⤷sypnosis: Kim Taehyung's worldview relies on three absolute truths: the law is malleable, his Tom Ford suits are impeccable, and every woman in the city wants him. Then he gets hijacked by a stranger who forces him to pay a luxury-car-sized vet bill for a stray puppy and looks at him like he's an annoying fly. He thinks your "mysterious intuition" is just a high-effort tactical play to get into his bed. You're just trying to survive your day job while your tarot deck screams that this idiot's logic is about to violently implode. It's fine. Everything is fine.
⤷pairing: kim taehyung x f!reader
⤷genre: lawyer!taehyung, witch!reader, rom-com, urban fantasy, workplace/legal!au, fast-paced flirtation, one-sided slowburn.
⤷warnings: corporate arrogance, heavy wealth flexing, swearing, mild supernatural peril later on, taehyung getting completely humbled. also features some highly unprofessional legal counseling that eventually violates several workspace boundaries (yes, there is smut, he's a womanizer, what did you expect?).
a/n: upon my ok-ish exam today i decided to release a brand new story for you. i think we can all agree we need a little cocky flirty bastard taehyung in our lives. and i'm here to deliver. i hope you'll all enjoy this story as much as i do because i'm already obsessed lol. (what a stupid thing to say as i'm the author but oh well)
this isn't Faux Colors. this is lighter. (as light as magical entities and witches can be). taehyung is a different breed of arrogant. he's not like jeongguk in fc. he is annoyingly arrogant and it works in different ways. getting-you-in-his-bed ways.
please enjoy and lmk if you like it! <3
Taehyung stopped in his tracks, one hand pausing on the door handle of his matte-black Mercedes. He adjusted the lapels of his tailored suit jacket, his sharp eyes instantly tracking the source of the frantic shout.
A girl. In the middle of the city sidewalk, looking entirely out of her depth.
Taehyung's lips twitched into a practiced, effortlessly charming smirk. He was used to people asking him for help—usually clients begging him to get them out of a legal chokehold, or women looking for an excuse to get his phone number. He could already see the headline in his mind: Brilliant, handsome defense attorney rescues citizen on his lunch break.
He closed the distance, smoothing down his tie. "Is everything alright? If you're looking for directions, or perhaps a—"
He stopped. You weren't looking at him. You were crouched on the concrete, staring down at a tiny, shivering, wounded baby puppy tucked against your chest.
"I just moved here for a new job, I don't know where any vet clinics are, and he's hurting," you said all in one breath, finally looking up at him. Your eyes were wide, but underneath the panic, there was a strange, unsettling groundedness to you. Like you were looking straight through his expensive suit and reading his entire energy profile in three seconds flat.
Taehyung blinked, his smooth-talking brain taking half a beat to recalibrate. A puppy.
"Right. Well," Taehyung cleared his throat, gesturing toward his idling car where his chauffeur was already watching through the rearview mirror. "Luckily for you, I happen to be nearby. Take my car. My driver will take you to the nearest 24-hour vet clinic."
"Great," you said, immediately standing up with the puppy securely in your arms and marching right past him toward the luxury vehicle. As you tucked yourself into the pristine leather backseat, you looked back out the open door at him.
"You're paying for this, by the way."
Taehyung stared at you, dumbfounded. The smirk completely vanished from his face. "Excuse me? You found the dog."
You didn't even blink. You just gave him a deadpan, incredibly unimpressed look that no woman had ever given Kim Taehyung in his entire life.
"You have a chauffeur and a Mercedes, dude. So you pay."
Before he could even construct a logical argument against that—because logistically, legally, and financially, that made absolutely no sense—you pulled the door shut.
Taehyung stood on the sidewalk, his hand still suspended in the air, watching his own luxury car pull away with a stranger and a stray dog. His sharp, calculating mind was completely short-circuiting.
Taehyung stood on the pavement for a grand total of two seconds before his brain rebelled against the sheer absurdity of the situation.
The words echoed in his head like a direct insult to his law degree. No one talked to him like that. Women usually tripped over themselves trying to thank him if he so much as held a door open. He was Kim Taehyung. He had a track record that made corporate executives weep, a face that belonged on a billboard, and a tailored Tom Ford suit that cost more than this girl's likely annual coffee budget.
Before the chauffeur could even put the Mercedes into drive, Taehyung strode forward, yanked the front passenger door open, and slid inside.
"To the nearest emergency vet, loosen the speed limits a little, Marcus," Taehyung commanded, adjusting his cuffs as he looked back at you through the rearview mirror. He turned around in his seat, draping one casual, expensive arm over the leather headrest to look at you properly.
He flashed his signature, high-wattage smile—the one that usually got him out of speeding tickets and into exclusive clubs. "You know, usually people ask for my name before they ask for my credit card. I'm Taehyung. And you are?"
You didn't look up. You were gently stroking the shivering, scruffy little animal in your lap. "Busy."
Taehyung's smile rigidified. His mind genuinely could not compute the lack of a reaction. Were you blind? Deaf? Objectively speaking, he was a catch. He waited for the inevitable blush, the nervous tuck of hair behind the ear, the something.
Clearing his throat, he decided to pivot to the only other occupant of the backseat. He leaned a bit closer, looking down at the creature tucked against your chest. "So... what's the deal with the dog?" He stared at it, trying to find something analytical to say. I mean... it was a dog.
Two eyes, a mouth, four legs. Standard animal blueprint.
"Yes," you murmured, keeping your thumbs moving in soothing circles over the pup's ears. "And he's terrified."
"Clearly has poor taste in company if he's turning down my chauffeur's driving," Taehyung quipped, his tone smooth, trying to inject some playful banter into the suffocating lack of interest you were throwing his way.
"So, you mentioned you're new to the city. For a job. What is it you do?"
He braced himself for something mundane. Marketing? Accounting? A corporate desk job where you probably dreamt of marrying a guy like him? He was ready to smile patronizingly and offer some witty insight about the city's corporate ladder.
You finally lifted your gaze. Your eyes met his in the rearview mirror first, then locked onto his face. There was a faint, knowing tilt to your lips—not a flirtatious one, but the look of someone who knew exactly what kind of game he was playing and found it entirely amusing.
"Don't bite off more than you can chew, counselor," you said softly, your voice carrying an unsettlingly calm weight. "You might find out my line of work doesn't fit into your neat little ledger."
Taehyung's chest tightened slightly, a bizarre prickle of heat racing up the back of his neck. Counselor? He hadn't told you he was a lawyer. He wasn't carrying a briefcase, and his lapel pin was just a subtle geometric shape, not a scales-of-justice badge.
He opened his mouth to demanding how you'd made that deduction—his sharp, logical brain already scrambling to find the data point you must have stolen from him—but the car smoothly pulled up to the curb of the veterinary clinic.
"We're here, sir," Marcus announced.
You didn't wait. You threw the door open, cradling the puppy safely, and stepped out into the afternoon air. But right before you shut the door, you peered back inside at his stunned, processing face.
"Bring your black card. The clock's ticking."
The automated glass doors of the 24-hour veterinary clinic slid open, letting in a blast of sterile, fluorescent-lit air that smelled faintly of antiseptic and wet fur.
You hurried right past the rows of plastic chairs, cradling the shivering puppy securely against your chest, completely focused on the front desk.
Taehyung followed a step behind, though his pace was noticeably more deliberate. He was adjusting the cuffs of his Tom Ford suit, resetting his posture after the sheer indignity of being ignored in his own vehicle. But as you marched ahead, his eyes naturally dropped.
He was an incredibly successful, highly sought-after man who appreciated the finer things in life—whether it was the crisp silhouette of a tailored jacket, the sleek lines of a luxury sports car, or the view currently walking right in front of him. Even God enjoys what is beautiful; it would practically be a sin against his own impeccable taste not to look. He let his gaze linger for a shameless, calculating beat, tracing the curve of your backside with the practiced appreciation of a man who was very used to getting exactly what he wanted.
Alright, his mind rationalized, a faint, arrogant smirk threatening to return to his lips. Maybe having my car hijacked isn't an entirely unmitigated disaster.
By the time he caught up to the reception desk, you were already leaning over the counter, completely oblivious to his mental inventory.
"Hi, please, I need some help," you said all in one breath to the young guy working the shift, your voice tight with genuine worry. "I just found this little guy on the sidewalk a few blocks away. He's shivering, his back paw is bleeding, and I think he might be in shock. I don't know his medical history, but he's hurting really badly."
The receptionist blinked, his eyes darting from the scruffy, bleeding pup in your arms to the towering, incredibly expensive-looking man standing right behind you like a disgruntled bodyguard.
Taehyung stepped up to the desk, sliding one hand casually into his trouser pocket while the other tapped his black credit card against the polished laminate counter.
"Put whatever he needs on that," Taehyung commanded smoothly, flashing a brief, authoritative smile at the receptionist. "And ensure he gets the premium suite. Or whatever the veterinary equivalent of first-class is."
Taehyung shifted his gaze from the receptionist back to you, leaning his shoulder slightly against the counter. He arched a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a victorious, self-satisfied glint returning to his eyes.
"See?" he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, rich baritone he usually reserved for closing arguments. He tapped the black card against the laminate one more time for emphasis. "Paying. Just like you ordered, boss."
You didn't look even remotely breathless or impressed by the heavy wealth flex. Instead, you just rolled your eyes, a small, completely unfazed huff escaping your lips as you kept your arms secure around the puppy. "I knew you would."
Taehyung's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his brain scrambling to process how seamlessly you had just dismantled his grand gesture.
Before he could mount a defense, the vet tech behind the counter cleared his throat, holding up a clipboard. "Alright, I need you to fill out these intake forms as much as you can. We're going to take the little guy back right now so the doctor can assess the injury and check his vitals. You two can wait in the lounge."
You nodded gratefully, carefully handing the shivering puppy over to the tech, though your chest felt a little lighter once he was in professional hands.
Taehyung watched the exchange, then turned to look at the "lounge." His sharp eyes instantly locked onto the row of bolted-down, violently orange plastic chairs against the wall. A subtle, deeply offended pout pulled at his lips. He looked at the plastic, then down at the flawless fabric of his trousers, as if the mere act of sitting there might permanently damage the integrity of the Tom Ford weave.
With a heavy, dramatic sigh, he walked over and sat down, carefully pulling the fabric at his knees so it wouldn't wrinkle.
You sat down two chairs away, leaving a deliberate gap between you, and pulled the clipboard into your lap.
Taehyung didn't last three seconds in the silence. He was a man used to dominating a room, and the suffocating lack of attention you were throwing his way was driving his ego entirely up the wall. He leaned back, draping one casual, expensive arm over the empty plastic seat between you, turning his high-wattage charm right back on.
"So," he began, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, letting his gaze turn deliberately heavy and flirtatiously slow. "Since I'm currently financing this little rescue mission, I feel like I'm entitled to a few basic data points. Where exactly did you move here from?"
"North," you muttered, your pen scratching aggressively against the paper.
"North. Riveting. Very specific," he quipped, his lips twitching into a practiced smirk. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "And did a boyfriend pack up the moving truck for you, or am I dealing with a completely solo operation here?"
You finally stopped writing. You turned your head slowly, giving him a deadpan, incredibly unimpressed look that made him feel like a particularly loud insect.
"No boyfriend. And I don't do corporate sharks," you said, your voice entirely blunt as you went right back to filling out the form. "So you can turn the smarm down a notch, counselor. It's wasting your billable hours."
Taehyung's chest tightened, that bizarre, supernatural prickle of heat racing up his neck again at the word counselor. He blinked, his mind genuinely short-circuiting as he stared at the side of your face. He was trying to play a tactical seduction game, and you weren't just refusing to play—you were actively kicking his game board over.
Taehyung didn't flinch. In fact, his smirk only deepened, shifting from a practiced sales pitch into something genuinely amused. Most women became flustered when they tried to bite back, but your sharp tongue was just a new boundary he wanted to cross. He leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze tracking the precise movement of your pen.
"Ouch," he drew out the syllable, completely untroubled by the rejection. "Corporate shark? That's a bit harsh for a man who just handed over his black card for a dog he doesn't even know." He tilted his head, his dark eyes glittering with dangerous, playful arrogance. "But you still haven't answered my question. I never told you my profession. How exactly did you deduce I was in law?"
You didn't look up from the clipboard. You just lifted the tip of your pen, pointing it vaguely toward his lower half without a single ounce of hesitation.
"Oxford dress shoes. Perfectly shined. A Patek Philippe watch that says you care about billable hours down to the exact second. And a bespoke Tom Ford suit that screams you spend your days lying to judges or twisting corporate liability clauses." You finally turned your head, your face completely deadpan, refusing to let him see even a single glint of amusement or interest in your eyes. "Oh. And you have a Marcus."
Taehyung blinked, his analytical brain pausing for half a beat. "A Marcus?"
"A chauffeur," you clarified dryly, looking right back down at the intake form. "Normal people don't have an entire human being named Marcus idling in a luxury vehicle waiting to drive a stray puppy to the vet."
A low, rich laugh vibrated in Taehyung's chest. He absolutely loved this. He loved the data profile you had compiled on him in seconds flat, even if you were using it to roast him. He shifted his weight, closing the distance between your chairs just enough that you could catch the faint, expensive scent of his cologne.
"Well, Marcus is highly efficient," Taehyung murmured, his voice dropping into a low, deliberately smoky register as he leaned toward you. "But if you're that impressed by him, I could always make him yours too. He can be at your beck and call whenever you need to navigate the city. Consider it a perk of knowing me."
You didn't even pause your writing. "Pass."
"Come on," he chuckled, his eyes sliding down to your lips before locking back onto your gaze with unshakeable, heavy flirtatiousness. He was Kim Taehyung; he didn't take no for an answer, especially not from someone who looked at him like a fly. "New to the city, no boyfriend, just a day job... you're going to need a guide. And I happen to know a very specific, incredibly exclusive penthouse apartment downtown with a flawless view of the skyline. I could take you there tonight. We can skip the legal talk entirely."
You finally stopped writing. You tilted your head toward him, resting the clipboard against your knee as you looked him up and down.
"Does this usually work for you?" you asked, your voice dripping with genuine curiosity, as if you were studying a strange specimen under a microscope. "The expensive cologne, the penthouse invite, the whole charming shark routine?"
Taehyung didn't even have the decency to look sheepish. Instead, he flashed a dazzling, devastatingly confident smile, leaning in just a fraction closer.
"Honestly?" he murmured, his dark eyes brimming with dangerous amusement. "I wouldn't know. I never actually have to get to this part, usually. They're usually in the car before I can even mention the apartment." He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face, thoroughly fascinated by his own lack of progress. "This is highly unmet territory for me. It's thrilling, really."
You just stared at him, completely unmoved by his confession. "Fascinating."
"You're a tough crowd," he chuckled, though his analytical brain was privately scrambling to find a single crack in your armor. He couldn't find a single data point to exploit. You read him like an open legal brief, yet he couldn't grasp a single thing about you. Frustrated but intensely intrigued, his eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you? A witch?"
For the first time since you had hijacked his Mercedes, your deadpan expression cracked.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of your lips—sharp, mysterious, and entirely amused by the absolute irony of his question. Your tarot deck was practically screaming in your bag, but you didn't say a single word. You just let the silence stretch, letting him drown in his own confusion.
Before Taehyung could demand an answer to the sudden shift in your energy, the heavy door to the back clinic clicked open.
"For the stray puppy?" a middle-aged vet called out, holding a digital tablet. "We have the initial assessment ready if you both want to come back."
You immediately stood up, tossing the clipboard onto the plastic chair and completely cutting Taehyung off.
Behind you, Taehyung let out a massive, highly dramatic, and completely visible sigh. His shoulders dropped in pure, unadulterated defeat as he stared at the back of your head. He was Kim Taehyung. He was a master of closing arguments, a man who controlled entire courtrooms, and he had just been thoroughly cock-blocked by a veterinarian and a three-pound dog.
Muttering something entirely unprofessional under his breath, he smoothed down the front of his flawless suit jacket and marched after you into the clinic.
The doctor gestured for you both to step up to the examination table, where the puppy was resting on a clean towel. He looked significantly less pathetic now, though his eyes were still wide and sleepy.
"Alright, good news," the vet began, tapping his digital tablet. "He's a resilient little guy. We cleaned up and properly bandaged his back paw—it was just a superficial laceration, no broken bones or tendon damage. We also administered a fast-acting oral pill for deworming, because he did test positive for a rather hearty round of worms."
Taehyung, who had been leaning against a stainless-steel counter with his hands elegantly folded over his front, froze. His face instantly contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated corporate horror. His top lip curled back, his nose wrinkling as he looked at the puppy as if it had just morphed into a biohazard.
Literal, living parasites. And this girl had been cradling the creature directly against her chest—the same chest he had been shamelessly admiring not even ten minutes ago. He subconsciously took a half-step back, his mind calculating how many layers of dry-cleaning his suit was going to require to purge the invisible microscopic trauma of this room.
"He's also going to need his initial round of vaccines," the doctor continued, completely blind to Taehyung's internal existential crisis. "But his system is a little stressed right now, so I want to wait exactly a week before we do that. Other than that, he's stable, medicated, and ready to be taken home."
The moment the words left the vet's mouth, a massive, radiant smile broke across your face. The deadpan, guarded look you'd been throwing at Taehyung the entire afternoon completely vanished, replaced by pure, genuine relief. You leaned over the table, your eyes sparkling as you gently cooed at the puppy, utterly thrilled that he was going to be okay.
Taehyung stared at you, his short-circuiting brain completely stalling out for a completely different reason now. Oh. So you could smile. And it wasn't the knowing, cryptic tilt of the lips you'd given him earlier. It was blinding. Beautiful.
"Thank you so much, doctor, seriously," you murmured, your voice warm as you began discussing the post-care instructions and the specific schedule for the follow-up.
Taehyung, feeling entirely excluded from the mutual appreciation society, crossed his arms and muttered to the side, "Yes, thank you, doctor. Mostly for ensuring my black card was utilized to eradicate an alien species from a three-pound mammal."
You ignored him seamlessly. Once the final paperwork was signed, Taehyung reluctantly swiped his card at the terminal, keeping his fingers at a strictly professional, sterile distance from the counter.
The afternoon air hit them the second they exited the clinic doors. Marcus was already waiting by the curb, the matte-black Mercedes idling silently. Taehyung let out a breath, adjusting his cuffs, feeling like he had finally survived the chaotic detour. He turned to you, fully prepared to deliver a sleek, final closing argument that would hopefully salvage his dignity and land him your phone number.
Instead, you turned around, scooped the bandaged puppy up, and smoothly deposited the entire animal right into Taehyung's tailored, expensive arms.
Taehyung went completely rigid. His elbows locked at a perfect ninety-degree angle, holding the puppy away from his chest like a live bomb. He was utterly flabbergasted.
"What do you mean, pretty girl?" Taehyung stammered, his smooth, rich baritone cracking just a fraction. He stared down at the scruffy creature in his hands, then up at you, his eyes wide. "I think I misheard you. No—definitely misheard you. My ears are playing tricks on me from the clinic's acoustics."
"You didn't mishear anything," you said, entirely casual as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "I can't take him. I just moved into a tiny apartment and I have an incredibly feisty, highly territorial cat who will literally try to murder him. The dog needs a home. You helped rescue him, you paid the bill, so he's yours."
Taehyung opened his mouth, but his highly analytical, Ivy League-educated brain completely failed to articulate a single coherent thought.
His legal mind was spinning out of control. The math was not mathing. He had walked out of his office to grab lunch, spotted a beautiful woman on the sidewalk, deployed his maximum high-wattage charm to try and woo her into his bed—and somehow, through some twisted, chaotic sequence of events, he was now standing on a public street holding a dewormed stray dog.
"Logistically—legally—financially—" he sputtered, his voice rising as the puppy let out a tiny, soft yawn right against his pristine sleeve. "You can't just bestow a canine upon a man! I don't do pets! I do multi-million dollar corporate contracts!"
You just gave him another one of your signature, unimpressed looks, turning on your heel to walk away. "Figure it out, counselor. See you around."
"Wait! Hold on!" Taehyung called out, his polished composure completely shattering as he took a clumsy step forward. The puppy shifted in his grip, and he immediately frozen in place, terrified the animal might slip or—God forbid—wipe something on his lapel. "Where exactly do you think you're going? What am I supposed to do with this? I don't know anything about managing a dog!"
You paused, looking back over your shoulder with a highly amused, deadpan expression. "Wow. Admitting he doesn't know something. That's a first."
"I'm serious!" he hissed, his eyes darting frantically from you to the scruffy creature currently blinking up at him. "You can't just leave me on a sidewalk with a contractually unbinding pet!"
"Relax, counselor," you said, turning around fully but keeping your distance. "I'll see you around. Soonest? Next week, right here. You heard the doctor—he needs to come back in a week to check on his paw and get his vaccines."
Taehyung's sharp mind immediately seized on the opening, his deeply ingrained, predatory legal instincts kicking back into overdrive. If he was being forced to play the part of a foster father to a stray, he was absolutely going to extort a prize out of it.
"Right here? Fine. But what hour?" he demanded, his voice dropping back into that smooth, heavy, boardroom register. He tilted his head, flashing a sharp, unbothered smirk despite the literal dog in his arms. "And more importantly, I'm going to need your number. Logically speaking, of course. For updates. Maybe you want daily pictures of the dog to ensure your rescue investment is thriving... or maybe you want pictures of something else." He let his gaze drop to his own impeccably tailored silhouette, throwing in a confident, high-wattage wink.
You didn't even blink. "Gross."
Taehyung didn't lose his smirk for a second. "Okay, so maybe I want pictures of something else. A man has to have some form of leverage in a negotiation."
"Next week. 12 PM. Here. Don't forget," you stated flatly, completely shutting down his corporate flirting routine without a single hint of a blush. You turned back toward the crowded sidewalk, ready to disappear into the city.
"Wait," Taehyung called out, his tone shifting into something genuinely frustrated. His massive ego was practically bruised and bleeding on the pavement. "Do I really get nothing? No name? No digits? No tactical advantage whatsoever?"
You stopped, looking back at him one last time. There was that strange, unsettling groundedness in your eyes again—the look that made him feel like you were peering straight through his Tom Ford armor and reading the exact energy profile of his soul.
"Trust me," you said softly, your voice carrying that bizarre, calm weight that always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "This isn't the last time we're meeting."
Taehyung scoffed, adjusting his rigid hold on the puppy. "Except next week is the last time. I pay for the vaccines, you find a permanent shelter, and we terminate this absurd arrangement."
You gave him a faint, cryptic, completely knowing smile—the kind that belonged to a woman who knew the threads of fate were already tightly knotted around his pristine wrists.
"I wish that was the case," you murmured.
And before his brain could even begin to dissect what the hell that meant, you stepped into the flow of the afternoon crowd and completely vanished.
Taehyung stood frozen on the sidewalk for exactly three seconds after you vanished, his arms still locked at that perfect, panicked ninety-degree angle. The puppy let out a tiny, soft wheeze against his forearm, and that was enough to break his trance.
He spun around and marched toward the Mercedes, throwing the door open with his foot since his hands were entirely occupied by a biological hazard.
"Marcus," Taehyung barked, his voice tight as he hovered outside the open door, refusing to sit down just yet. "Tell me you have a towel. A plastic bag. A clean rag. A piece of industrial tarp. Anything."
Marcus blinked, looking back through the rearview mirror at his boss, who was currently holding a scruffy, bandaged puppy like it was an active explosive device.
"Do not 'sir' me, Marcus. The creature has a medical history that includes an alien invasion of parasites, and I am wearing four thousand dollars of unwashed wool," Taehyung hissed, his eyes wide. "Find a barrier. Now."
Thankfully, Marcus was a professional. He reached into the glove compartment and produced a clean, folded microfiber cloth usually reserved for dusting the dashboard. Taehyung snatched it, laid it down on the pristine leather backseat with the precision of a surgeon prepping a sterile field, and carefully deposited the puppy onto it. Only then did he slide into the opposite side of the seat, plastering himself against the far door to maximize the distance between his suit jacket and the dog.
"To the office," Taehyung commanded, letting out a long, exhausted breath. "And call ahead. Tell my assistant I need my second latte macchiato waiting on my desk the second I step out of the elevator. Make sure she doubles the milk. I'm going to need the lactose-induced serotonin to survive the rest of the day."
Usually, Taehyung's afternoons were an exercise in flawless, predictable luxury. He handled sleek leather briefcases filled with multi-million dollar contracts. He dismantled opposing legal teams before the judge could even finish pouring a glass of water. His assistant made a mean, velvety second latte macchiato because, despite his rigid corporate exterior, he deeply indulged in a rich, milky coffee to power through his post-lunch paperwork. He would have a superb, ridiculously expensive lunch, dominate a boardroom, and get off early—simply because he was that good at his job. He didn't work overtime; the law worked on his clock.
This afternoon, however, was a complete and utter glitch in the matrix.
Instead of a sleek mahogany boardroom, Taehyung found himself standing in the middle of a brightly lit, aggressively colorful mega-pet store. The air smelled entirely of cedar shavings and synthetic chew toys. And instead of a high-powered corporate client, his companion was his best friend, Jimin.
"I'm just saying, Tae, if you don't buy the orthopedic memory foam, you're basically a terrible father," Jimin said, his voice dripping with dramatic gravity as he lifted a minuscule, pastel-pink plush dog bed shaped like a crown. He held it up to his chest, looking over at Taehyung with wide, teasing eyes. "Look at it. It matches his legal trauma. It screams royalty."
"First of all, I am not its father. I am its temporary financial sponsor," Taehyung snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose as he steered a shopping cart that was already embarrassing him. "Second of all, that bed is pink. He is a masculine, street-hardened dog who survived a sidewalk laceration. He doesn't want a crown, Jimin."
"Oh, I'm sorry, did the three-pound fluff-ball tell you his aesthetic preferences while you were hijacking your own Mercedes?" Jimin snickered, tossing the crown bed into Taehyung's cart anyway. He wandered over to the next aisle, picking up a tiny, neon-yellow plush bone that squeaked violently when he squeezed it. "What about this? You can squeak it in court when the opposing counsel starts annoying you."
"Put that down, you look ridiculous," Taehyung hissed, though he secretly checked the price tag on a premium, memory-foam orthopedic mattress in sleek charcoal gray. "Look at this ledger. Look at these price points. Why is a bed for an animal that licks its own paws costing more than a pair of Italian loafers? The economics of this industry are completely unregulated. I should sue the distributor on principle."
"You are a multi-millionaire defense attorney, and you're complaining about a thirty-dollar dog bed because a pretty girl humbled you on a sidewalk," Jimin deadpanned, leaning his elbows on the handle of the cart, a massive, cat-like smirk spreading across his face. "Tell me more about her again. The one who called you 'dude' and handed you a worm-infested animal like you were a glorified dog-walker?"
Taehyung's chest tightened, that bizarre, phantom prickle of heat racing up the back of his neck again just thinking about the way you had looked right through him.
"She didn't humble me," Taehyung muttered defensively, throwing a bag of premium, grain-free puppy kibble into the cart with unnecessary force. "She simply deployed an unorthodox negotiation tactic. And for the record, next week at twelve o'clock, the contract is terminated."
Jimin stopped dead in his tracks, his hands dropping off the neon-yellow plush bone as he stared at Taehyung. "Terminated as in... what, exactly? You're going to file a restraining order against a stray animal?"
"Terminated as in the legal and social contract between me and this mystery girl ends next Tuesday at precisely twelve-fifteen PM," Taehyung declared, tossing a sleek, titanium-plated dog bowl into the cart with a definitive clink. He adjusted his watch, a dark, fiercely competitive glint returning to his sharp eyes. "She thinks she's impervious to my usual tactics. She thinks she can just drop a biological entity into my arms, call me 'dude,' and walk away untouched."
"And she did," Jimin pointed out helpfully, grinning. "Beautifully, might I add."
"It was a fluke. A statistical anomaly based on the high-stress environment of a medical emergency," Taehyung corrected, leaning over the handlebar of the cart, his voice dropping into a confident, arrogant purr. "Next week, she definitely won't resist my charms a second time. She will fall. Hard. Right on her ass."
Jimin snorted, crossing his arms. "Oh, really? Is that your closing argument?"
"It's a absolute guarantee," Taehyung smirked, his ego fully re-inflated as he mapped out the entire strategy in his head. "I am going to change my approach. I'll decode her energy profile, play the part of the doting, wealthy savior, and I will woo her. Then, I'll take her to bed. We will have a wonderful, entirely mutually beneficial time, I will fulfill my objective, and then—"
He gestured toward the cart full of luxury puppy supplies.
"—she will get the dog back, and we will locate a rightful owner. Someone who actually needs a dog. A family with a white picket fence, or a lonely retiree. Not a multi-million dollar defense attorney with a packed litigation schedule and zero tolerance for parasites."
Jimin just stared at him for a long, quiet beat, before a slow, pitying smile spread across his face. "Taehyung, my brilliant, corporate genius friend... you do realize you are currently planning a multi-step, tactical seduction campaign all because a girl refused to give you her phone number, right?"
"It's about maintaining a flawless record, Jimin," Taehyung stated flatly, wheeling the cart toward the checkout lanes with absolute purpose. "Kim Taehyung does not lose a case. And he certainly does not get out-negotiated by a girl with a feisty cat."
tags: @daisydi23 @thedelulusafespace @tan-veee @sweetcloudie
