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Serendipity (n.) the occurrence and development of events

by chance in a happy or beneficial way.


It'd been six months since you made the decision to head abroad and teach in Seoul, of which you seldom had any complaints. All of your students treated you with the utmost respect, your employment program always helped you adjust, and your coworkers never got impatient.

Your only problem? You maintained the sole female teaching position at an all-boys middle school. 

". . .and this new app—TikTok, is it?" Kim Namjoon, the dean, said. "Yes—I think we should look into ways on how we can integrate this platform into the classroom."

You doodled on your notepad next to a list of supplies you needed to restock. Sounds of approval echoed throughout the room, and you nodded to at least pretend you listened. 

Now, that's not to say the attention bothered you. As a foreigner, you had to be accustomed to it at a certain degree. Strangers would often find themselves approaching you to converse in your native tongue. That didn't mean, however, you were prepared for everything.

Namely, one teacher in particular (with whom you shared walls and taught next door), caused you the most trouble.

"So you were watching that bonsai channel!" Seokjin, head of the home and economics program, yelled. "You ass. I had to put the dishes away by myself last night."

"I think you mean President Kim—"

"Yah! Don't forget I'm your hyung," Seokjin said. 

Namjoon puffed out his cheeks. 

"Just—they cut the succulent into a heart shape, hyung!"

Seokjin rolled his eyes. This banter was typical of their relationship—a testament of their comfort. Most days these meetings digressed into a similar (controlled) state of chaos. 

"Bet you they'll bang in his office after hours," Yoongi muttered to your left.

Taehyung stifled a laugh and side-eyed Jeon Jungkook—the resident art teacher. You'd describe his smile as mischievous. 

"Duh," Taehyung said. "Namjoon-hyung is gagging for it. Bet you they're into that S and M stuff too."

"You're disgusting."

"Like you and Hobi-hyung are any better," Taehyung responded. 

Something cold and green like envy swirled in your chest. You didn't have anyone back home in your native country to tie you down. And at first, you thought everything would be all right: you could handle your singleness just fine. 

When faced with three pairs of couples on a day-to-day basis, though, even you struggled to quell your want for a companion. 

"Well I, for one, love the idea, Namjoon-hyung," someone else said. "What do you think, (L/N)-ssi?"

A voice light and mellifluous as bells rang in your ears. When all seven of your colleagues turned to face you at once, you gulped and stiffened. You sat up straighter in your chair. 

"I don't see why not," you said. "It could be useful for explaining the culture outside of Korea."

"That's an interesting perspective," Namjoon said. "Talk about it with your co-teacher and send me a copy of the lesson plan, please."

"Yes, Sir." 

"Speaking of culture," Taehyung said. "(L/N)-ssi, did you end up going on that blind date?"

You rubbed the back of your head and faked a laugh. Your love life had become quite the interest for the seven men you worked with. (You'd since lost count of the number of suitors they tried to hook you up with.)

"Ah—um—I did," you said. "It was nice, but I don't think I'll be seeing him again."

"Oh?" Hoseok (the literature teacher who you grew closest to) chimed in. "Why not? I thought you guys looked perfect together."

"I don't know," you said. "I guess he just wasn't what I was looking for."

Taehyung nudged Jungkook. They shared a knowing expression. 

"That or you have someone else on your mind," he said.

Against your will, you glanced over at a certain individual. His pink, bubblegum hair fell into his face, but it didn't dampen the vigor of his gaze. You looked back down at your lap when Park Jimin smirked.

"Maybe so," you said.

Lady Luck, at least, appeared to be on your side today, for nobody prodded you any further. You supposed you should be grateful for Kim Taehyung—teacher of theatre—and Min Yoongi—the music instructor—when they found a new topic to discuss.

"Can we please get onto the real issue at hand?" Taehyung said. "Namjoon-hyung, when will you bring me the scripts for Phantom of the Opera?"

Yoongi faked a gag.

"Phantom?" he said. "I thought we agreed on West Side Story?"

The Daegu Drama Queens fueled the remainder of the conversation while you got lost in your own little world. Although no one bothered you again, you never could shake the sensation of someone staring at the side of your head.

You refused to glance up again.

When you left the meeting, you hummed and skipped down the halls. A pep lightened the bounce in your step. Namjoon, perhaps enabled by today being Friday, (or, just as everyone else claimed: antsy to get home so he could be railed by his husband) advised everyone to leave for the night. 

"Should I have ramen or tteokbokki for dinner?" you wondered out loud. 

You entered your classroom to pack up your papers for the weekend. Slotting them into your briefcase, you found yourself lingering as if waiting for something to happen. If you left now, you could beat rush hour and be home in less than thirty minutes. Still, the rationality wouldn't budge you. 

The door slid open, and then clicked shut just like you knew it would. Your body all ready tensed in response to his presence, this second-nature reaction to the haunting ache for touch. You cleared your throat without turning around. 

"Can I help you with something, Mr. Park?" you said, more of a formality than in expectance of a response.

You'd been playing this game of cat and mouse long enough.

"Just stopping by to do my due diligence," Jimin said. "Dare I say it, but you seemed a little flustered back there, (L/N)-ssi."

"Do I seem that easy to rile up?"

This tension sparked in the air between you. Implications hung heavy on the tips of your tongues, these suggestive remarks that inched toward the edge of depravity. You lusted after Jimin but didn't know if he was yours to have. In the end, you weren't sure if that even mattered. 

"Hm, I don't know," Jimin said, that same smart tone lilting his voice. "Maybe it's just me, then?" 

You pursed your lips. Jimin reminded you of a siren: beautiful and wholly dangerous. You clung to his every word, malleable to his whims. When you shifted on the balls of your feet to face him, Jimin met you head-on. His eyes shimmered with mirth. 

"Jimin," you said. "Don't tease me."

"Ah, dropping the formalities, now are we?"

Your body flushed in heat of anticipation for something—God, anything. Park Jimin haunted every aspect of your existence, for no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't forget about him. You looked for him in the smallest of things—dawdled in the halls in hopes of capturing even a mere glimpse at him. You hadn't the slightest idea when he made you so whipped.

Jimin broke forward and you held your breath. When he came to a stop in front of you, his dress shoes stood just shy of touching yours. He reached out and brushed his fingers across your knuckles. Your body buzzed, reminiscing on the feeling—it almost felt like you were back in high school all over again: butterflies in your stomach, the rush and tingle of touch.

"Hi," Jimin whispered.

"Hi," you said.

Jimin dared to reach up and cradle your face in the palm of his hand. He rubbed his thumb across the swell of your cheekbones, leaving you soft and sweet and pining for more. You threaded your arms around the back of his neck, mimicking the action as you pet at the tiny hairs on his nape. 

You'd forgotten how many times these secret transgressions happened. Sometimes Jimin would bring you lunch—gimbap he prepared himself, with a side of his mother's kimchi, and the spicy cucumber salad you'd grown to love so much—or sweet coffee milk tea. In other instances, Jimin would walk you to the subway after work, or grade his students' papers alongside you late into the night. 

You didn't know what to call this thing the two of you had, but you relished in it. 

"What are you doing here?" you asked. "Namjoon said we could go home early."

"I wanted to see you."

"We see each other every day, Jimin."

When he smiled his nose scrunched—eyes dipping into the shape of tiny crescent moons. 

"That's still not enough," he responded. "I always want to be with you. I miss you when you're not around."

"You're crazy," you said. 

"Could be worse."

Jimin shrugged before he looked down at your lips. A gravitational chemistry pulled you both in so close your noses bumped. 

"How was your date?" Jimin asked. 

"Why?" you said. "Are you jealous?"

"Not when I know you were thinking of me."

Warmth blossomed in your veins. You tasted Jimin in the air when you breathed. 

"You can't be good for me," you said. 

"I could say the same thing," he responded. "What have you done to me?" 

"Those are dangerous claims, Park Jimin."

He leaned forward more, leaving but an inch between your lips. 

"Y/N," he said. "Can I kiss you?"

Your heart leaped into your throat. You shivered and nodded yes. 

Jimin slotted his mouth against yours. Your eyes fell shut, flustered by intensity. You made out at a slow pace, testing the waters to experiment with what you both liked. You sucked on his bottom lip, shy swipes of tongue and curious teeth.

From there, whatever had been holding you both back snapped.

The fever taste for what could be consumed you. When Jimin cornered you against your desk, you gasped and clutched onto his shoulders. Wandering hands slid over body parts, the dips and curves of muscle. Sturdy wood dug into your backside, so you lifted up onto your tippy-toes to try and relieve some of the pressure. You bumped into Jimin's chest with the sudden change of angles.

Jimin caught you by the hips and smirked. 

"Mr. Park," you said, terrified but enticed. "I don't—I mean—this isn't very professional, is it? W-we're in the workplace right now."

"Not if we can be adults about this," he said. 

Jimin's cologne wafted around you. You felt dizzy with passion. Contrary to your words, your body betrayed you and tugged Jimin closer. He sat you on your desk and settled between your spread legs, fingers splayed on the sliver of skin that got exposed when your skirt rode up. 

Jimin put his index finger beneath your chin and tilted your head back to look at him. 

"I want you, Y/N," he said. "And if I'm not mistaken, you want me too."

Your chest heaved in a shallow breath. Jimin's eyes seared molten as he watched you bite down on your lips—a nervous tick. He tongued the inside of his cheek, so devilishly handsome it drove you mad. 

"Give me the word and I'll stop," he said. "We can act like this never happened. We'll move forward as normal colleagues."

"A-and if I don't?" you said, voice so breathy you almost didn't recognize it as your own. "Then what?"

Jimin giggled. Your legs twitched apart an inch more, spread so wide the cold air hit your center. Jimin squeezed your sides and your pulse soared. Your lungs constricted so tight it made it your head spin (or maybe Jimin just had that strong of an effect).

"I think you know," he said.

Jimin surged forward and kissed you again. You whined into his mouth this time, so overcome by attraction it made it hard for you to sit still. Jimin supported the back of your head as he deepened the kiss—tongue slotted against yours. 

Unlike the other men you'd slept with, Jimin wasn't afraid to be vocal. He moaned this deep noise you didn't expect, sounding just as desperate. You both pulled apart and panted; a thick string of spit connected your lips. 

Jimin's face seared scarlet, his mouth swollen and this pretty shade of pink. You were more than positive that you sported a similar state of vice: disheveled and pupils dilated. You fisted his shirt in your hands.

"Jimin," you said. "Please, touch me."

And who was he to deny you of such a request?

Jimin laid you down across the desk, sending pens and papers across the floor. You wrapped your legs around Jimin's hips and whimpered at the supple grind of his erection. Jimin buried his face in your neck, nipping at the sensitive underside of your jaw. He purred like a cat when you submitted yourself to him—neck craned for better access.

"G-God," you stammered, muffled by the back of your hand. "Jimin—you're—nng!"

"Sound so cute," he said. "Pretty girl."

Jimin slid his hands down your thighs to squeeze at the pliable curve of your ass. He worshiped your form, a reverent suitor of everything you had to offer. Jimin sucked these marks of passion that would come to bruise and bloom like flower petals down your chest.

You tugged at Jimin's clothes, ruffling the collar so hard it's amazing you didn't pop any buttons. 

"Off," you plead. "I want to see you."

"Such a needy baby," Jimin sang. "Have you thought about having me like this?"

Jimin's cock, the rough drag of his dress slacks and swollen, engorged flesh, rubbed pressure right against your clit. An ache throbbed in your gut with the need to be filled and split open; you'd been so sexually deprived these past few months it made you all the easier to break apart. 

"N-no, s' embarrassing," you said.

"Tell me," Jimin responded. "I want to hear it. Please?"

"A-ah—I'm—of course, I've imagined this," you said. "You don't know how bad I've wanted you, Jimin. It follows me in my dreams—I wake up so frustrated."


Jimin pecked the corner of your lips.

"Bet that's a sweet little sight, you all needy and lulled with the dregs of sleep," he said. "A precious denied thing."

Jimin finally reached between your legs to bless you with direct stimulation. Your body seized up when he circled your clit with his thumb. Your wet, cotton panties subdued his curious fingers, but Jimin continued to prod at your entrance. 

"It'd be a lot better if you woke up with my face between your legs, though, no?"

You keened at the thought. Jimin straightened himself back up, and you balked at the sudden rush of cold air. For a moment, you panicked and reached out to him, but Jimin tilted his head back. He carded one hand through his hair and jostled the hard outline of his cock with the other.

"Maybe next time," he said. "Right now, I think we both want to feel it for ourselves."

Jimin undid his shirt, followed by the clink of his black leather belt. You lifted your pelvis up to help him bunch your skirt around your waist. He cursed when he saw the damp patches of slick.

"I've barely touched you and you're all ready this wet?" Jimin said. "You spoil me, love."

You shivered. 

"You're beautiful, Jimin," you said.

"I worked for it," he responded. 

"I can tell."

You uttered the genuine compliment outside from the haze of lust. Jimin had a sculpted chest, some image of a Greek God reborn. He had every right to be cocky—to be proud—but Jimin didn't carry himself the same rude way guys did back home. You found his humbleness attractive most of all.

Jimin broke you out of your thoughts when he fiddled with the bottom of your top.

"Can I take this off?" he said.

You raised your arms and let him slide up your blouse. Jimin undid your bra; you hissed when he cupped your breasts and tweaked your nipples. He popped one into his mouth, sucking it into a pebbled bud. 

"M' so hard," Jimin said, busan satori slurred into his tone.

"Jimin, please—just. I want you so bad it hurts."

Jimin palmed over his erection. He seemed to focus on the head, which spotted pearly beads of pre-cum against his gray boxer shorts. He rolled his hips and stuttered a breath. 

"Shit, yeah—me too."

Jimin abandoned his cock to hook his thumbs into the seam of your panties. They dangled around your left ankle after he pulled them down, caught on the edge of your heels. A glossy sheen formed on your inner thighs; your labia swelled with arousal. 

Jimin stared at your sex, unabashed. He made an audible sound of approval when he spread your lower-lips apart. You clenched around nothing.

Jimin dared to tease you with one of his fingers, dipping in to the boney edge of his joints. Your hips twitched and rolled with the sensation. The cold bite of his rings burned in contrast to the heat of your skin.

"Please, God—fuck me, Jimin. I can't wait any longer," you plead.

"I've got you, baby. Don't worry."

The pet name settled you. Your heart sparked in adoration for him. Beyond the palpable attraction, you'd grown to have genuine feelings for Jimin. You could only hope that one day he might feel the same. 

Jimin tugged your ass to the edge of the desk. He took off the rest of his clothes and spit into the palm of his hand. Your mouth watered when he fisted the engorged length. A thick, pulsing vein throbbed on the underside— the tip flushed a deep shade of red.

Jimin slapped his cock against your cunt and gathered up your wetness. Your toes curled in impatience, not blessed with as much self-control as Jimin himself displayed. At long last, after what felt like agonizing minutes (but really was just a few mere seconds), he started to inch in.

White flashed behind your eyes as your walls adjusted to the stretch, this ache so good you felt it in your bones. When Jimin bottomed out, he circled his hips—these impulsive, twitching pumps.  

"F-fuck, you feel amazing," Jimin said, borderline a snarl. "So much better than I imagined."

"B-big—Christ, Jimin—you're, nng!" you cried. "S' deep—ah!—I c-can't."

"Taking me so well, babydoll," Jimin said, petting the side of your head. "You're doing great."

Jimin gripped your hip with his left hand. He cooed as your walls relaxed, body falling slack of tension. You interlaced your heels behind his back and looked up at him with tears in your waterline. 

Sweat bubbled on Jimin's forehead and dripped down the side of his neck. 

"You can move now," you said. 

Jiming gave a shallow thrust to start with. His cock curved inside of you, hitting every sensitive zone. You sobbed, all ready so ruined and built up. 

"Harder," you begged, voice nothing more than a hiccup. "Wanna feel you for days."

"You're filthy," Jimin said. 

The next thrust came harsher. His balls slapped against your ass in a crude sound of skin against skin. You prayed everyone else had left the building because with what racket the two of you made, it left little to the imagination. 

"You're perfect, baby," Jimin said. "Letting me have you like this—hah!—s-so good."

"Jimin," you cried.

"What if someone came in here, huh?" he taunted. "Think they'd stay? This body was built for me, Y/N—no one else makes me feel how you do."

You squealed when he rubbed your clit. Jimin pounded into you, likely fueled both by the stretch for time, and your need to be ruined. You clawed at Jimin's back, body rocking with the force of his thrusts. You couldn't even keep your mouth shut, he fucked you so good. 

"God, you're hot," Jimin said. "Gotta keep quiet, though, love. Can't have anyone ruining our fun."

Jimin popped his thumb into your mouth. You tasted yourself and sobbed. Jimin grunted, his cock jumping inside of you when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. You dared to splay your tongue across the pad of his finger. You gagged when he retaliated and pushed back. 

Jimin giggled and squeezed your tongue. Humiliation flashed through you, for he tugged it past your lips. Drool dripped down your face and the side of his hand. Jimin's cock rammed right into your g-spot and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. 

"Ahng!" you cried, babbling useless words. "c-um—gonna cum—pl-ease!"

You sputtered against his grip with half garbled speech. Jimin's pace faltered, your cunt squeezed so tight around him.  

"M' close," he moaned. 

Jimin fucked into you with this primal desire. It knocked the breath out of your lungs. All at once, everything got hot and tight and wet. Your orgasm hit you full-force, these shocks of oversensitivity that borderlined convulsions. Jimin had the forethought to lean forward and swallow your moans, you screamed so loud. 

Jimin managed one, two, three more thrusts before he came in hot spurts. His warmth spread in your gut, deep where your womb sat. You made a content sound in the peace of post-coital glow—ears ringing with static and the boost of serotonin. 

Jimin held onto you as you both caught your breath. He murmured secrets of praise and dusted kisses across your face. 

Serendipity—you thought, like cool wind soothing over your shoulders. Jimin was your happy occurrence. 

You dressed in silence, albeit not an uncomfortable one. Jimin used some tissues to wipe down the mess between your legs. He at least had the gall not to look too smug when his cum dripped out of you in messy, fat globs.

"We're okay, right?" Jimin said. "I didn't pressure you?"

"No," you said. "I'm glad we—well—you know. It was good."

"Good?" he echoed. "Just good?"

Jimin whined. His duality never failed to amaze you.

You laughed and slapped his arm. 

"There, there, Mr. Park. I can't stroke your ego that much. It'll go straight to your head."

Jimin retaliated by bending down to grab your panties from the ground. You flushed when he twirled them around his finger. You reached out to try and take them, but he snatched them away before you could. 

"Souveinere?" he said. 

"You're insufferable."

"Don't you want to know what I'll do with them later?" he said. "How I'll use them to wrap around my—"

The door to your classroom slammed open. You yelped and clutched your blouse against your chest. Jimin, cautious of your state of undress, stepped in front of you to shield you from the intruder's stare. 

"Jungkook totally owes me twenty now," they said after a moment. "I knew the two of you were going to hook up."

"Taehyung," Jimin scolded.

"What?" he said. "It's not like either of you were subtle about it. It's a wonder you lasted this long."

Taehyung waggled his eyebrows at you and stuck out his tongue. You thought you'd feel a bit more embarrassed about getting caught in such a compromising situation, but Taehyung's carefree attitude comforted you, instead. You knew him well enough—he wasn't one to judge. (He reminded you a bit of the Cheshire Cat, beguiled by information and entertained by toying around.)

"Yeah, that's pretty rich coming from the one who got head in the art room," Jimin countered.

Taehyung gasped. 

"Jungkook told you?"

"He didn't have to," Jimin said. "Jesus, you want to talk about subtlety? Do remind me, who was the one with his tongue down the maknae's throat at the last faculty getaway?"

"Touche," Taehyung said without shame. "I can't help it that I'm so thirsty for him, though. I mean, have you seen how slim his waist is?"

"Wait, that was why Jungkook-ssi was so red?" you said. "I thought maybe he had gotten sick. . . ."

"I'm sickening, I know."

Taehyung flicked his fringe out of his eyes. He had a stack of Phantom of the Opera scripts in his arms. 

"Anyways, I just wanted to see who was in here," Taehyung said. "You know, Namjoon and Seokjin didn't make it home either. I walked in on Joonie-hyung riding—"

"Go home, Taehyung," Jimin said. "Oh, and tell Jungkook to add exhibitionism to your list of kinks."

"Okay, but who would have thought petplay of all things? I guess now that I think of it, Namjoon does remind me of a puppy."

Taehyung got the message when Jimin threw a cum-soaked tissue at him. He dodged it and ran out of the room. 

"I love you, slut!" Taehyung called from over his shoulder. "Let me know if you ever need condoms."

Jimin flipped Taehyung off. You couldn't help but laugh at the dynamics of their friendship.

"Sorry about that," Jimin said. "Taehyung doesn't really have a filter."

"It's okay," you responded. "I think it would've been more awkward if he just pretended like nothing happened."

Jimin nodded. He lingered a few feet away from you and fiddled with his hands. It looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to go about it. 

You decided to be courageous. 

"Hey—um—I don't know if you heard, but there's this new barbeque place that just opened up down the street from where I live," you ventured. "I mean—like—if you wanted to—or, maybe, if you haven't had anything to eat—we could go?"

"Yeah?" Jimin said. "I would like that."

"Perfect," you said. 

"I'll make sure I'm a better date than you know who."

"Okay, but first—can I please have my panties back—"

It'd been six months since you moved abroad to teach in Seoul. You couldn't really complain about much: you loved your job and became close friends with all of your coworkers.

The only problem? You started falling in love.