallow breaths, you swallow around his length as your hand cups and plays with his balls. The sound of Jimin groaning above you is music to your ears. Your pace starts out slow, saliva clinging to his length and down your chin. Hollowing your cheekbones lets you hear more of those sweet sounds stumbling from Jimin's mouth and so, with one more shallow breath, you increase your efforts until his breathing stutters and he removes himself from you with a hiss and a hard grip on your head.

"If I knew what that mouth could do, I'd fuck you sooner," he rasps, breathing still heavy despite the tired smile he gives you. "Do you want to cum, darling? Creammy cock and make an absolute mess of yourself?"

You nod almost too eagerly.

Chuckling, Jimin moves to sit on his office chair and leaves you on the floor, crooking a finger towards you and patting his leg. With trembling legs, you pad slowly towards his lap, the tie binding your arms together making it hard for you to balance. Your blouse is sticky with a mixture of sweat and saliva, making your skin crawl. All you want is for Jimin to rip it all off, seam to seam, leaving you naked and breathless in front of him, but you say nothing as you get closer, breathing in the heady scent of his cologne instead.

Gingerly, you place both your legs on either side of the chair, trying to balance yourself in the tight space as you lower your aching core. Jimin's not helping, hands gripping firmly at the handles of the seat and a smile dancing on his lips. "If you want to cum, do it yourself, slut," he taunts, rolling his hips upwards to glide his cock on your entrance.

With what little bratty attitude left in your body, you begin to slide across his length instead, smearing his pants with your arousal. You let the moans tumble freely from your lips, mutters of expletives and his name wedged between the sounds as you continue to build your high. A triumphant smile graces your lips as you see Jimin shudder, eyes closing halfway before his grip leaves the chair and slams firmly on your ass. You keen, head thrown back at the pain, yet your cunt gushes out in response, soaking the front of his pants completely.

Jimin tuts as he chuckles, lifting you up and away from his lap and placing you face first on his oak table instead. "My slut still needs to be trained, huh? I guess the earlier punishment in the elevator isn't enough for you, hmm?" Each word is punctuated by a harsh slap on your ass, the flesh reddening with every contact from his hand.

"Ah - Jimin - no more!" you cry, tears flooding your vision at the onslaught of pain and pleasure.

At the mention of his name, Jimin growls, thrusting two fingers harshly inside you, already knuckle-deep as he curls his fingers inside your velvet walls as he continues to spank you with his free hand. "That's not my fucking name, and you know it. I have in my hands a pathetic slut who can't even follow simple instructions. What's going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm? I bet it's the thought of my cock fucking you raw on this table," Jimin laughs as you struggle, another swat on your ass makes you fall flat on the table, unable to keep your legs up any further. He takes the opportunity to land a firm hand across your weeping cunt, massaging the sensitive bud with the tip of his fingers when you shudder at the contact. You don't have to look behind you to know that the table is coated with a new layer of varnish. "You're not done yet, are you? We haven't even fucked yet. On your knees, baby."

"...Sir," you whimper, letting the force of his fingers bring you closer to the edge of oblivion.

"Good girl. Fuck, if you wanted to be punished, you should've just said so. Instead you try and try my patience. Look where that's gotten you?" He ends the statement by ceasing all movements. "Bad girls don't deserve to cum, you know?" he taunts, mocking laughter slipping from his lips as he watches you howl and thrash against the table, orgasm rudely taken away from you.

With those words he slips his ring-clad fingers away from your cunt, the force of the removal causes you to squirt some more, warm juices gushing out of you in waves. Jimin hums his approval, loving the little spasms that wrack through your body..

Jimin walks over to where your head lays and smiles, threading his dainty fingers on your hair to tug your face upwards. Your eyes are unfocused, too lost in the way he's looking at you; at the prideful smirk on his lips. His other hand comes to stroke your cheek before placing his thumb on your lips. His smirk grows into a full-on smile when your eyes close and your mouth opens, sucking and mewling around his digit. "Had enough, slut? Are you going to be a good girl now?" he whispers softly as he places a tender kiss on your sweat-covered forehead.

You nod, letting his thumb go before replying. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Relax, let me take care of you, okay?"

Jimin drops your head gently on the table, smoothing out the strands away from your face as you sigh against his gentle touch. As he walks to the other side of the desk, his fingers don't leave you, always touching a part of your body before it stops to rub circles on your lower back. You moan, arching your tired back to feel more.

"Would you prefer if I give you a massage here," he asks while he digs through your sore back momentarily before Jimin's fingers trail lower and push two digits deep into your cunt, "or here?"

Your head snaps upwards, a guttural sound ripping itself from your throat as Jimin thrusts languidly inside your sopping cunt, relishing in the tremors that shake your body. His free hand massages your ass in an attempt to soothe the smarting flesh caused by his wicked hand.

"Ah - fuck - sir," you gasp, feeling his tongue on your clit as he continues to curl his fingers inside, bringing you dangerously close to the edge with just a few strokes. Jimin hums, the vibration making you rut against his face as you struggle against your binds.

"Can you squirt again, baby?" he moans between licks. "Wanna drink you up."

"I don't know - fuck, fuck, right there, right there. Shit, I'm going to - ah - gonna cum, please, please let me cum, sir!" you keen, gripping the ropes that bind you on your back. Your face is marked with splotches of drool and tears, but you don't care that you look like a mess because Jimin's face is about to be just as ruined.

Jimin thrusts his fingers faster and his mouth sucks up all the juices that dribble freely from your cunt. He's unrelenting as the fire continues to spread across your body, the familiar waves making your toes curl. You're unsure what words you're panting out at the moment, brain and pussy filled with Jimin, Jimin, Jimin, but after a particularly deep thrust, you soak the front of his expensive dress shirt with your arousal, a high-pitched whine bouncing off the walls of his office as you finally reach your end.

His thrusts slow before stopping completely, moaning as he removes his arousal-covered face from your body. Jimin makes quick strides to loom over you before dropping his face to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He pries your mouth open with expertise, tongue chasing yours as you moan, tasting yourself. The kiss is sloppy, drool freely running down the column of your throat as he continues to fuck your mouth with his tongue. When the two of you part, gasping for air, Jimin's eyes are glassy, his jaw set as he takes a hold of your chin gently.

"Open."

Eager to please, you do as you're told, opening your mouth wide and extending your tongue outwards. Jimin tips your face upwards towards him and there's a slight movement from his jaw and throat as you realise what he's about to do. A fat glob of spit falls on your tongue and you moan, shutting your eyes. Jimin does it again, filling your mouth slowly with a pool of saliva and your own arousal. You keep the mixture in your mouth, still parted slightly, so he can see your obedience.

"Good girl. Swallow."

And as you do, your cunt clenches painfully over nothing. You whine against his hold, hands completely numb from the tie and you have no upper body strength left to keep you up. Jimin kisses you chastely once more as he places your head on the table. Moving back to the other side, he unties your wrists with deft fingers, massaging them to get the blood flow going.

"Hands and knees on the table," he commands, voice ringing from all directions.

Limbs trembling and bones screaming with exhaustion, you force yourself to comply, even as you hear your joints popping from the tension in your body. Praise trickles out of Jimin's mouth with careless abandon as he massages your hips, voice low as he remarks how good you're doing, turning your body pliant in his hands.

And - oh, there. Jimin's cockhead rubs against your weeping cunt, slapping it against your clit a few times only to bury himself all the way to the hilt, a groan slipping from his plush lips as your walls clench around him. You buck your hips backward in an effort to get used to his length, silently begging for him to move slowly at first.

"I should've fucked you ages ago. Fuck, you're so tight, baby."

Jimin ruts slowly into you, a small bit of mercy, as he lets you adjust to the stretch of his cock. You shudder at the slight burn, the fullness inside you making you writhe on the wooden table as you wiggle your hips. There's a chuckle from behind you as Jimin unsheathes himself, leaving only the head, before abruptly slamming his cock wholly inside. Your muffled whimpers and pants do nothing to stop his movements as he continues, gradually building up momentum until he's rapidly thrusting his cock deep in your pussy.

For the second time that night, Jimin brings you closer to the edge of pleasure, flame erupting from your core as he snakes a hand to play with your clit. He's unrelentless, his desire to drive you crazy fueling the snap of his hips, especially when he brings a knee on the table to fuck you deeper, the angle causing his cock to brush repeatedly on your g-spot. With only a few more thrusts, your battered cunt spasms, walls flutter tightly against his length, and you see stars when you close your eyes. There isn't enough time to give him a warning as you cum and you scream his name as you flood his table again.

Jimin growls your name, his high also rapidly approaching as his hands leave your hips to grip your hair in a makeshift ponytail, pulling you away from the table. "Fuck, this cunt was made for me. I'm going to fuck you full of my cum." His words send fresh shivers down your spine as you keen, muscles screaming with exhaustion and overstimulation as he continues to pound his cock repeatedly inside you. "Yeah? You like the idea of walking around filled with my cum? Oh, fuck, baby, you're going to be the death of me."

With a final grunt and a stutter in his hips, Jimin cums, heat filling your insides as he paints it white and you moan his name in reverence, tightening your cunt to milk him of his cum completely. He removes himself from you with a groan, eyes dark with lust as he watches his arousal oozing from your cunt. You groan tiredly when you feel his fingers fuck the cum back inside, a silent instruction to keep it in for as long as you could.

A pleased hum leaves his lips at the sight of you on the table and with a gentleness that he hasn't displayed all night, he lifts you up and carries you to the dark sofa in the center of the room, dropping your tired body on the heaps of pillows. Though he had instructed you to keep his cum inside, he leaves momentarily and comes back with a handkerchief, wiping the lower part of your body as you try to steady your breathing.

"Let me take you home. You've been wonderful," he murmurs as he sits next to you, lifting your head so it rests on his lap. His hands massage your battered limbs and you whine, the strain beginning to settle in from fucking on a hard surface.

"I have work to do…" you whisper. "This was only supposed to be dinner."

Jimin chuckles, pride twinkling in his eyes. "I'm the boss. I'm commanding you to worry about work tomorrow. After all, you've already proven yourself to me plenty." He opens his cellphone then, talking in hushed noises as his hand drifts to play with your hair. You only hear bits of conversation as your eyes droop close, the exhaustion catching up to you, rendering you close to sleep.

Your eyes snap open when Jimin whispers your name, still stroking your hair. "Come on, let's get some sleep. I've reserved a room already." He helps you up and goes to the elevator, picking up your ruined panties along the way as you blush, trying to fix your appearance to look semi-presentable.

"Do you want to know something funny?"

You tilt your chin in his direction, having just finished putting your hair in a bun.

"Our room number is 69."

thank you so much for reading. please feel free to like and reblog to share the story with everyone! my inbox is always open for kind words and comments!

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Posted: 6.22.21 at 2:20am CST

This was amazing!! Thankyouu so much for sharing your wonderful work with us🦋✨💜

No harm done | jjk

➳pairing: detective!jungkook x suspect f!oc

➳genre: detective!au, angst, mystery, strangers to enemies to lovers, smut.

➳summary: on a random morning you wake up with a handsome stranger looming over you. once the haze is gone, you come to know that your uncle, who brought you up since you were a child, has been murdered yesterday night and the stranger is apparently the detective who’s looking over the case. more badly, he’s suspecting you. will you be able to prove your innocence?

— masterlist

➳rating & word count: 18+ ; ~5.5K

➳warnings: trigger warnings, mention of murder, blood, violence; explicit sexual content, stripping, sexual tension, unprotected sex (be safe!), rough sex, oral (m!receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play, marking, choking, multiple orgasms (f!receiving), desk sex, sir kink — this is fictional and doesn’t represent jungkook in any way!

➳a/n: hi loves! i’m here with the rewrite of ‘troublemaker’ as i promised! this is a fast and wild ride, enjoy ♡!! thank you so much to @outromoni for making me this beautiful banner! This is unedited, forgive me for my mistakes!

➳taglist: join my permanent taglist!

The observant and cautious eyes of the eminent detective, Jeon Jungkook, sweeps over the tainted crime scene. His lips are pressed together in a thin line and his brows are furrowed from the numerous possibilities running through his mind. If he understands something by now, it’s that Mr. Emery’s murder was out of pure rage. The body has been sent to the postmortem already. But the dark patches of blood on the expensive carpet are telling a story of their own.

He has a hunch that it’s someone close to him. Someone who probably wasn’t happy with his decision and during an argument they lost their mind and committed the murder. Most probably unintentional but still, crime is crime.

Without the need to turn around, Jungkook can feel someone’s presence behind his back. Fixing the little creases on his coat, he turns around. The sorrowful, broken form of the victim’s wife almost makes him frown. But, being the professional he is, he clears his throat. “Can I help you with anything?”

He notices the way anger burns in her mournful eyes, her hands turning into fists. “Do you know who did it? I hope that moron burns in–”

“Ahem.” he steadily interrupts, “I’ve just started considering all the clues and once I’m done, I’ll start interrogating the family members. Please be patient.”

She sighs. “Fine. I’ll leave you to your work.”

“Thank you for understanding and cooperating.” He nods.

As soon as she leaves the room, he rolls up his sleeves, his muscles flexing as he stretches his figure. He decides to look around the bedroom yet again. Jungkook wants to make sure that he’s gathering every possible clue from the crime scene which can come handy to find the culprit.

After a few minutes of thorough lookout, he finds an intricate lace button. It clearly belongs to one of the ladies of the Emery family. He picks it up in his gloved hand, the sunlight making it glisten like a twinkling star. With a knowing smirk, he waves one of his assistants, the next step he’s about to take already set up in his mind.

In the living room, Jungkook gathers all the family members, carefully noticing the nervousness and sorrow painted in their eyes. After moments of stretched, uncomfortable silence, he finally speaks up, “Visit me in the library one by one.”

The victim’s son is the first person to knock on the library door.

“Can you recall any recent arguments, or disagreements your father had with someone in the past few days?”

“Well... Dad is– sorry, I mean..” Rafael stops, swallowing heavily.

“It’s alright.”

“Yeah... Dad was a really level-headed person. But probably 2 weeks ago he had a disagreement with y/n. It was about her being single, I think? Not sure, but I don’t think that it affected their father-daughter like relationship. Actually sometimes...”

“Sometimes?” Jungkook asks, taking notes in his mind.

“Nothing, it just feels like he loves y/n more than his own child haha. But it’s alright, I’ve seen them like this since my childhood.”

“I see. Do you have something else to say? What about the decision of his business empire he made?”

“He kept me out of his business. And I personally don’t have any interest in it. I’m a wildlife photographer, my passion is entirely different in comparison with his.”

“Oh, I see.”

~

Mr. Emery’s wife enters the library as the second person.

“Just wanted to ask, is this button yours? In any case, just trying to make sure.” The detective shows her the evidence bag.

“No, no! Not mine!! I don’t have any dresses like that!!”

“Please calm down, I’m not here to arrest you. Just asking.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to burst out like that... I’m just going through a lot. Losing my husband so suddenly has affected me.” She mumbles the last sentence, a lone tear rolling down her cheek.

“I understand that.” Jungkook nods, continuing with a sigh.

“I heard from Rafael that your husband had a disagreement with y/n… do you happen to know what was that about?”

“Ah… yeah. He was not happy with the fact that his orphan niece is still not settled down with one of the suitors he recommended.” She replies, her voice sounding… bitter.

“Thank you for your input. You’re free to go, for now.”

~

The housemaid is up next.

“So Nini. For how long are you working for the Emery’s?”

“It’ll be 4 years in a few months.”

“That’s a long time! So you’ve earned their trust I assume?”

“Hehe, I hope so.” She shrugs.

“Okay, so do you happen to know anything about this button?”

“Uhm... that button– that button is probably from a fancy lace covered crop top of y/n.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so. She has so many of them! And the buttons in those tops look like this as far as I remember.”

“That’s interesting.” He hums thoughtfully, putting the evidence bag away.

~

The sound of Jungkook’s impatient feet padding against the sleek wooden floor echoes through the spacious library. After waiting for a bit more, he groans, “Sammy! I’m waiting for 45 minutes now, where the hell is the niece of the victim??”

Squinting his eyes, Sammy pokes his head in, his voice nervous. “Um, sir I asked the maid–”

“Get straight to the point.”

“She’s still sleeping... and she’s not informed yet about the murder...”

Jungkook snaps his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gosh, he fucking hates lazy, spoilt girls. Who the fuck sleeps at 11 am?

As if on impulse, he decides to wake her up by himself. He takes a few deep breaths and unbuttons his shirt around his chest. He’s furious, and he really wants to put the damn girl in her place.

“Sammy! Where the hell is her room?”

“On the 2nd floor I think.”

“I’ll just ask the maid. You know that you shouldn’t answer unless you’re sure about it!!”

“I’m sorry sir...”

Jungkook strides out of the library without another word. He spots Nini in the living room.

“Hey! Can you tell me where’s the room of y/n?”

“Oh... Why?” She looks at him, taken aback.

“I need to interrogate her.” he states coldly.

“I’m sorry but we haven’t told her anything yet–”

He interrupts the maid, “That doesn’t bother me.”

Nini looks around helplessly. “Please understand, it’s a family decision. Her uncle was all she had, her parents died when she was 7 months old and–”

He groans, “Oh please, I don’t have the time to listen to your sappy stories. I have work to do.”

“It’s the reality not a sappy–”

“You know what? I’ll find her room on my own.” With that, Jeon Jungkook stomps off, frustration running through his veins. People like this make him angry.

On the 2nd floor, he stands in front of a beautifully crafted wooden door, and for some reason, he feels in his guts that this is the room of the girl.

Cautiously, he turns the doorknob, just slightly surprised to find it unlocked. He peeks inside, a beautiful, sculpted female curled up in the bed. He enters the room stealthily, his body freezing at the gorgeous sight he’s met with.

There you are, with nothing but a sheer white nightie and a pair of pastel pink panties. Your mesmerizing face is completely rested as you sleep peacefully. The white nightie is short, so short that he clearly sees your cute butt, the delicate lace of your thong barely holding it together.

Next, his eyes trail up to your navel, belly and breasts… Jungkook can feel his cock twitching in the confines of his pants when he notices your perky nipples through the sheer material.

For a moment, he just thinks how it will feel to have you pinned against the mattress, his lips around your sweet, sweet nipples and his cock deep buried inside your cunt, your pillowy lips parted as he fucks you, taking out all the frustration he’s feeling right now. It would feel like heaven, he imagines.

Damn it! Get your shit together!

What is he thinking about? It’s unethical and against his morals to imagine having sex with a potential suspect, but fuck this! His traitorous body speaks otherwise.

Cursing himself for letting his guard slip, he takes a deep, steadying breath, forcing away all the inappropriate thoughts and ignoring the semi-hardness in his boxers. He needs to get back to his zone.

Sighing inaudibly, he approaches you, clearing his throat loudly. You whine in response, turning around so that your back is facing him. And almost immediately, his gaze focuses on your nightie falling aside, revealing your juicy ass.

He grits his teeth, trying to look away from where your panties have slid aside, the moist folds of you out in display. That paired up with the sound you just made, the detective feels his blood running south.

After a long moment of struggle, he looks away, regretting his decision to wake her up by himself. What the hell exactly was he thinking?! This is a disaster.

Jungkook reaches out to grab your forearm, the tip of his fingers softly brushing against the side of your soft breast.

“Later, Nini.” You let out a whimper, moving your hand away. That causes his palm to fall on the swell of your breast. For a fleeting second he grazes the gentle flesh, retracting his hand the next second as if it got burnt. He needs to stop, he really does.

The sound of the bed squeaking takes his attention, and he finds you stretching on the bed. Your long legs and torso straighten, your breasts standing tall like two dollops of ice cream with a cherry on top. Almost hypnotized by the scene, the detective looms over your figure, really wanting to rip off your skimpy clothes and ruin you right here, right now. From this close, he can inhale the sweet fruity scent of you, his mouth watering.

You feel someone’s hot breath fanning over your cleavage, softly writhing from the feeling before you flutter your eyes open. You’re immediately met with an insanely handsome stranger hovering over you, his eyes drinking you in. You bite down your lower lip, his tattooed hands, his firm, flat chest, the prominent bulge in his pants gathering wetness between your legs. His strong, dominant aura makes you swoon. Even though he’s a stranger, you’ll absolutely let him ruin your body. You can’t remember the last time you’ve desired someone this badly.

He finally meets your eyes, swallowing nervously and backing away. The crackling sexual tension between you and this stranger leaves you panting softly, your chest going up and down in a rhythm, making him run his fingers through his hair.

“Get dressed. I have work to do.” he scoffs, looking away.

Puffing out your lower lip, you whine, “Excuse me? You don’t get to break into my room and order me around! Who are you? Should I call the police?”

He chuckles. “The police report to me, sweetheart.”

“Wh– what?! Why? You’re lying!”

“I’m not lying. Get dressed. I do not wish to interrogate you in this state.”

Interrogation? About what?

Knowing very well that he’s lying, you come up with a plan to crack him up. Feeling rebellious, you pull out your nightie, your boobs jiggling as you look back at him, challenge in your eyes. He coughs, “Faster, or I’ll handcuff you and take you out just like this.”

Smirking, you stand up on your bed, turning back and wiggling your ass, shimmying out of your panties. “Maybe you can handcuff me and we can have some fun here...”

With your feet, you fling the piece of clothing back on the floor. You look back to catch him gawking at your naked form. But he clears his throat and looks soon after you turn around.

“Are you gonna get ready or what?”

You get down from the bed, walking up to him with a pout, “Why? Don’t you like what you see?”

You trail your finger down his chest, stopping right over his belt. He sucks in a shaky breath. “Are you trying to seduce the law? Do you know that you can get into jail for this?”

Not looking up, you softly stroke the tent in his pants, whispering, “But your body is speaking otherwise.”

He grips on your wrists roughly, his voice almost a growl, “Keep your hands to yourself, don’t test my fucking patience because I barely have any left!”

A flash of surprise and fear crosses your eyes, and you back off. The sudden wave of shame crashes down on you, and you cover your body with your hands and cross your legs together. Taking the note, he turns around to give you privacy, warning you, “You have 5 minutes.”

With shaky limbs, you head towards your closet, putting on a pair of denim, a monochrome tank top, and a black leather jacket in hopes that it’ll make you look tough. But what you don’t know is that two brown irises follow your every single movement.

Once you’re done, you tap on his shoulder, not daring to look at him. He takes the hold of your wrist, and you feel the warmth of him transferring to your skin.

Strangely enough, he takes you to the library, the anxious glances of your family members catching you off-guard. What is happening?

Inside, he motions you to take a seat. You sit down, not wanting to mess with the stranger anymore. From a drawer, he takes out a sealed packet, producing a familiar button from it.

“Is this yours?”

You throw him a questioning glance, “Yeah... why?”

“It was found in your uncle’s bedroom, where he was murdered last night.”

Deafening silence.

“So? Spill the beans, how’d it get there?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stuttering, “Who– who are you to say that?! How dare you lie to me about my uncle like that... He– I’ll go call him you’re a–”

“He’s in postmortem. I don’t think that he’ll answer you.” he shots back, his voice incredibly lacking warmth.

You choke out a sob, looking at him furiously. “Stop lying! Is this some sort of a prank?”

“Your uncle was murdered! You really think that me, Jeon Jungkook is here to prank you?!”

You stand up, glaring at him through tears, “You are Jeon Jungkook? Where’s the proof?”

Almost immediately he shoves his ID badge in your face, your heart sinking as you look at it. “JEON JUNGKOOK” — it says.

You know who Jeon Jungkook is. He’s probably the most trusted and consistent detective working with the state police.

“You mean– uncle... He– he—”

“Yes.”

Sobs escape you, your whole body trembling from the impact of his words. Ignoring your situation, he questions, “So? How did this button get there? You better have some good explanation because you’re on thin fucking ice.”

You shake your head violently, blinded by the tears, “I don’t know anything. Please leave me alone, I- I need to–”

Jungkook grips on your shoulder, “If you refuse to answer me here I’ll have to take you to my office.”

You snivel, covering your face with your hands, “Are you a human? Do you not understand that–”

“Oh I am a human, and after dealing with so many criminals I know what to do when things get messy.”

Unsure what to say further, you just look at him helplessly, “Are you implying that I’m the– the one who did it?”

Rolling his eyes, he crosses his arms around his chest, “Oh please. Don’t act so innocently. We both know that you’re not.”

Your head hanging low from the emotions, you choke out, “Listen I don’t know what you think but you need to understand my position–”

“Spoilt little girl.” he mutters under his breath as he shakes his head before calling out, “Sammy! Come here!”

His assistant comes inside, throwing you a pitying look. You try to control your breathing as two men discuss.

“Tell the house maid to find the top this button is from. We need to check it.”

Sammy nods, going outside. The detective looks at you with interest. “Get up, we’re going back to my office.”

After 2 hours of interrogation and several mental breakdowns, you rest your face on the ice cold metallic table. Your temperature is slightly high from all the stress and crying, and the cold surface stings your skin.

“Did you visit your uncle last night in his bedroom?” Jungkook repeats the same question for the hundredth time.

You shake your head no, your eyes cloudy as you feel yourself losing your consciousness. He gets behind your chair, holding you upright as he asks again, completely relentless about it.

“Okay so let’s pretend that you’re not the main suspect. Who do you think can do this to your uncle?”

You stand up, facing him with hatred in your eyes, “Can’t you just stop?!”

“Oh? So are you confessing that it was you?” he quirks his eyebrow.

Rage fills up your whole body, and you scream at him, “How many times have I told you that I didn’t do anything!? Why don’t you understand?! He was the only person I had left in my family!”

He sighs, clicking his tongue. “I’d love to believe you. But then again, you had a fight with your uncle a few weeks ago about your relationship status. Plus, a button from one of your crop tops was found in the spot. Do you think that I’m stupid?”

You hold your head in your hands, groaning, “But that doesn’t prove anything! I fought with him because he wanted me to marry someone he likes but I’m not ready for marriage. And I haven’t worn that top since last month!”

Jungkook taps his fingers against the table. “So he was pressuring you to marry. Sounds like you had enough reasons to push him out of your way.”

“What? Are you kidding right now? I’d never do that! I can’t just kill my uncle because he didn’t agree with me!” You protest, tired of defending yourself.

“Okay then what about the decision he made? Are you happy with the new outlook of his business empire?” He presses further.

You roll your eyes. “I’m a self-made woman. I was never interested in his business or whatsoever. It’s too much for me so I chose my own way.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the impatient knock on the door interrupts. “Come on in.” he says loudly.

Sammy enters the room, handing him a file. “The postmortem report is in, sir.”

The detective takes it immediately, walking away from your seat. “Thank you, you may go.”

You gulp as he leaves, every cell in your brain practically screaming at you to ask Jungkook about the report. Different types of emotions show up on the canvas of his face, and you keep your eyes fixed on him. Suddenly, he gets up, catching your wrist and pulling you up. You shriek, “What are you doing? Ugh–”

“Shut up. We need your fingerprints immediately.” He cuts you off, urging you to move. You look at him with glazed eyes.

“Fine. Go ahead. Finally I’ll be free of your dumb accusations.”

He stays silent, but his glare speaks volumes.

After another tense hour spent arguing with Jungkook, you come back to the office with Sammy. “When the heck is your boss coming back?” you ask.

“Soon. Please be patient. If you’re truly innocent then you’ll be free to go after he comes back with results from the lab. He’s consulting with Dr. Ramsey.”

“Fine.” You huff, crossing your arms around your chest.

To your surprise, the detective comes back within an hour, a grim expression on his face. “Go inside. I need to talk with Sammy.”

You nod, heading into the interrogation cell without any further ado. You lick your dry lips, your heart thrumming in your chest. What are the results?

Jungkook enters the room swiftly, his hands turned into fists. You nervously look at his cold, brown eyes, a surge of fear taking over you.

“Your fingerprint… it did not match. You’re free to go, for now. But, you’ll be called if the case takes different turns.” he explains.

Anger and frustration bubbles up in you, and before you know, your hand is planted against his cheek with a rough slap. He growls like a wounded animal, twisting your hand and backing you up against the desk. The pain makes you scream, and you struggle to take your hand away from his iron grip, “It hu–hurts!”

“Let it.” he grits his teeth, “How dare you slap me?!”

“It was well deserved! You asshole! You’re inhuman to make me mmh—”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, his teeth sinking on your lower lip. You gasp in surprise, and using this to his advantage, Jungkook enters you, biting your tongue. A moan escapes you, his taste intoxicating as he ravages your mouth like a starved animal. Your knees buckle from the feeling, but before your legs can give up, he holds you tightly, pulling you into his body. His hardened erection presses against your belly.

You mewl, your head lolling back in pleasure. Getting the access to your neck, he pulls out your jacket, his teeth scraping on the sensitive skin of your neck. He alternates between soft licks and hard bites. You thread your fingers through his silky black hair, crying out in pleasure.

“You like that, huh?”

Humming, you tug on his shirt, the buttons flying away as you pull it away with haste. You need to feel his skin against yours.

He looks at you intensely, picking you up to settle you on the desk. His hands quickly work you out of your clothes, not stopping until you’re completely naked in front of him.

Kissing you passionately, Jungkook grabs your breasts, squeezing and kneading them, grunting in your ear, “You’ve teased me all day with godforsaken body, now it’s my time. To absolutely ruin you until you can’t fucking talk.”

You shudder, mumbling against his lips between heady, demanding kisses, “I thought you hate me? Jeon Jungkook? What about your ethics?”

He leans down to bite your left nipple briefly in response, flicking his tongue along it and biting gently on your breast. “Who told you that I hate you?”

You moan, encouraging him to go on. “Oh really? Your actions said otherwise.”

He takes your right nipple, hungrily sucking on it and grazing his teeth along it. “What actions? Like kissing you? And sucking your tits?”

“Lord…” you breathe out, reaching for his zipper and pulling his pants and boxers down.

“Fuck!” Jungkook groans, his rock hard cock springing out. It bobs lazily, the tip an angry shade of pink.

Your jaw hangs open, he has a beautiful, massive girth with veins. Your hands automatically brush over it gingerly. He kisses you again, boosting your confidence, your fingers now spreading his pre-cum beads on his tip.

He grunts, touching your foreheads together as you work on him.

“Can I.. taste you?” you offer.

Eyes hazy with lust, he nibbles on your lower lip, tangling his tongue with yours, “Call me sir, y/n. Beg me, tell me how much you want it.”

You feel your cunt throb, your voice merely a whisper, “Please sir, let me suck your cock. I need it so badly.”

Jungkook smirks, “Get on your knees.”

Within a blink, you sit down in front of him. Your mouth waters as you watch his fully erected cock, your tongue sticking out to lick his tip teasingly. His mouth parts softly, his eyes locking with yours when you play with his pink tip. You suck and dab on it with your tongue to gather up the pre-cum. His hand holds you by your hair, guiding your mouth on his full length, hissing with pleasure.

You slacken your jaw, trying to adjust to his dick while he forces you to take him whole, soon making you gag. “Can’t you take all of it?”

He throws you the most, self-satisfied and knowing smirk. With a few inches still left, tears gather in the corner of your eyes as you choke on his shaft, unable to take more of him.

Jungkook brushes away a lone tear lingering by your eye gently, whispering, “It’s alright... use your hands where you can’t reach.”

Nodding, you take his base in your hands, pumping and twisting it whilst bobbing your mouth up and down his length. He lets out a guttural groan, holding your face while you softly bite down on him, licking it to soothe the slight pain. You’ve never felt so nasty in your life, sucking and licking his cock like it’s your favorite popsicle.

“Oh fuck!”

He moans when you reach down to fondle with his balls, his hips bucking up to meet you halfway, his tip hitting the back of your throat, making you gag again. Smiling, he takes the lead, going in and out of your mouth rapidly, incoherent words leaving you. You keep your hands on his balls, looking up at him with the most submissive eyes you can master.

“Ah! Damn it!” Jungkook grunts, picking up pace and mumbling to himself. You close your eyes from the anticipation, squeezing his cock with your throat. He slams in your mouth for one last time before he pulls out reluctantly, ordering you, “Climb up on the desk.”

You comply without any words, spreading your legs instinctively, waiting for him to touch your pussy which throbs for attention. He looks at your spread out form, licking his lips before attacking your mouth. You moan eagerly, his fingers parting your folds while he tastes himself in your mouth.

You break the kiss, grasping on his shoulders as he pushes two digits inside your core, pumping you slowly. He drops open mouthed, wet kisses along your jaw and your shoulder. His fingers curl inside you suddenly, making you whimper. You rock your hips with his movements, squeezing his fingers with your inner walls whenever he hits the correct spot. His thumb finds your swollen nub, rubbing it in tight circles.

Burying your face in his shoulder, you muffle your gasps and moans. Soon, you start to pulsate around him. He sucks on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, murmuring, “Don’t hold back. I can feel that you’re close.”

And you feel your pussy clench around his fingers. You can sense his smile against your skin, his fingers easing you out after you’ve come.

You take your time to gather yourself. Once stable, you look up to meet his brown orbs, darkened with desire. Jungkook extracts his fingers out of you, putting them in his mouth one by one and sucking them clean, “So fucking delicious, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks get warm from the compliment as he wraps your legs around his waist, his member poking your entrance. You bite your lip, whimpering softly at the thrill of Jeon Jungkook’s cock wrapped around your labia. He grunts, and without a warning, he slides inside your cunt.

Both of you moan simultaneously from the sudden pleasure, his cock stretching your walls to fit in. Once he’s balls deep inside you, he kisses your forehead, relishing the feeling of your warm, drenched core around his shaft. He fills you so perfectly, like two pieces of the same puzzle.

He starts to move, agonizingly slow and gentle, his lips peppering butterfly kisses on your bare skin. But soon, he loses it, jerking his hips to fill you up all the way and pulling away until only his tip is inside you, slamming back to your hilt again.

A string of whimpers escape you, his voice low from desire. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this to you since I saw you. You’re a fucking goddess.”

You pant heavily, looking up at him with doe eyes, crying out and mumbling between his hard thrusts. “I’ve... aah– wanted you too.” He reaches for your clit, his speed fervent. “Since– since I saw you ogling me.”

Jungkook chuckles out, his cock tirelessly hitting your g-spot again and again. “So you caught me staring, huh?”

You kiss him hungrily, moaning in his mouth as his cock brushes against your cervix, “I liked it– oh!”

He angles up his hips, stimulating you differently, in a way that leaves you feeling mushy. He presses on your clit harder, watching his length disappear inside your cunt and reappearing. He smiles when he feels your pussy tensing around him, his voice soft, “You feel so good, y/n.”

“Jungkook–”

He rolls your clit in tight circles, his thrusts now touching your cervix each time. Soon you feel the pleasure coil in your lower belly tightening, your voice a prayer as it snaps. Pleasure waves crash down on your body, your inner walls clenching around his cock. He slows down, gathering your body in his arms as you recover from the orgasm, feeling like a mess. Through the haze, you could feel one thing, that his cock is still inside you, hard and throbbing. You gulp, knowing that he’s not done yet.

Jungkook softly pushes you down on the table, the cold metallic surface hitting your back, a tingle running down your spine. He hauls up your legs, putting them up on his shoulders and looking down at you with a newfound tenderness.

His cock slides inside your cunt, filling you up inch by inch until you two are one, again. His movements are rough and demanding, but there’s a fragile intimacy between you.

You close your eyes, feeling slightly dizzy from the friction between your bodies. Your moans are a silent prayer to him. It seems like the more he fills you, the more your want for him crests. His hold on your legs tighten, and you know that he’s close.

“Cum in me, Jungkook...” you look up at him through half-closed eyelids, your cunt pulsating around him, making him growl.

“That’s potentially a dangerous invitation. Are you sure? We aren’t using protection so–”

“I’m on birth control. Please... I need your cum in me.”

“Fuck!”

He nods, giving a few more sloppy thrusts and shuddering, thick, milky ropes of his seed filling you up. You scream his name, quaking as you reach your third orgasm, a low groan falling off his lips. “Y/n... You feel so– oh my god!”

Your walls clamping down on his cock catches him off-guard, his pelvic muscles contracting.

Silence fills up the room, only your heavy breathing echoing through the cold, dimly lit office. He pulls out carefully, carrying you to the nearby washroom and cleaning you up, and cleaning himself.

“Can you walk?” He asks, concern coloring his voice.

You sigh, shaking your head, “I don’t know...”

He cradles you in his arms, taking you to a bedroom that’s connected with his office by an elevator. The door to it is hidden and secured with a number lock.

He puts you down on the bed, kissing your forehead and whispering softly, “I’m so sorry for being a jerk earlier... And I’m so sorry for now, I shouldn’t have worn you out like this...”

You squeeze his hands, looking at him with pain flashing in your eyes, “You were really an asshole with me jungkook... I lost my only family and you were so rough with me about everything... And–”

You stop, your stomach sinking as the thought crosses your mind, “And what did I do? I fucked the detective who’s investigating his murder. I’m– such a horrible niece–”

He bites his lip, his fingers brushing away your tears when you curl up in a cocoon, shame, guilt, pain tearing your heart apart.

“It’s– it’s my fault... Please don’t blame yourself.” Jungkook holds you close, stroking your back while you sob in his arms.

“I promise I’ll find out who did that to your uncle, okay?” He kisses your neck. “In fact, Sammy should be back soon with the fingerprint results of the rest of the Emery family.”

He drapes a soft blanket over you, “Rest, sweetheart. I’ll let you know once I figure out everything.”

Jungkook comes back after another hour, and you sit up immediately, a lump in your throat. “Do you… do you know who did it?”

He sighs, biting his lower lip nervously, “It was Mrs. Emery. Her finger print was found on the button of your top, as well as on your uncle’s phone.”

Clouds of overwhelming emotions gather in your mind… and tears stream down your cheeks in a silent pain that only you know. He comes up to your side quickly, hugging you tightly and patting your back.

“I already sent the police to arrest her. I don’t know why she was trying to frame you, but… we’ll see I guess.”

His protective hands hold you close as sobs wreck your body. You mumble, holding onto him tightly, “I– she took the only person whom I had in my life.”

Jungkook kisses you softly, “Not anymore. You have me y/n.”

the end ♥

author’s notes 💌:

thank you so much for reading bubs! hopefully you enjoyed this very ambitious project of mine 🥰! reblogs are highly appreciated 🥺💕! also leave your feedback if you want to 🥺❣️uwu! this is the longest fic i’ve ever written lol ✨ i truly hope that i was able to execute my ideas properly T^T

ILY all 🥺💜💫 happy festa angels 💓💗💕!

Permanent taglist:

@moonchildsmoon ; @sweeneyblue1 ; @shykoosworld ; @bangtanolan ; @mikrokosmicjoon ; @btslover3012 ; @itzsavage07 ; @promisable ; @sunkissed725 ; @btsizlyfe ; @wildflower-cth ; @powerpuffsw23 ; @giadalin ; @joonsplants ; @yzkyzkuniverse ; @immortal-imagination ; @aretha170 ; @wt-fxck ; @gee-nee ; @misshale21 ; @imluckybitches ; @hopekookies ; @queenmasterxx ; @knjkitten ; @bethanmari ; @moonkope ; @miinoongi ; @mama-m0chi ; @miriamxsworld ; @lustremyg ; @moonchildaera ; @babygirloreo ; @laurynne5 ; @mochamalik14 ; @sluttguk ; @justsugar ; @imanerdychubbyqueen ; @adventuresinwonderlust ; @wanderfulwandyson ; @nochuel ; @mwitsmejk ; @rjsmochii ; @bigbootyjoonie ; @needingyou2 ; @maichiverse ; @taegiin ; @unicornbabylover ; @agustneeds ; @smutficjunkie ; @softlyjeon ;

Please Love Me (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre/Tags: arranged marriage, childhood friends, CEO kids; angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: foul language, smut in the form of unprotected sex (please stay safe!), oral (18+)

Word count: 18.3k

Series summary: As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

A/N: And it ends! Thank you to all who took interest in this story. It means a lot to be able to write this bc of how much I can relate with OC (except for being rich & being real nice) and I hope some elements of the story were relatable to you all as well. This will probably be most favorite piece of work ever and your sweet words mean so much. :)

ALSO please check out this moodboard made by @jeonwiixard who’s been so sweet about her appreciation for this story :)

Playlist: Like Lovers Do by Hunter Plake │Waiting For You by Got7 │Sinking Ship by Seafret │ Signal Fire by Snow Patrol │ Incomplete by James Bay │ The Few Things by JP Saxe & Charlotte Lawrence │ Wild Love (Acoustic) by James Bay │ Paperweight by Joshua Radin & Schuyler Fisk

Part 01, Part 02, Part 03 (completed) || Follow-up

#

Jungkook starts to panic as he opens every room and doesn’t find you there. It’s when he sees that your car key isn’t on the keyholder that he concludes you left, for where, he doesn’t know. It’s too early to go anywhere and he hopes that you just drove somewhere to watch the sunrise to clear your head, or to the beach to think. You’re a big girl, he knows that. You’d lived on your own for years; somehow he knows you’re safe. 

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This is just soo amazing n beautifully written🥺💗✨

Soft & Sad & Happy & Something Else | KSJ

Genre: Songfic based on Breathless by Shayne Ward

Pairings: Jin x Reader

Rating: 18+ / Mature / Explicit

Themes & Content Warnings: Fluff, smut, comfort, strangers to lovers, slow-ish burn, oral, vaginal, fingering

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: For @skyys-universe‘s ask! I haven’t published a songfic before. Loved the imagery and the feels. I really hope you like it, and that it elicits the feels you wanted! 💜

Permanent Taglist: @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld @greezenini @missbickerbocker @dearbambideer @helenazbmrskai​ @morti13 @skyys-universe​

Kim Seokjin is soft.

You guess based on the way he’s smiling so warmly at you from across the table. He started at work a month ago, and though you’ve been assigned to show him the ropes, you still barely know him. First dates aren’t your forte, you whined, but as your sister smoothed the wrinkle on the back of your gorgeous new dress and gave you a kiss on the cheek for luck, she reminded you that first dates weren’t really anyone’s forte.

Sighing, you rest your chin in your hand, elbow on the table, fingers pressing lightly onto your cheek, as if trying to reach her. As if trying to activate the beacon. A signal for help.

The reason you need help is because Kim Seokjin’s warm smile hits like gasoline on the kindling in your chest.

It’s actually Kim Seokjin who needs the help. His smile is so warm because over the course of twenty-eight days, twelve hours, a goat cheese salad, prime rib, and a shared chocolate cake, the candle that he lit in worship of you has turned into a torch that he will carry for you.

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all of you | masterlist

banner by the lovely @kithtaehyung​ 💕​

pairing ↠ ceo!jimin x reader

genre ↠ friends to lovers | arranged marriage AU (fluff, angst, smut)

18+ | series warnings ↠ drinking, swearing, explicit sexual content, an unwanted arranged marriage, pregnancy. (warnings will be more detailed for each part.)

summary ↠ Park Jimin is your definition of perfect. He’s talented, handsome, and dedicated to everything he does, making him the man of your dreams. But what happens when you both wake up one day and realise that’s all you had together…  a short dream?

word count ↠ 115k+

↠  prologue

↠ part 1

↠ part 2 (m)

↠ part 3

↠ part 4 (m)

↠ part 5

↠ part 6

↠ part 7

↠ part 8 (m)

↠ all of you: forever (epilogue)

bonus drabbles: (coming soon!)

# 1 — the first time

# 2 — tobias returns

mini-playlist here!

taglist is open — comment/dm/send an ask to be added :)

if you read and enjoy this series, please let me know!  send an ask / message / comment — it would mean so much to me! thank you <3

Kairos

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader

☼ Genre: A/B/O dynamics, college au, omega!reader, Alpha!CEO!Seokjin, s2l, fluff, smut, minor angst (they’re idiots)

☼ Count: 25.6K

☼ Warnings: teasing, marking (+ a little blood), unprotected sex (stay safe kids!), knotting, creampie, multiple orgasms, impreg kink, minor dom/sub undertones, oral (f receiving), fingering, pillow humping, dirty talk, praise kink, heat sex, seokjin is a soft alpha

☼ Summary: kairos καιρός (greek, n.) - the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement

When your financial aid falls through for your last year of school, you fear you’ll have to drop out and postpone your degree. Until Taehyung gives you a suggestion to make a lot of money, quick. His idea can’t possibly end well, can it?

☼ a/n: So, guess who’s not dead? Sorry it took so long to get something new out, life’s been… busy. I’ve got other stuff currently in the works and I hopefully won’t take quite so long to put something else out again. Anyway let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

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éffleurer | 01

There were always whispers in your office about what secrets Seokjin hid behind his clean image. Now, you knew at least one of them.

Pairing: Seokjin x Female Reader

Genre: CFO!Jin AU; Smut

Word Count: 4,900+

Warnings: Profanity, mentions of sex, mature themes

Notes: Sections entirely in italics denote a flashback

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

At your illustrious accounting firm, Seokjin was only known to be an all-around good guy, the type to spend his weekends attending charity events where he handed over huge checks or buying backpacks filled with supplies for school drives. Last year, he had even headed a project to help local businesses fix their struggling budget books, saving countless small shop owners throughout the district.

And with luck on your side, after being hired into this proverbial den of wolves, you found yourself blessed with a boss whose kindness and good looks were only overshadowed by the trust the CEO seemed to have in him and the results he brought in for the company. Results you now had the pleasure of helping him bring in. And if anyone was more than pleased with making Seokjin happy, it was you.

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✨Always going to be my fav✨

Admire | 01

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Here we go! I’ve said it before, but this story was based off a dream I had ages ago. I’m not quite sure how long the fic will be, but I figured I should write and share as soon as I could. Enjoy :)

<< masterlist

»»————- <<prologue | next >> ————-««  

  After all that, you supposed God wasn’t too cruel in the end.

You only say this because even in the midst of every other screwed up thing going on in this family-organised-arranged-marriage, the deity had decided to reward you with a man that wasn’t grotesque to look at. Actually, Seokjin was pretty damn far from it.

You observed the back of the tall man’s head as you made your way up towards the house. Our house. The whole place had been settled for you already, making you feel as though your marriage to this wealthy son had been planned long before you’d learned how to even walk.

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⤑ made-up love song i.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, not really much to warn in this first chapter, there’s some flirting, oc doesn’t want to admit she finds seokjin dishy, she’s possibly in denial that there’s a spark there, jimin and soobin appear 🥰 words; 11,028 

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii  • ix • x • epilogue  (+ drabbles)

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Scent of a Woman {KNJ romance}

Pairing: leopard hybrid parfumerie boss!Namjoon x female reader!employee

Genre: Hybrid AU. Romance. Smut. Pining. Slow burn. Angst. strong father themes. NOT DADDY-type themes. EXPLICIT 🔞🔞🔞

Warnings: super super eemootiionaaal sex- is that a warning? No breed-you-with-my-pups here. Leopard-style sex, which just means, really, he comes in from the back ( I watched Nat Geo to make sure LOL). Mirror sex (so that they can look at each other @ralypenny this is part of your ask that I finally fulfilled).

Summary: In this hybrid AU, hybrids are rich and powerful. You are fully human in form and in weakness. Too bad you’re falling for your hybrid boss. And mayhaps he’s falling for you.

Word count: 10k

Special thanks: @hobi-gif for being a kick-ass beta reader with 56 edits that I never knew I needed. You read this while you were so tired, and took the time to encourage me. I'm so grateful.

Much appreciation to the following who have read it in some point of draft form and encouraged me: @httpnamjoonie94reads @jinfizz, @bonvoyagenoona @bangtanmademedoit @lcksndkys @xjoonchildx

——————————

“Stupid human,

Homo sapien

Little Alien

Tiny Cranium

Eat uranium

Poop Titanium

Homo sapien

Stupid human.”

You know the chant by heart.

Even now, more than twenty years later, the tune, the cadence, the leering faces that surrounded you are hauntingly familiar.

One glance at your comparably smaller build, your simple clothes, your plain, singular-species face was obvious enough to announce to anyone that you’re fully human.

The hybrids of your time are often part of the super-rich. It’s no surprise considering their survival instincts for attracting the richest, biggest, smartest, and fastest mates are well-honed from centuries of evolution.

Imbued with stronger genes than full-blooded humans, the hybrids live longer, look prettier, work faster, breed better, and probably fuck harder too.

So you were expected to count yourself lucky your mother worked as a live-in housekeeper for a rich hybrid family. And you were expected to count yourself lucky that their residential address allowed you to benefit from the most exclusive school districts in the country full of wealthy hybrids.

But you weren’t lucky.

Everyone knew you as the housekeeper’s daughter, as if that were more dignified than your name. Everyone made fun of you for being smaller, slower, shorter. More human.

And every day, you trudged to school, walking down the halls feeling like prey waiting to be fed to a room full of predators.

So you suffered alone through elementary, middle, and high school, always as the housekeeper’s daughter, always the butt of their jokes, always ready with fingers curled into hard fists to fend for yourself.

With each passing year, three things became clear to you:

You could never work for a hybrid.

You would never date a hybrid.

You should never, ever fuck a hybrid.

(Unless he was really good looking.)

————————

Kim Namjoon feels a little disconcerted.

He’s always been uber confident in his decisions, single-minded in his pursuit to establish the city’s most sought after bespoke parfumerie.

But lately, he’s doubting his choice to hire you as his shop assistant.

Your presence in his parfumerie disorients him. At first, it’s how the shop’s minimalist decor was suddenly disrupted by a burst of colour when you snuck in an inelegant bunch of flowers and placed them in a little jar of water, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner.

The old florist at the corner couldn’t sell this yesterday was your excuse. The petals were starting to droop, leaves yellowing with age, stems weak and insipid. And though the red gerberas clashed with the pathetic little violets, they held his gaze whenever he passed by.

Every day, a new bunch of sad-looking flowers would sit in the same jar, in different leftover color combinations. And every day, he found himself looking forward to them. Today it’s bright pink carnations mixed with orange marigolds, vulgar in their color but intriguing in their scent. Yesterday, it was half-dead roses mixed with a bright yellow peony.

He’s used to perfection— precision even —not this explosive mess of color and smells. By his standards, he should not even think these haphazard flowers are pretty. But here he is, admiring the furl of the carnation petal, thinking how silky smooth it feels despite its ragged edge. It’s almost… beautiful, nevermind the little brown flecks from its over exposure in the sun.

He doesn’t know why he quietly lets you bring this visual chaos into the calm monochrome of his shop. Or why he stops breathing a little when you brush past him to dust the corner of the shelf. (The shop has never been cleaner since you arrived.)

He can’t fathom why it’s suddenly hard to finalize the top notes of a perfume for one of his most important clients. Or why he finds himself wondering about the shampoo you’re using because the fragrance is driving him insane with curiosity.

But here you are, tying your buttery yellow hair ribbon on the door handle because it looks pretty like that and you heard an old country song on the way here and there’s no old oak tree to tie that around so the door will have to do.

He grimaces a little at your prattling, not trusting himself to speak. Because, truth be told, he wants nothing more than to rip off that ribbon and let his nose linger all over the satin fabric. He wants to, no, needs to, break down the entire fragrance profile which teases him every time you’re near.

It’s only logical since he’s in the perfume business.

At least, this is what he tells himself as he clenches his knuckles white to stop himself.

Only logical.

----------------------------------

Sometimes, you wonder what it’s like to be thoroughly fucked by the Kim Namjoon.

But of course, as your boss, he’s off limits like everyone else you’ve been attracted to. Let’s see… there was your brother’s best friend, your best friend’s ex-boyfriend, your science lab partner whom you later found out was gay and actually pining for the guy across the aisle.

You have a niggling feeling that you’re living in a strange fanfic universe full of well-trodden tropes but you banish those thoughts just like you banish your thoughts about Mr. Kim.

You remind yourself you are just a shop assistant and you desperately need this salary. That you have three rules regarding hybrids: one which you’ve already broken, two which you wish you could break, and all three with Kim Namjoon.

Sigh. If only you didn’t need this job, then there would be no rules to break. Your degree in art was a total waste of money in terms of finding a job after graduation. And when you walked by the swanky, modern storefront which advertised for a shop assistant six months ago, you ventured in without hesitation, desperate to pay off your college loan after another failed interview.

Entering the elegant interior, you went quiet for a moment as you spied a man suited impeccably in black, his gaze intent on the glass beakers of oils set on the counter.

It really had been too long since you studied a man who was not Cezanne or Matisse. With his sleek, sinewy build paired with a breathtaking side profile, he looked like a very tall, and very delicious glass of dark rum and Coke: sweet, smooth, and altogether dangerous.

Suddenly remembering you were here for a job opening, you were determined to make a first good impression.

“Hi—” you try your brightest, chirpiest voice.

“You’re hired,” he declared, without looking up.

“Excuse me? Wait. What?” you asked, heart racing.

“You’re obviously not here to buy perfume, so you must be here for the job opening. You’re hired. Starting today.”

You glanced at your plain black and white office attire that you’ve worn to hundreds of interviews. This was a high-end boutique but you didn’t think you looked that poor.

“If you really want to know, it’s not the outfit, it’s the desperation,” he said, eyes still focused on each drop of amber liquid he’s releasing into the glass beaker from an oil dropper.

“D-desperation?”

“I smelled it. Heard it in the thudding of your heart the moment you’d walked in.” He said it like he was talking about his coffee order (iced Americano, venti). “You’re desperate. And I need someone. Don’t usually take a full-blooded human. But I’ll take you.”

He finally lifted his eyes and you saw their slight but unmistakable fiery glow.

He’s one of the big-cat hybrids. They always seem so sleek and sophisticated, so sure of themselves and well, confident. It’s the money, it’s the superior genes, it’s everything... you’re not.

“Um, yes. I’m desperate for a job. Mister...?” You were nervous as hell. He was making you nervous as hell. Perhaps he was toying with you, like how a cat likes to play with a mouse.

“Kim. But call me Namjoon.”

That Kim Namjoon. The one in the tabloids for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m the right candidate for this position. I’ll just see myself ou—”

“Wait. You don’t have to worry about that. My hybrid interests are rather, you might say, specific.” He smirked, as if he would ever be interested in you, full-blooded in human form and human weakness.

Okay. You’re not his type. Got the message loud and clear. “Uh, the monthly salary?”

Lips curled in a triumphant grin, he announced, “5 million won.”

Holy shit.

And so that’s how you find yourself here, days peacefully filled with dusting between crystal flasks and glass beakers, fetching blotters and flacons for Mr. Kim, sweeping the shop floor and making everything sparkle.

Your daily tasks also involve decanting perfume oils according to your boss’ specifications for sampling. By now, you’re used to arranging the vials of oil on a little movable bar cart for his signature bespoke sessions with each client; always paired with a glass of bubbly for Miss or Madam.

Cleaning, dusting, decanting are all easy parts of this job.

The hard part is dealing with the disdain, and sometimes, even disgust, you get from his clients—all female hybrids of some variety. They flock to this boutique because for the longest time, it’s been taboo among the female upper class hybrids to carry the scent of their hybrid ancestry.

You feel like you should pity them; after all, they can’t help it if they smell like horse and hay, like wild game or cat piss.

But it’s difficult when they never grace you with a second glance when they enter the shop; harder still when they brush off invisible dirt from being infected by your presence when they leave.

With their impossibly high cheekbones, noses yet higher in the air, they show not an iota of kindness. To them, you’re just staff. And well, you of all people know the hybrids are used to treating their staff a certain way.

You remind yourself the salary is worth the dismissive tone, the scornful glances.

That you can and you will carry yourself with dignity even though you weren’t born into money like them.

That the only difference between you and them is that they’ve held the attention of Kim Namjoon for hours at a time.

That he has listened to each one talk about her favorite childhood memories, her favorite meal, her hopes and dreams to get a feel of what she’d like in a personal fragrance.

That when he works on a new fragrance for a client, she’s all he thinks about, always quietly brooding about the fragrance profile until a rare smile breaks across his face because he’s got it.

That he’ll smell the inside of her wrists, inhale a breath behind her ears to see if the scent combination worked with her skin. The top note. The heart note. The base note.

He’s just doing his job. You tell yourself.

It’s not a big deal. Not at all.

Then why do you wish that you could just be one for them, just for one day?

--------------------------------------------

Kim Namjoon just can’t get this right.

He’s been building Eau de Parfum No. 1071 for a client for some time now. The complex fragrance was going well with its symphony of sandalwood, vetiver, oud and oakmoss. The top notes of orange flow like a kind, generous invitation, the base notes carried mainly by oakmoss and sandalwood are strong and supportive, but the heart note, the heart was missing.

On a whim he tries a bit of vanilla. Too flighty.

Maybe a bit of neroli. Too serious.

He thinks for a moment and then looks over his files on this client. Perhaps something floral. Or fig?

It’s here where he works his hardest, commanding oils to mix and mesh, to meld into a message. Sometimes it’s longing, other times, it’s innocence. This client wants sophistication, and Kim Namjoon always delivers.

Yet, something about this fragrance profile of No. 1071 puzzles him. It seems a little too masculine for the client in question.

Perturbed, he approaches you. He almost never asks for a second opinion, but he can’t stop his feet from stalking quietly out of his private office and onto the shop floor.

Nowadays, he finds himself relishing the split second before you sense his presence.

It’s when he can breathe in your entirety, undisturbed. He misses nothing, not the perpetual slight tilt of your head like you’re listening to some invisible music of the spheres, not the impish grin of your lips like you’re in cahoots with those god-awful flowers you bring in everyday. There’s the serious eyes, the sometimes sassy mouth. Smart and sexy like a mix of heaven and hell.

It’s a while before you notice him, and his heart skips a beat when you ask in that quiet, serious way of yours, “Yes, Mr. Kim?”

“I need you to smell this and tell me what you think,” he says, voice a little crackly.

“Well, Mr. Kim, that would be an extra twenty thousand won per hour,” you quip, a little smile peeking below your serious eyes. “But, honestly, I don’t know much about the accords and notes and...”

“Just use your instincts. Just feel.”

He holds out the testing strip to you, thinking himself a little stupid for asking for help.

He looks carefully at how your hand moves closer and closer to his. How the inches, then centimeters bring you nearer to him; fingers almost touching.

Shit, Namjoon sees a slight tremble in his hand. He’s sure you see it too. Why the hell is he so nervous?

He expects you to take the tester from him. But, eyes closed, you lean in to take a whiff. He wonders fleetingly if you look like this when you kiss. You’re quiet, nose hovering just above the tester, just over his fingers, the light touch of the in-and-out of your breathing feathering his skin.

Fighting to hold still, he focuses on you as the scent begins to hit you in different ways. A look of complete and utter longing flits across your features, and he sees you’ve surrendered completely to the heart of the fragrance. “What does it smell like?” He’s desperate to know.

For a long while, you can’t answer him.

“It smells like...” you murmur, “like my dad. My dad.”

Your father would twirl you round and round under the orange tree in the greenhouse at sunset when his day’s work was done; your nose buried in his plain cotton shirt, every warp and weft woven with the fragrance of the flowers he grew. The hands that lifted you and tossed you in the air were hands that carried the smell of the earth, rich with moss.

He was a gardener for the wealthy, and while he grew flowers, he raised you until… until you were not old enough.

“I miss him. He left too soon.”

Kim Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. Words like I’m sorry; words like I’m sure he’s proud of you; those words are not enough. He wishes he could touch you, pull you into him, shelter you with an umbrella against the grey sky of grief until light breaks through.

But he’s your boss. He can’t.

Wordlessly, he hands you a tissue.

“Thanks, I’m fine, really,” you sniff. “I’ll get back to work now, Mr. Kim.”

Namjoon hears the steely strength in your voice even though your breath is shaky. “The shelves don’t mean anything, Y/N. Not today. If you need time…”

“I’m okay. I miss him. That’s all.” Squaring your shoulders, you go back to wiping down the shelves.

But the sudden thought of the paper tester cradling the scent of your dad in its pores dumped unceremoniously in the trash stops you. “Mr, Kim, if you don’t want the testing strip anymore, could I have it please?”

“Of course.” Namjoon leaves the strip on the edge of the counter, careful not to contaminate the part holding the fragrance.

Back in his office, Kim Namjoon sits down and opens his leather-bound ledger. It’s where he records every perfume he has created for clients over the years. A new fragrance will be entered in its pages today. The sample vial sits quietly on his mirrored desk, waiting to be named.

When he’s done, he slips quietly into the backroom where you keep your bag and places the tiny bottle of perfume oil beside it.

Written on the label is his small neat script:

Dad. For Y/N.

Eau De Parfum No. 1072

By KNJ

No. 1072 will forever be yours now.

-------------------

You’re so embarrassed.

You’ve never been late before. Not for work. Not for school. Not even for your expected date of birth, arriving right on the dot at the stroke of midnight, quietly triumphant of your punctuality even as a little babe.

You shudder at the confluence of all the bad luck that happened today.

The one day you forget your umbrella is when a sudden burst of rain catches you unprepared. Traffic was snarling as the slippery roads caused a car accident along the way.

As the rain wreaks havoc on your dress, you scold yourself for wearing your glasses today instead of contacts. You can hardly see a thing as you hurry up the path to the shop from the bus-stop. And what a stupid choice of an outfit today. A fitted white linen dress? You might as well be wearing nothing at this rate that you’re getting wet. Even the flower seller by the corner knew better than to put out her bouquets at the shop front this morning. You better hurry. You’re so late.

Without warning, you find yourself lurching forward over the cobblestones, balance completely fucked as your last coherent thought mocks you: you should not have worn your stupid pair of wedges today with the shitty grip. Bracing your arms out in front of you for the impact to come, you’re surprised when you find yourself in the strong, safe grasp of… your boss.

“Easy there,” he murmurs. Kim Namjoon must be a leopard hybrid of the highest order. You neither heard nor saw him a second ago. And now, he’s steadying you with his arm around your waist, his umbrella over you.

God. He’s so close.

Namjoon knows he held you for a second longer than he probably should, but it’s a second that he will cherish and play over and over again in his mind later. “You should remember your umbrella next time,” he says, trying to distract himself from petrichor, the smell of rain, mingled with the scent of a woman— your scent.

“I should,” was all you can reply, too affected by how your shoulders and elbows are bumping against each other underneath the umbrella to say more. Were you imagining the reluctance in his fingers when he let go of your waist just now? You shiver at the thought. It can’t be.

Namjoon sees it and thinks you’re cold, the wind picking up speed now. He wonders if he should take off his suit jacket and drape it around you temporarily; at least until you get to the shelter of the shop. But then his jacket would smell like you and he’s not sure if he would be able to concentrate for the rest of the day after that.

His own instinct for survival kicks in and overtakes his heart. No, his jacket stays on.

“Glad I went out to get a coffee earlier or I wouldn’t have seen you.” He’s trying to explain why he’s here, beside you; trying to hide the fact that he saw your lithe figure struggling up the hill, and how he worried when he spied you without an umbrella.

He can’t believe he’s lying.

So he doesn’t say anymore, just gives you his arm to hold while you negotiate the slippery sidewalk. It’s wiser than holding you; letting go of you for the second time would prove to be difficult.

You’re quiet, rendered blind by your rapidly fogging up glasses, deaf by the drumming of raindrops, mute by the closeness of his presence, and crippled by your stupid, stupid shoes.

But you can smell, and you can feel.

And, dear reader, he smells amazing. Like strength and trust. And somehow, it makes you feel quite, quite safe.

-----------------------------------------

Inside the shop, he grabs a towel from the back and gives it to you. You murmur a word of thanks as you quickly fumble open your satchel to take out a sketchbook, groaning when you see that the rain has soaked through the pages of the book. You try to dab away the damp pages with the towel, but the water damage is already extensive.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, could I lay these out on the counter? I know they don’t look like much, just pencil sketches really, but I hope I could dry out each page before they stick to each other. It’s just—I spent so many hours on—"

“Go on.” It amuses him that you didn’t even bother to dry your dripping hair, nor the soaked dress wrapped around your body.

You carefully take out each sketch and lay it across the glossy surface, every art piece precious, every penciled stroke so intimately a part of you that you know its when, where, and why.

It feels like you’re laying bare yourself to a stranger. You wish he weren’t here, wish his prying eyes weren’t raking over the drawings.

But for the sake of your sketches, you soldier on, murmuring an apology to each naked sketch, unpainted and unfinished, as you thrust it on the cold glass of the counter.

Namjoon loses count of exactly how many drawings there are, every picture inviting him to see the world through your eyes.

The ladybird, quiet and brooding with the weight of the world on her shoulders as she considers a leaf.

The field of daffodils like a class of eager children waving their stretched hands to answer an easy question from the sun.

“When do you find time to draw?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the sketches, moving slowly along the counter to admire each one. He knows if he looks at you, he might do something fucking stupid after catching a glimpse of your body under the sheer, translucent dress.

“Here and there. Sometimes after I finish dusting here at the shop. Sometimes when I go home. Or even on the bus.”

He senses your apprehension with the last pages of your sketchbook that you’re clutching to your bosom. “Don’t hide them from me. They’re beautiful,” he says gesturing to the rest of your pictures. “Let me see, please.”

At his request, you offer the last two pieces to him. His gaze is intense as he zeroes in on the clever curve of the leopard’s tail on your paper. He stares at it, instantly recognizing his own steely gaze in the big cat, the signature scowl on the left side of his jaw drawn to perfection.

And then, there’s the picture of the fig tree—its trunk, leaf, and flower etched as if by the hand of god. Lost in his thoughts, he’s clutching on the two sketches a little too tightly than you like.

“Mr Kim. Mr. Kim. Um, could I have it back please?” Any moment now and he might tear it. It might be just a sketch but it’s still a piece of work that you treasure.

He snaps back to reality and finally notices his fingers are almost ready to crumple the flimsy paper bearing your sketch. “Shit. I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he apologizes. “Here. Don’t stop drawing. They’re perfect. Just, uh… don’t stop. I’ll be in my office. Let me know when my ten o’clock arrives.”

You nod quietly, glad to have some time to clean up and get dry, but also a little puzzled as to what came over your boss.

————----------------------------

Namjoon bursts out into his office, glad to sink into his chair, comforted by the familiarity of his desk and surrounded by his array of pipettes, testing strips, glass bottles, and vials. They are uncomplicated things, precise and emotionless. Dependable. Predictable.

For a cat hybrid, he is more a lone wolf than anything, preferring the solace of his own company, the solitude of his thoughts. The memories of his dad had almost suffocated him out there on the shop floor. Emotions are not his forte.

The picture you drew ushered the smell of figs to him, bringing him back immediately to that fateful evening where a plate of freshly cut figs lay ignored on his father’s mahogany desk.

“Son, it’s time to stop the fucking around and take your place in the company.”

“I’m sorry, but my answer is still no. It’s just not me. I can’t report to a dozen board members, to thousands of shareholders.” And most of all, if he cared to admit it, he couldn’t report to his overbearing father.

When will his father ever understand he prefers the calm of sandalwood to the clamor of the boardroom? That he loves the complexities of jasmine, and fucking hates the backstabbing in the corporate world? Even with his fancy Sloan School MBA which his father had insisted on, his interests surely lie more in perfume than price projections for the quarterly report.

“Namjoon, walk out of here and you will amount to nothing. You hear? Nothing. Your duty is here. Your legacy is here. Your future is here. I’ve planned it out for you. It’s yours for the taking. Stay here. Stay home.”

He remembers how he took the house key out of his pocket and placed it next to the plate of figs. How he felt free when he turned and started for the doors. His dad did not follow him nor call after him, but it was the scent of fig which pursued him, saturating his pores, tempting him to walk out of paradise with shame and regret like the first sinner in the family.

But no, he had stalked out of there, head held high, finally a master of his own destiny.

Namjoon wishes he didn’t have to revisit these memories brought on by your drawings. But oh god—your drawings.

Who knew his pretty little assistant could draw so well?

Your style is a little raw, a little wild; unrestrained yes, but also, lively. He’s intrigued. He wants to find out more—because, he tells himself, because, he’s an art collector. His interests are purely business.

Really.

----------------------------------

The next day you arrive at the store to set up for the day’s clients when you notice a stack of Strathmore sketch pads of thick, heavy paper and Caran D'ache sketch pencils wrapped in satin blue ribbon. Written simply on the card, were the words Don’t stop.

It looks expensive as hell and you know it’s meant for you, but there’s no way you can accept it. Better your one-dollar pencil on recycled paper than a debt owed to a hybrid family you cannot repay.

And so you leave it at the corner of the glass counter, its shiny mirrored surface mocking you for your prudishness for not accepting his gift every time you glance in that direction.

Oh but fuck, how your hands itch to test the glide of smooth graphite on the cream of the paper. You know you cannot. You know you must not. Your mama has taught you never to be indebted to anyone or anything. There’s danger written all over that gift. The sample vial of perfume was different. That was something he would have thrown away. But this—this is different.

With a sigh, you take out the polishing cloth, determined to finally deep-clean his desk and office chair before he comes in. He’s usually in by this time, already hard at work in his private office. It’s a good thing you can give it a go today.

Mixed in the grain of the dark, rich leather chair, you catch a whiff of his scent. It smells of power, tempered with a softness you’re surprised to detect. You can’t help but press your nose into its plush cushioned back a little more.

It reminds you a little of the sweetness of hay mixed with the musk of the stable horses on your grandparents’ farm. You rub the polishing cloth all over the leather chair, dreaming of those carefree days. How good it felt to go barefoot in the soft earth, dandelions spread across the carpet of grass like rich, yellow butter.

Next, his black mirrored desk.

You use the special glass polish for this, making sure not to smudge the desk with your fingers.

The mirrored surface is unforgiving, and you see the tiny scar above your lip, the one the bully gave you at the playground (for which you returned a black eye) when you were six.

And there there’s your non-hybrid eyes, looking entirely plain, and completely uninteresting. You sigh. If only to be born a hybrid. Imagine the riches, the privilege, the—

you catch his eyes in the mirror of the desk.

“Mr. Kim!” you gasp, “Shit, you scared me!”

“Sorry. Didn’t expect you here. You’re usually out at the front,” he says.

“I—I just wanted to give it a clean,” you say. “I apologize—”

“No, it's fine. I’ll just head out and come back later—” he says.

“I’m actually done here,” you offer.

“Great. Thanks.” He watches as you gather the cleaning supplies and leave, his gaze never intrusive, but never leaving your retreating form.

“About the pencils and paper—” he begins.

“I’m sorry, I can’t accept such a gift,” you apologize.

“Well, what if I say, I want you to draw whatever inspires you in the shop and we can consider which ones to put around the shop or use as graphics for new labels for the perfumes?”

He senses your hesitation, so he ploughs on, “I’ll put it in your job description so it’s not like you’ll have a choice.”

Draw? As part of your job?

“Mr. Kim. I may be a poor employee, but I always have a choice,” you say quietly.

He takes a moment to savor the shape of your words and their quiet dignity. “Well damn. I apologize for being out of line. I hope by now, you know you are anything but a poor employee to me.”

He doesn’t know what the hell he means by that. It just slipped out. “Just… do whatever you wish. You should know by now that I trust you. If the daily duties are done, you’re free to use the time as you see fit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. I appreciate it.”

“For the hundredth time, it’s Namjoon.”

“Certainly, Mr. Kim,” you say, the corners of your mouth lifting into a wry smile. You’ve never called him Namjoon and never will. He should know that by now.

He smiles back, genuinely, dimples winking as he breaks into a little laugh.

The tension subsides between the both of you and somehow the air in the shop feels a little lighter than before.

———————————————-

Soon after, you begin to realize that you have less to do in the day. The perfume oils for sampling by each day’s clients are already decanted into the little vials when you arrive for work. And then, the black marble floors seem to look effortlessly clean. Plus little corners of the shop shelves seem to have had a dusting before you could get to it.

All of a sudden, you have so much more time to spend on your drawings (though you’re still not using any of the art materials he bought).

What the hell is going on?

You have a theory, and to test it, you decide to deliberately leave your scarf behind when you head out of the shop after work.

Twenty minutes later, you return to the shop. Through the glass windows, you spy the back outline of his form, mopping the floor as elegantly as a leopard hybrid would.

You hurry to unlock the door with your key and step onto the shop floor.

“Mr. Kim. What are you doing?” you ask, voice trembling. “Did I not do a good job?”

He turns to face you and actually looks guilty.

“No. No. I, uh, I just wasn’t hungry for dinner yet, so I thought I’d work on the floor,” he says. For all the confidence he exudes, he looks like a little schoolboy right now, hand caught in the cookie jar.

“You’re not very good at lying,” you say quietly. “Are you doing this so I have time to draw?”

Kim Namjoon wishes he doesn’t have to answer this but you’re staring at him and staring at him and suddenly he feels a little weak. “So, why are you back?” he asks, hoping to gain back some control over the rapid unravelling of the evening.

“I—I, ah, forgot my scarf.” God, that sounded pathetic.

“You’re not that convincing either,” he muses.

And then you’re looking at him and he’s gazing at you, and you wait for words that always come so easily to you but none arrive.

“Listen. It’s getting late. I know this little cafe two streets over. Do you...”

“Mr. Kim.” God. Why do you sound so needy? With great difficulty, you pluck the words one by one from your mind instead of letting them flow from your heart. “You’re right. It’s late. I—I better go.”

You turn quickly to go before you stop yourself. Any moment longer and you might actually say something stupid.

As you step out into the cold, you remind yourself that he’s part of the hybrid ruling class. Hybrids that look at you scornfully when they walk in. Hybrids that speak to you like you’re stupid. Hybrids that use a sanitizing wipe for their hands after you hand them their bottle of bespoke fragrance.

And lest you forget: you’re not his type.

He’d said so himself.

Didn’t he?

—————————————

After a while you get used to sketching and slowly move on to watercolors when it gets quiet at the shop, drawing inspiration from the scents around. The oud smells of longing, the geranium of innocence and wonder, ambergris reminds you of regret, while the coriander reminds you of mayhem and mischief.

Namjoon sees how the lines on your sketches are bolder, stronger. Your play with the color palette has become more adventurous, brushstrokes surer than before.

Just earlier today, he complimented you on the color blending, said your little painting reminded him of Sargent’s work. You blushed, proud that the wet washes and sponging you used caught his attention in the best way possible.

When you return to the shop, you’re surprised to hear an unfamiliar male voice coming from his office, the door uncharacteristically open.

“Namjoon, don’t you think it’s time to end this charade of yours? You are our only son. Come home and do the right thing.”

“Come home to marry someone I haven’t even met? For the sake of the family company? Like I’m part of a business deal? I’m done with that shit.”

“Is there someone else?”

“I’m not going to even answer that question.”

“So there is someone. She better be a hybrid. You’re going to regret this. What will this shop amount to? Nothing. What will you, on your own, amount to? Nothing. But come home and I guarantee you will have everything you want.”

“Everything I want? You can’t even give me the one thing I need.”

You know you should not eavesdrop. That this is a private matter between your boss and his father. You’re just about to turn around to leave when the elder Mr. Kim steps out of the office and saunters to the front doors, pointedly ignoring you.

When he finally reaches the entrance, he turns and gives you a disdainful once-over which makes you feel uncomfortable as hell. You feel like a piece of meat he’s inspecting, one he finds terribly lacking. But, still he waits. Then you understand he’s not going to open the doors himself to exit the shop.

In an exaggerated show of duty, you rush there and hold the door open, bowing deeply as he makes his departure.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, making sure he hears you before you quickly close and lock the door behind him. The elder Kim looks back and glares through the glass panel. You return the glare with an indifferent shrug only to turn around and bump right into your boss.

“I heard that.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I couldn’t resist.” You’re not sure if you’re truly sorry, but it just felt like the polite thing to say to your boss after he catches you swearing at his own father.

“I was never good enough for him, you know,” he says quietly. “I went to the best schools, topped the class, graduated with summas, but still, he was never satisfied. And when I took over operations and turned it around, it was still not good enough. I had to walk away.”

There’s a glimmer of hurt in his eyes, a little catch in his throat. You wonder if you could comfort him with a hug. Whether his chin might press on the top of your head. Would you pull away first or would he?

He, surely. He’ll never see anything in you.

“Sometimes, walking away is the best thing we can do ourselves.” You’re about to reach for his arm to give a short, comforting squeeze but you decide against it at the last second, bringing your hand up awkwardly to smooth your hair.

Namjoon noticed how your hand lingered for a split second over his and swallows hard, not knowing why he even held his breath.

“You share the same name, Mr. Kim. But—but your heart is different. You’re not him.” It’s hard for you to walk away, yet you must.

As he watches the back of your silhouette disappear into the stockroom, he wishes he had the courage to ask you to stay to talk, just for a while. He wants you to reassure him again.

But he’s been a loner for so long that those words can’t come to him anymore.

At night, in the darkness of his shop, he sits alone in his office chair and weeps.

----------------------------------------------

It’s 8 p.m., closing time, and you’re rearranging the last row of crystal flasks of perfume when the door flings open violently, a gust of cold air blowing into the warmth of the darkened shop.

“Where is he?” the icy voice demands.

You recognize the face. A newish client, she’s absurdly beautiful, golden eyes, long-limbed, and perky in all the right places except in her demeanor. You remember how she was late for her own appointment and was extra demanding. Bitch would be completely inappropriate since she is a cat hybrid.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. We’re closed now. Could I pencil you for an appointment with Mr. Kim tomorrow?” You keep your voice low, respectful.

“I want to see him. Now.” She strides towards his office at the back of the shop. You hurry to keep her from barging into his office.

“I’m so sorry. He’s not available at the moment. Perhaps I could offer some assistance?”

She looks you up and down with disdain. “And what do you think you can offer me?” quiet scorn dripping over each word.

“I am his assistant. Mr. Kim has deemed me fit to assist you,” you say, just as quiet, just as lethal. She backs you into the door of his office, eyes flashing with anger. Like hell you’ll give in to this self-entitled hybrid trash.

“I know what people like you want.” She reaches into her bag and pinches out a crisp fifty thousand won note between her delicate fingers, perfectly manicured. “You’re all the same.” Sliding the corner of the note to your cheek, she snaps it, each lightning quick thwack eager to remind you of your poverty. “I want. your. boss.”

“That’s enough,” his voice, dark and thick, slices in. The heat of his body is suddenly behind you, and you feel a measure of comfort that he’s now here.

“Namjoon—” she purrs, a smile, sweet and sickening, consumes her entire face.

“It’s Mr. Kim,” he says.

“Namjoon, this… this thing—" she points at you “—said you weren’t available. But you prrromised I can come to you anytime.”

“It’s Mr. Kim, and yes, anytime within office hours. Unfortunately, office hours are over, as are my services for you from now on.”

“My, my. So prrrrrotective over a little staff?”

“Out. Now.”

The tight clench of his jaw is unmistakable.

“Jooooonieeee, you know I didn’t mean it. I can play nice,” she purrs, suddenly playful.

“Out,” he says, resolute.

“It’s true then,” she smirks with a triumphant smile. “Daddy says your father told everyone this shop won’t amount to anything. That you won’t amount to anything. That you never know a good deal even if it were right in front of you.” She sighs airily, “Pity. I did like those samples.”

“I’m glad you did. You sure took enough,” you retort.

She turns to you, glaring. “Pity about the face.” With lighting reflexes, she raises her hand and scratches the side of your cheek with a single, freshly manicured nail.

The sting of her nail barely registers as you start to throw a punch back at her, but suddenly remembering your own dignity, you thought better of it, lowering your fist as fast as you raised it. It’s not worth it. She’s not worth it.

“OUT.” The snarl he emits reverberates within the shop and she flinches. Actually flinches.

Slinking off, she saunters toward the door, swaying her hips, pert nose in the air, sure that he’s watching her. “Get her trained prrrroperly,” she announces before slamming the door behind.

Namjoon turns to look at you.

You’re burning with anger, shame, disgusted with her and with yourself. You’ve never raised your hand against someone after the playground incident so many years ago. Today, you'd almost lost control.

A single drop of crimson slides down your cheek.

“Fuck. She hurt you,” he murmurs as he cups your cheek.

“I’m okay. Really.” You’re flustered by his tenderness, suddenly so close to him.

With something that can only be blamed on animal instinct, he leans into you, and licks up the side of your cheek, catching the bead of blood on the tip of his tongue.

He feels warm, wet, and just the tiniest bit rough and you moan on reflex, tilting your head back, not knowing why or how as you bare the smooth expanse of your neck to him.

“Mr. K—Kim.”

Namjoon does not hesitate often. But he does for a split second. “It’s Namjoon. It’s always Namjoon with you.” He’s breathing so hard, nostrils flaring from effort to not devour you completely. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Oh shit. This is just like in a fanfic.

You take a deep breath and say the word which dances across your dreams at night, the name which you forbid yourself to say in the day. “Namjoon.”

He’s no longer Mr. Kim. He’s Namjoon to your Y/N. Everything in him is fully awake, completely alert. He leans in and licks the little cut on your cheek again, but this time, he doesn’t just stop there. This time, he continues to trail his tongue down the curve of your jaw, and up the other side. “Need you,” he whispers by your ear, arms curling lightly around your shoulder to anchor his hands that want to run all over your body.

You tell yourself you don’t need him; no, not the way he needs you. You only want him. And wants come and go. Wants don’t always get fulfilled. You of all people should know that by now. Today, you’ll have your fill. And that’s enough.

“Just for today,” you whisper. “Only today.” You repeat it again, for yourself, because there won’t be a tomorrow of this anymore. There’s no way he would need you again.

“Only today,” he echoes, lying to you and to himself.

He licks your earlobe, sending thrills across your spine, teeth nipping lightly against your skin. He’s eager to mark you, the leopard instincts from his hybrid heritage returning in full force. He noses your clothed shoulder, fingers deftly working off the buttons on the front of your prim, starched shirt.

Feeling shy, you're sure that you can’t compete with the models he must have dated. Clutching tightly to the two open halves of your shirt, you’re afraid to disappoint him.

“Don’t hide from me. You’re beautiful. Let me see, please.”

With shaky fingers you let the halves of your shirt part, revealing the curves of your breasts to him.

Beautiful. Slowly, he lifts your chin with a finger. “Look at me.”

You’ve always shied away from meeting his gaze straight on, always wary that you hunger for more than just the touch of his eyes.

But now, at the command of his voice, you can only obey.

“You're beautiful. And you're strong, stronger than anyone I know. You’re strong for me. And—" Namjoon swallows. Growing up, his father had always stressed the Kim motto: Always First. Always Strong. Always Right.

“—and I’m weak for you,” he finishes, the realization finally out in the open.

“Just for today,” you remind him, trying to blink back tears. “Be weak for me. Only today.” It’s better this way, with no hope of tomorrow to disappoint.

Namjoon knows he will be weak for you today and tomorrow and every day after. He takes you to his desk, the place he finds himself daily, because he knows he’s going to want to remember this every fucking day for the rest of his life.

Gently, he sits you on the mirrored surface, marking the curve of your shoulder with his kisses as he eases off your shirt. Laving at your skin, he nips against your collarbone, trailing his tongue lower and lower to your covered breasts, easing the cup of your bra to the side as he licks the soft, full flesh there. “Can’t stop tasting you,” he murmurs against your skin.

He inhales the scent between the valley of your breasts, trapping his nose between the smooth curves of silky skin as he draws a low moan from you. Fingers roaming your back, he unhooks your bra to tongue gently at your nipples. You press his head closer, arching your back towards him, wanting more of his mouth on the tight, tender flesh. He complies, and angles you back a little more, crying out with pleasure each time you feel the gentle scrape of his teeth on your breast.

“Feels so good. Oh god.” Panting with want and lust, you plead, “Let me touch you too.”

“Go on then. Touch me.” Namjoon steels himself not to move as you explore him, fingers outlining the sides of his face, his jawline that’s so familiar by sight, yet strangely unfamiliar by touch. You’re wondering if he feels this hard, this strong everywhere.

Seared by the heat of your hand cradling his face, Namjoon noses the inside of your wrist immediately. He wants to breathe this in too. Wants the scent from your wrist all over his body, your fingers everywhere on his skin.

But your fingers are already going over each button, helping him shrug off his shirt, tracing the faintest of leopard markings under the skin of his torso. It’s a mesmerizing pattern. You brush your fingers over his pecs, around the dusky disc of his nipples, down the line of his abs.

Your artist’s eye sees his beautiful, sleek proportions, heavy with muscle and sinew.

Uncertainly, your fingers hover over his belt, the dark bulge of his pants a strangely erotic sight. There’s no turning back once you go there.

“Don’t you stop now,” he whispers. “Don’t give up on me.”

His words give you the confidence to continue. When you finally undress him, pants and boxers pooling around his feet, you’re overwhelmed at his naked vulnerability. “Should I—Can I?” you ask.

Namjoon almost chokes at the way you stare at him with innocent wonder. “Just use your instincts. Just feel.” All other words are impossible the moment you wrap your fingers around his flesh. He braces his hands against the desk on either side of you lest he comes apart too soon, allowing you full access to explore him. He grunts tightly as you stroke him, circling the sensitive opening at the tip.

Instinct says taste. You drop down to your knees. Palming his throbbing length, you lick the liquid beading around the head of his flesh.

“What are you doing?” His fingernails are digging desperately into the unforgiving surface of the glass desk, but there is no relief to be found. “Oh god. Please. Please, take me in.” He remembers how he’d found you kneeling before his chair, putting your nose in the leather as you cleaned it, how for a fleeting moment, he’d pictured you just like this, rosebud lips wrapped around his cock.

On your knees, you feel powerful, making this man speechless and wordless; your tongue, throat, and hollowed cheeks rendering him breathless with desire.

His large hand is warm and soft against your face as you slide his length into your mouth again and again. “No more,” he gasps, “not for our first time.”

Supporting you in his arms, he pulls you up to meet his gaze and you swear his hooded eyes flash a brighter yellow for just a second.

“Am... am I doing something wrong?”

Bringing his lips right against yours, he confesses quietly, “I am. I’m doing everything wrong.” With slow brushes of his lower lip between yours, he urges yours apart. “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispers as he traces the curve of your lips with his tongue. “But I am.” The kiss is long and languorous. He takes his time, lets you explore him, noses bumping as you taste him and he drinks you.

“Shouldn’t undress you.” He reaches for the back button of your skirt, and unzips you, easing the material down. Unhooking the bra to let it fall off softly, he fingers the waistband of your panties, eyes questioning if it’s okay. Silently, you place your hand over his to slide it down your thighs. “But I am,” he says, eyes trailing down your entire naked expanse.

“Most of all, I shouldn’t fuck you here at my desk. But—”

“But I want you to.” Pressing your naked flesh against his, you curl your arms around his neck, face hiding in his chest in your desperation. “I want you to.”

This time, there’s no more rain to give him an excuse to hold you, no more umbrella to pretend he wants you close. He pulls you into him; moulding you to him, melding him into you. With flesh against flesh, there’s no denying now the liquid heat between your legs. “You’re so wet. How is it you want me? A man who will not amount to anything?”

It’s there again. The hurt. Unlike the cut on your face, his wound is much, much deeper. “That’s him. That’s not you.” Still pulled flushed against him, you place your palm over his pounding heart. “You’re different. Here.”

Namjoon shuts his eyes at your words. “Say that again.”

“You’re different from him.”

He is not his father.

A great relief washes over him. It’s something he couldn't say to himself until you said it. He is not his father. He is not his father. He is not his father!

He kisses the top of your head, grateful for the day you stumbled into his shop, grateful that you want him like this. The fragrance he cannot have enough of fills his senses. There’s ylang ylang. There’s jasmine. A hint of bergamot. He inhales deeply, sighing, “How are you so good for me?” Sliding one hand down your thigh, he lifts it up to his hip so that you feel the hardness of his cock against you. “Let me be good for you.”

“Please. Please don’t let me wait anymore.” A dull ache throbs within you, and the searing of his skin against yours has steadily pooled arousal in the apex of your thighs.

“I won’t let you wait. I’ve waited long enough. Turn around.” Reluctantly, he unhooks your leg from him and stands behind you. “We are going to do this the proper way.”

Bracing a strong arm around your waist, he bends you over his mirrored desk, your nipples hardening even more when they brush across the cool surface of his desk. “So sensitive,” he whispers against the back of your neck, “I saw that.”

A shower of sparks shoot down your spine as he kisses the back of your neck, the other hand fondling over your breasts; the front of your body on full display in your reflection. You lean your head into him, writhing at every slow lick and hot breath and soft kiss on your neck.

His hands dip between your legs, easing them apart. “Let me prep you. I bet you’re so tight, bet I can’t even put in a finger.” He’s probably right. You know you’re wet, embarrassingly so, but it’s been so long since you’d been with someone else.

“N-Namjoon, please go slow. It’s—it’s been a while.”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Never. Can you trust me?”

You nod, too overtaken by the sensations of his fingers playing along your folds to speak.

“Just use your instincts,” he murmurs again into the shell of your ear.

Instinct says to feel.

With teasing fingers, he continues to draw low whimpers from you, before he goes on to circle your clit gently. Sliding a finger in, he feels you shudder. “Easy there. Breathe for me.” He feels your legs clamping around his fingers like a vise, the tremors beneath your skin as your breath gets shorter and harder.

You’re dripping a little now, making a mess between your legs. It’s getting harder to stand as he hooks two fingers into you, rubbing softly. “Oh my god.”

“You getting there?”

“Y-yeah. Hold me. Hold me.”

Namjoon feels a surge of pride that he gets to hear you like this, gets to feel you come apart just from his fingers. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

The orgasm blooms through you—shakes you at your core, curls your toes—as you arch back into him. He’s as good as his promise, lending you his strength, supporting you completely as you fall into him.

He takes the opportunity to nuzzle into your hair again, alternating with kissing you along the nape of your neck, and catching a whiff of your scent behind your ear. “Can’t stop smelling you.”

Flushed and euphoric from your high, you don’t stop yourself from asking, “Tell me… tell me what do I smell like?” Your gaze shyly meets his in the reflection of the mirrored surface.

With his nose pressed behind your ear, the answer is clear to him. “Home,” he breathes, “You smell like home.”

His answer shouldn’t make you cry. But it does. “Then make your home in me,” you whisper. “Just today.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He nudges your legs apart with a muscled thigh, groaning with satisfaction as he feels you wet arousal on him. “Coming in,” he murmurs, angling you lower so he can help you adjust to the intrusion of his cock into your core. You gasp at how thick and hot he is, how just a little bit of him inside you already feels so good.

“Goddamn. You’re tight.” He groans as he tells himself to slow down. He’s not going to rush this if he can help it. Breathing hard, he waits for you to accommodate him, stroking your back lightly and then your hips to reassure you.

You want more, and you push back tentatively, longing to feel completely full of him, but a little fearful if you can take a hybrid without falling apart. Grimacing at the inviting way you slide your ass backward into him, he thrusts shallowly, a gentle finger on your clit, coaxing you to take more of him.

Instinct says to meet him.

This time, you slide back to meet his thrusts, delighting in his thick girth filling you. “Feels good. So good,” you sigh.

Namjoon sees you’re ready and doesn’t hold back anymore. “You’re wrong. Nobody goes home for just one day,” he says with ragged breath against your ear as he surges fully into you. “They go home every day.” He pulls himself back a little, feeling the tightness of your slick walls squeezing around him to stop him from pulling out completely.

Shielding your entire back with his own body, he thrusts in once more, eager to bury himself inside your warmth. Bringing his face next to yours from behind, he says it again, “Every day.”

“Every day,” you whimper back.

He loves seeing your face in the mirrored reflection, how it twists with yearning when he’s all the way inside you. He relishes the arch of your neck into him, sweet mouth open and moaning for him at every thrust, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” you cry. “Don’t stop, don’t stop dontstopdontstop.”

The words from him are now echoed back into his ears. Namjoon doesn’t stop. He won’t. He can’t. Thrusting into you, he feels a surge of power ripping through him. He wants to give you all his strength, wants to take all your softness for himself.

In the quiet of his office, your combined moans reverberate around the stark walls, the rhythmic push and pull of your bodies are the only other sounds that fill your senses as you focus on offering yourself to him.

“Look at me when I come,” he commands, his chin pressing on your shoulder. “Open your eyes, and see what you do to me.”

You open your eyes, and can hardly recognize yourself in the reflection on his desk. The little scar on your lip, the wound from just now, the plain face that you’ve always wished were more exotic are all inconsequential. There’s tenderness in the way he looks at you, a softness and desperation no one has ever looked at you with.

“Namjoon.” You feel a little pathetic at how much you want him, at how good his name feels on your tongue. You whisper it again because tomorrow, he’ll be Mr. Kim once more.

“I’m close. So close,” he moans now, dying to hold on this feeling as long as he can. He pants with effort as he fights to keep his thrusts slow and long and hard, before his instincts take over and he loses control. When you clench harder around him, meeting his eyes in your combined reflection, Namjoon feels a last surge of raw need rip through him, and he comes with a low roar, hips stuttering wildly into you.

You feel the hot spurt of his seed inside you, his deep groan of satisfaction thrilling you immensely. He’s kissing the back of your neck, across your shoulders, hands lazily playing with the globes of your breasts. He’s quiet as he pulls out, enjoying the sight of his cum and yours leaking down the inside of your thighs.

“You’re wonderful. Want you again,” he teases your earlobe, nuzzling the plump flesh there.

“Now?”

“Not now,” he laughs. “Give me a few minutes. But only if you do. Are you sore?”

How can I, when I’m wrapped under you? No, not today. Tomorrow, my heart will be.

“No. Not at all.” You’re strong. And greedy. You want him as much as he will want you today.

“Let’s go back to my place. I want to wake up next to you tomorrow.”

You feel vulnerable because god, you want it too. But if he wants tomorrow with you, you have to ask. “When your father asked you… if there’s someone else, and you didn’t answer him…”

“It’s none of his business,” he replies curtly. “But it is yours.” Taking a deep breath, he tells you the truth, “Because there’s been no one else. Not for a long while. And when you walked in that day with those flowers, there couldn’t be anyone else.”

And so, dear reader, there was tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after the day after tomorrow.

And of course, you broke all your rules about hybrids because you still worked with him after you were made partner. And you went on many, many dates with him. And you fucked him many, many, many times.

But you’re okay with it.

After all, your Dad had also said:

Rules are meant to be broken.

~The End~

-----------------------------------

Posted on June 30, 2021 by sahmfanficbts. All Rights Reserved © 2021 @sahmfanficbts. Please do not translate, post or upload this content on to any platform including YouTube without permission. This is a work of fiction.

Author's Note:

Dear reader,

How are you?

According to my therapist, one important thing fathers and parents can do for their children is to help them believe a) You are loved and are worthy of love. b) You are capable - you have what it takes!

My own father was too busy to help me with these things. I grew up constantly insecure, seeking affirmation and love with many different people and relationships, in many different avenues and endeavors, made many, many stupid decisions in the process just because I was craving and craving and craving.

Today, I've found genuine friends who, every day, in various ways, affirm these truths for me, as I also try to do for them.

And while some days, I can only see the broken, needy parts inside; more and more, I see parts of me which are healing and mending slowly but surely with these friends.

This Father's Day, whether you grew up with a father or parent who was good and kind and true, or someone entirely different, I hope you believe that you are worthy of love, and you have what it takes.

Truly,

Sam.

P/S if you haven't, pls check out the samsung parfumerie ad. Jimin and Namjoon are.... chef's kiss

{PART 1} I Won’t Stop You // Jeon Jungkook, Vampire!AU

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Vampire!AU, Fantasy, Angst, Smut

Summary; You drive to your boss‘s house with the intention of returning his wallet he left at the office. You feel uneasy, seeing his manor for the first time - Jungkook also feels uneasy, but for reasons that you could never begin to imagine.

A/N; This is the first instalment of a request I received that I decided to turn into a series that will contain smut. I’ll release a new chapter every Tuesday between 9pm-10pm (U.K Time), I hope you enjoy part 1 ^^

{Part 1} {Part 2}

Keep reading

back-burner | 01

sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

PAIRING. min yoongi x reader

GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, sorta frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, smut, fluff

WARNINGS. one-sided pining (?), longing, sibling jealousy, alcohol consumption, drunk rambling

WORDS. 2.8k

NOTE. hey ya'll!!! sorry for being a lil MIA 😓 things have gotten super busy recently but I managed to whip out a lil wip and plan for a lil drabble series hehe. I'll probably add the tags along the way so it's hard to say where this will go lol but I hope you enjoy!!

unedited :-( !!!!

back-burner masterlist | next chapter

"You're staring again."

Jeon Jungkook is a lot of things. Capable, talented, your self-proclaimed best friend, a multi-faceted nursing student, and handsome. What he wasn't, however, was helpful.

"Wow, thank you for letting me know. It's as if these aren't my own eyes that are doing said staring you speak off," you snap sarcastically, tipping the last bit of vodka and rum down your throat as you wince at the burn.

"That smart-ass mouth isn't going to shift reality," he retorts, snatching your glass away as you glare at him.

"Haven't you heard of manifestation? Speak it into existence, they say," you babble on, mumbling to yourself as you slump further down the plush leather seats.

The gala was beautiful, as usual. Rich and accomplished people alike were mingling with one another while their charming smiles reflected off marble surfaces to highlight their apparent brightness. It was both blinding and exhausting to constantly be surrounded by such greatness, especially to a point where people approached you thinking that you were equally as capable of it.

You weren't, and you don't think you'd ever be.

"Hm, sure." Jungkook rolls his eyes at you dismissively before he considers your words with his eyes looking upwards thoughtfully. "Maybe if you actually acknowledged your feelings then something could happen."

You scowl, drowning yourself lower to a point where your face is nearly squashed under the weight of your shoulders, your face morphed into an expression that's commonplace for you. You don't acknowledge the disapproving stares that a few of these socialites give you when they pass you, affronted to witness a woman like yourself allow herself to look as loose-ended as you were.

"Who says I'm not acknowledging it?"

"No one," Jungkook blinks before he's turning to where your line of vision ends, and you're bitterly reminded of what he was referring to when your eyes settle on them once more. "But the fact Yoongi's clinking glasses with Haerin in hand says something."

"So?" you snap, shifting back into a comfortable position before you're waving a waiter down for more booze. "They can do whatever they want."

"And if that's each other?" Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

You stomp on his foot as he yelps, sending you a lethal glare while you return his gesture with a sickly plastic smile. You don't bother listening when Jungkook begins muttering curses under his breath, and neither do you care about Yoongi or Haerin and how beautiful they looked together. Or how your heart was never with you when he was around, always two steps further than where it should've been. No. You don't care.

Jungkook pushes himself off the seat before shooting you one last once-over accompanied with a deep sigh before he's retreating to where the rest of his peers lay. You had no qualms of him leaving you, in fact, you appreciated the space. You rather be alone now, anyway.

"Another vodka and rum, please," you request from the waiter that bends ever so slightly to catch your order.

"Again, Miss ____?"

You don't appreciate the look of surprise on the waiter's face. You don't even remember if you've ordered from him previously, but the fact that he's sending you very judgemental eyes tell you enough; and your booze-hazed mind sends your mouth running before you can think of giving the man a break.

"Listen, Steve, my father didn't rent out this entire venue for you to micromanage my drinking habits, okay?" Your eyes narrow at him while his eyes widen.

"No Miss, that's not what—"

"Not what you meant?" you snort, "Come on. I've heard better. Just give me my damn alcohol and—!"

"Sorry, Steve." A voice interrupts apologetically as you recognise it immediately. Your body tingles with warmth at the low baritone of your newly joined guest, but you're still a little too drunk to comprehend it. "I'll take care of her."

Steve leaves, bowing apologetically before shooting you an annoyed expression that you think was meant to be kept to himself. You're just about to climb out of your seat to give him a piece of your mind before a large hand wraps around your waist to drag you back to your seat.

"What the—?"

"Having fun?" When you look up, Yoongi's shooting you an amused smile. It's nothing ostentatious, but it's Yoongi. A little cold but genuine nevertheless. You hate that despite your alcohol-fueled mind, your heart still flutters.

"Go away, Yoongi," you grumble.

"Can't do," he chuckles before he's releasing his grip around you.

You scoff. "Go away. I don't need you micromanaging me either."

"Not micromanaging," he hums, right as he occupies the vacant seat that Jungkook's left. "I care about your liver."

"Do you," you sneer.

"Matter of fact, I do. And so do your parents so I'm doing them a favour by not giving them a heart attack when they find out you're hospitalised because you had alcohol poisoning," he says pointedly as you scowl, "Did you even eat?"

"Yes," you lie.

"An entré from two hours ago doesn't count," he deadpans.

You sigh before you're glaring at him through your drunken eyes.

Yoongi doesn't look mad. You don't think he's capable of being anything but the tempered person he was. Rather, he looks amused, as if your clear distaste for his assistance humoured him than annoyed him like any other person. But Yoongi wasn't like everyone else. You disliked people in general and you didn't like Yoongi.

And unfortunately for your stupid, puny heart, it was the exact opposite of what you felt.

"Come on," he urges you with an extended hand, "You got to eat."

"Who are you, my dad?" you groan.

Yoongi levels you with an unimpressed look before he's making an effort to wrap his palm around your arm himself. You shiver at the contact, distracting yourself from the way your heart stammers in your chest to shoot a menacing glare at the man before you.

"No, I'm your friend and I care about you," he says easily before he's bringing you up with him when he stands up.

You yelp, dizzy on your feet as you stumble into his chest. Yoongi already has his arms extended, prepared for your inebriated stance when his palms rest on your waist to balance you out. He's warm. Cosy like your favourite blanket while all you wanted to do was snuggle deeper into his embrace. But when you peer up at him and see his concerned stare, one that was undoubtedly platonic, you feel yourself scowling at the harsh reality check.

"Aren't you busy?" you sneer bitterly, cocking your head to the side from where you remembered him and Haerin engaged in a rather amorous discussion.

"With your sister?" he raises a brow, "Your father called her over."

You scoff.

Of course. The only reason he was here and the only reason he ever spoke to you was that your sister wasn't available. It was always as if you were the second option, a convenient emblem to gravitate towards when he couldn't get the real thing. It was a bitter thought, that you only ever knew of Yoongi because of Haerin.

You would never be anything more than what you currently were to him.

Yoongi was older than you, as old as your older sister and that meant you watched him graduate before you, get his drivers license before you, attend prom before you. All of the things that you considered milestones in your life. And the worst part was that he did it all with Haerin by his side. The proof of their blooming friendship was there in the pictures of her room, on her social media pages and the friendly relations that both your families had with each other.

You first met Yoongi after a particularly strenuous day in middle school. You were just getting to know the concept of teenage angst and responsibilities when you came back home, exhausted from the load of homework your teachers had assigned you right before your final exams.

Haerin was already at the dinner table at that time, caught up in her senior assignments while she typed away on her laptop.

That time, Yoongi appeared.

You remember stopping in your tracks when you spotted the new guest, dark fringe covering his forehead while a beanie rested on his head. He had a large hoodie on that covered his rather narrow build, but he was still taller than you and your sister. You didn't know who he was, but you weren't blind. He was gorgeous. The prettiest boy you've ever seen and you befriended enough band kids throughout your life at that point.

When Haerin notices you awkwardly hovering by the door, only does she offer you a small smile as a greeting.

"Hey." It's friendly enough, but when she looks over to Yoongi, then to you, you gulp. "This is Yoongi. We're working on a project together."

When Yoongi finally looks up, his eyes are warm and friendly, but they hold a rather cold edge to them. One that sends a shudder down your spine as you quickly blurt out an introduction of your own before you're scampering off to your room.

From then on, the rest was history.

You and Yoongi grew closer the more Haerin and his friendship bloomed. What started as a group project eventually blossomed into a friendship that they labelled as 'forever'. Yoongi was always kind to you, offered to drop you off places, gave you advice when you were the one dealing with senioritis; explained 'adult' concepts like taxes and insurance to you when you were curious; fixed the engine in your car for you when it failed you in the middle of nowhere, and he even was the one that accompanied you to get your wisdom teeth extracted.

Yoongi wasn't just Haerin's best friend, but yours too. The difference was that the two of them were clearly more than that while you were forced to watch.

So when you return back to reality, eyes slightly unfocused when they rest on Yoongi's face, you're disgruntled in the reminder of where you stood, and who you were to him.

"Of course," you say with an eye-roll before you're pushing yourself off of him, "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

Yoongi frowns at your stubbornness, especially when your words don't ring true when you take a shaky step away from him, ready to establish distance. Your head still spins but you rather get away from everything when you were loose-lipped than have Yoongi hold his friendship with Haerin over your head like a silent victory.

"Clearly not," he sounds displeased when his hand wraps around your bicep to turn around, "You're drunk."

"And you're being annoying," you snap, "Just—go—back."

You emphasise your points by shoving your finger into his chest, and now when your rage clears your mind ever so slightly, you nearly groan at how devastatingly handsome he looks tonight.

Suits complimented Yoongi's physique beautifully. Especially ones where his dress shirt was tucked in his pants, paired with a silver-toned belt that cinched his waist. The goddamn YSL black blazer that drapes over his shoulder only makes him broader, and you curse the Gods above for making him frequent the gym more recently.

"Don't be stubborn," he sighs, tightening his grip on your bicep.

"Don't be pushy," you throw your words back, huffing while you scowl at him.

"You're drunk," he reminds you gruffly, "Your sister would kill me if I let you go off like this."

And there it was.

You shove his grip off you with as much force as you can as you seethe. Yoongi's eyes widen at your blatant display of strength, especially when your eyes are livid when they rest on his stunned expression.

"Of course you're doing this for Haerin," you scoff bitterly while Yoongi just looks confused. "Guess what, Yoongi? I don't want you doing shit for me because you feel obliged to my sister to take care of her little sister. I'm responsible for myself and not for this hero complex you have, or if you want to impress her. Go fuck yourself and leave me alone."

"What are you saying," he says levelly, unimpressed.

This is the first time you've seen Yoongi look rather ... displeased.

Sure, he's looked annoyed before. He was only human. But this expression on Yoongi looks nearly blazing, and if you were any soberer, you'd drop it. But you weren't, and your mouth moves at its own accord.

"What I'm saying is that you have your head so far up her ass that you don't see anything in front of you!" you exasperate, throwing your hands up in the air. You're mildly aware that your voice is rising and that a few other people were beginning to take notice of your developing argument with Yoongi.

"Listen, let me take you home and—"

You interrupt him with a deprecating laugh, mostly to yourself as you shake your head in disappointment.

"Are you stupid? Do you not know how to take no for an answer?" you ask in disbelief, and Yoongi actually glares at you at your clear jibe at him.

"____, don't test me," he warns.

You snort, waving him off just as you see Jungkook enter your peripheral. Your friend looks rather alarmed and he's making his way over in a hurry, but you're quick with your words.

"Ooh. I'm so scared," you pout, peering up at him through your eyelashes before you're rolling your eyes at Yoongi's stone-faced expression. "Fuck off, Yoongi. Go back to my sister because that's clearly where you belong."

"____—" you hear Jungkook approach you with worry, voice a pitched higher before he's attempting to intercept your and Yoongi's conversation.

"I can deal with it," Yoongi says bluntly.

"Hyung, she's drunk and she's not in her—"

"Oh, I know. But whatever she wants to say to me she can say it to my face," Yoongi laughs tightly before you're scoffing at him.

Jungkook looks panicked, eyes darting in-between the both of you as you find power in driving Yoongi up the wall. Especially when this is the first time you've ever seen him anything less than composed.

"Really? Let me start, then," you smile plastically.

"Do enlighten me," Yoongi blinks.

"Guys I think—"

"You're an annoying asshole," you sneer, poking his chest while your eyes stay trained on his unchanging expression. "You act like you care about me when all you really care about is making yourself look like a good man in front of my sister."

"You're drunk—!" Jungkook hisses, squeezing your shoulder in warning as you drunkenly shove his hand off of you.

Yoongi remains blank in his face and that only irks you even more.

"You always come in and rescue me when you think I need saving but you don't care if I get into trouble! You never do! All the shit you do is cause—cause you want to fuck my sister, want to be this big macho saviour—"

"Okay, that's enough," Jungkook snaps, clamping a mouth over your mouth as you thrash in his hold.

The look on Yoongi's face is menacing. Your eyes widen when you note that it's terrifying that he doesn't move an inch, not even when his eyes slowly drift onto Jungkook's figure attempting to silence your muffled shouts under his palm.

People are staring, but you couldn't care less. Not when Yoongi raises one lone brow that has you shuddering.

"Let her go, Jungkook."

Jungkook freezes, and you take that moment of weakness to bite his hand as he yelps and retreats his palm.

"Ha! See? You're trying to embody this alpha male character," you snort as you feel Jungkook melt helplessly behind you.

"Am I," Yoongi blinks, unamused.

"Duh," you say obviously before rolling your eyes. "You know what. Just fuck right out of here and leave me alone. Let me know if you get into my sister's pants for what you did to me, yeah?"

"Follow me."

Jungkook freezes. You freeze.

And it's all because Yoongi has never sounded like that before.

Like he's threatening you.

"W-What?" you stammer, eyes rapidly blinking.

"We're going to talk," he says calmly, taking a deep breath before he's turning on his feet.

His back is turned to you when you gawk at him. "W-What makes you think I'm going to listen to you?"

Yoongi stops for just a beat, hands stuffed in his pockets when the silence quite literally makes your throat dry.

"Because ..." he says in a low tone as you feel your breath hitch, "The shit I'm going to say and do to you isn't going to be in front of an audience."

He throws you a cold look over your shoulder as you nearly cower at his gaze alone.

When he strides forward, you feel compelled to follow. And you hate that your mind decides that you are.

When you turn to Jungkook, he's as pale as you are, but all he can offer is a weak pat to your shoulder.

"Good fucking luck."

him after all (m) | pjm

➵ summary; a guy you’ve never met before scoops in and saves you from a very embarrassing situation and you can’t help but notice how cute he is.

(based on this prompt)

pairing; jimin x f. reader

final word count; 17,176 (sorry y’all)

rating; 18+

content; strangers to lovers au, fluff/angst/smut, infidelity, multiple appearances from jjk, oc’s boyfriend being nasty and stupid af

warnings; swearing, making out, smut; dom!jimin, nipple play, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, light choking, orgasm denial, oc begging for jimin’s dick bc it’s just so good

a/n; i am SO sorry for this long ass wait after promising to post the other day, but here it is, y’all!! i hope you like it, i’m actually pretty proud of it myself so yeah, please let me know what you think, thanks!! ps. please ignore any typos if you see some lol

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Keynote (m)

➺ Banner: As usual, the talent hoarder @kithtaehyung​ 💛

➺ Pairing: Hoseok x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Non-Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Smut, Slight Fluff

➺ Rating: +18

➺ Word Count: 18.5k

➺ Summary: Sleep was all you had desired, after dealing with an agitating boss, an incompetent coworker and an unsurmountable workload. Right up until your hotel room was flooded with an array of noises from the room next door. Shouting, screaming, begging, moaning. Sleep was all you had desired, but after this night, your desires have grown.

➺ Warnings: (phew lets get this) hard dom!Hoseok, sub!reader, sir kink, voyeurism (she listens through the wall), humping pillow (please don’t let your naked parts touch hotel pillows they are disgusting), nasty dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, masturbation (female), cursing, alcohol, some form of exhibition, name calling, is it siya’s fic if a tie hasn’t been turned into a leash, unsafe driving, we have safewords, grinding on shoe, nipple teasing, pain kink, face slap, spitting, oral (male receiving), seated reverse cowgirl/seated rear-entry/the perch, unprotected sex (for the love of Hoseok, practice safe sex everybody), creampie, spanking, pussy slap, panty stuffing (fiction doesn’t have infection but real life does, please be careful!!), more unprotected sex, tit slaps, missionary to wrap it all up <3, some makeoutz

➺ Cross Posted: AO3

➺ Author’s Note: Depictions of conference is HIGHLY inaccurate, the one I attended was disgusting and online. Big ups to @taegularities and @jimilter for legitimately fixing this whole fic because English isn’t my forte. And @lavienjin for helping me out in the earlier parts (which was in…. July….). They worked almost as hard editing the fic as I did writing, for which I am immensely grateful 💛 Thank you for your patience, and let me know what you think!

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“Soomin, how in the world do you work for a tech company,” you scream into the phone, taking a breath after half that sentence tires you out, “and not realize that the projector needs a connection? Did you think it would photosynthesize?!” 

The receptionist, earlier glaring at you for causing a ruckus, now tones down her frown after hearing the reason for your agony. Even she understands. 

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Spoils of Fortune

Neurosurgeon!Namjoon x Spoiled Brat!Reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut

Chapter 1.

A/N: This is the first chapter of the new Patreon exclusive book! I already love these two characters more than most things in life~! It’s gonna be a rollercoaster!

It’s always the wee early hours of morning when people tend to see themselves the clearest. When the morning haze and the dewy air coat blades of grass and leaves on trees, people can see their souls in their purest forms.

Sometimes their souls are cacophonously loud, echoing out and over for millions of miles. And for some their souls sit quietly in a corner as if asking to be rescued like some grand princess trapped in a tower.

God, you wish your soul made any noise. You wish you could see yourself so clearly, but your whole being becomes entangled in the morning haze and the dewy drops that fall silently on the land. It’s a prison half of the time and the other half is just silence like mourning.

But as always, when the early hours of the morning pass, you pretend much like others that your soul never actually existed in the first place and you shroud yourself in the daily mask that gets you through life.

Although everyday is the same, you wish just something would change… anything.

When you wake up, the estate is silent. Your wing is silent.

Apart from your groaning, there is not a noise uttered. The maids and butlers are usually talkative, you can sometimes hear random spurts of gossip through your gold trimmed French doors but today there is nothing.

Which means he’s here.

He’s home.

How horrible.

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andante cantabile || MYG x reader

pairing: myg x f!reader

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

chapter rating: 13+

wc: 10.4k

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

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

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

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

masterlist: 1 | 2 | 3 | coda

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

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

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

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

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

Unacceptable!

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

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

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

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

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

“Then let’s go!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. and Miss Jeon! Welcome!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your joy proved short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hope there are no health issues?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And today, you very much appreciated to be indulged.

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

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

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

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

Silence fell in the drawing room.

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

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

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

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

Not by Mr. Min’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I imply nothing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, Aberton Hall suddenly was far too quiet.

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

Inside the drawing room, the pianoforte waited for you.

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

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

A familiar sonata rested on the music desk.

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

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

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

Finally, the day of the ball arrived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you tonight, Miss Jeon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all started so well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mood soured at once.

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

But the damage had been done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook, as expected… and Mr. Min.

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

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

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

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

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

“A misunderstanding?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why did you feel so burdened?

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

→ pt. 2 💕

Yesterday I read a fanfic on ao3. It was so well written. It's about unrequired love between jikook and hanahaki disease. I stayed awake up until 3am to read the whole fic from how good it was, and its elements of angst, fluff, pining were just *chef's kiss* and it left a room for more (it's complete, but still, you can just imagine what could happen next). It's called Forget Me Not, but sadly the account has been orphaned :(

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[ R E F L E C T I O N ]  — Elizabeth Lim

“A reminder that where there is beauty, there is also strength and courage and resilience.”

dates read: 06.15.20  — 06.15.20 rating: 5/5 genre: ya, fantasy, adventure overarching theme: mulan is constantly haunted and challenged by the underworld to face the possibility of destroying her family’s honor and exposing her true identity. only when she confronts her true self, does her real reflection shine back at her. ships: mulan/shang baby! otp for life! cool parts: lots of subtle nods back to dialogue featured in the movie but does an excellent job of pulling it in and making it nuanced in a fun way. all of the exchanges feel genuine. mulan is like a real life Hercules as you read about her traversing the underworld.

                                                      Fav Quote; 

“I am Fa Mulan, a girl who would sacrifice her life for her family and for China. I am a girl who journeyed into the Underworld to save her friend from dying. I am a girl who has fought battle after battle to finally recognize herself in the mirror. And now I do.”

half-light boy

you strike up something akin to a frienship with the most radiant boy you’ve ever met. maybe something more will ensue?

word count: 3.1k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, a singular curse, mentions of plant milk (is that even a warning?!), pretty fluffy tbh

title inspo: half-light boy | grizzly coast

a/n: happy happy birthday @mazzell-ro!!!! @ineloqueent and i decided to team up and write this little diddy for you. you’re a wonderful person and great friend. we hope you have a great day xx

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