Author note: This is the first chapter of a series of Fem!Jumin X Zen vignettes. I think a female Jumin creates really interesting dynamics because of the way which gender interacts with corporate inheritance, and the way which those changes alter Jumin's interactions with Zen, as well. Thanks to Shiranai Atsune for the request! I had a great time writing this and am excited to see where it goes. If anyone else reads and wants to send me requests for MysMe fics, please do so! I would love to write something for you.


Even if he tried, there was no way Zen would ever understand business. But that didn't stop him from poking me. And prodding at my personal choices. And calling me "trust fund jerk" for things which were, in actuality, largely out of my control. I harbored no ill-will towards others for coming from less wealthy backgrounds than I did. Why couldn't he manage the same maturity?

All of his comments just managed to grate on my mind, adding additional stressors to an already unpleasant situation. I had to live, at all minutes, with my walls up. Since Rika had left this world, and V had all but vanished on me, the only person I could de-stress around was Elizabeth the 3rd. There wasn't a place in C&R, or in South Korea, for that matter, for an emotional corporate heiress. The business industry was egregiously sexist, and our company had built itself on traditionalism, which, in most circumstances, translated to patriarchy. No-one expected or wanted a chairwoman Jumin Han. So that meant that I had to keep my eyes peeled and my heart closed, because any mistake would remind people of the fact that I had the potential to be vulnerable, and they would jump on the opportunity to try to take my position or undermine my authority.

Sure, I was granted a certain level of eccentricity, being the chairman's daughter, but I knew that there would be a cap to that patience. At a certain point, a girl loving her cat stopped being charming, and became juvenile, untenable, and an undesirable trait in the company's future head. I was going milk the opportunity to spoil my Elizabeth the 3rd every chance I could get.

But Zen didn't get it. All the arguing. All the teasing. It didn't matter how many times he tried to convince me that I just "needed a real man to love me" to get over Elizabeth the 3rd. I wasn't going to budge on my identity. He would never see a warm, fuzzy Jumin. It didn't matter how many times he called me an emotionless jerk.

So… what was I doing there? I had dressed about as inconspicuously as I could, and there wasn't much that stood out about me physically, so I didn't think I would be recognized. But one could never be too careful. I tried to comfort my busy mind by reminding myself that theaters were dark. For the audience, at least. And the kind of people who would find fault with my actions weren't the type to be found here, anyway.

I sat patiently, closing my eyes as I listened to the overture, and opening them when the cast danced onto the stage. The story was… well, unoriginal. It was little more than a clumsily disguised revamp of a popular novel. Most of the performances were drab - nothing to write home about. It wasn't like I hadn't been to the theater before. I knew what good art was, and there was nothing wrong with going to appreciate it in my spare time. Lots of financiers liked to go to shows, and if that was the way to go about closing deals, that's what I would do. But this… the smoky blackbox theater, the niche crowd, and the subject matter (the show had been dubbed by critics as basically soft-core pornography), not to mention the fact that I had gone alone, would make my presence a scandal. Was it even worth it? I didn't get much out of seeing strangers in their underwear cavort across the stage, and after the first 15 or so minutes, I was certain I would be sneaking out after the first act.

And then, he came on stage. His presence was… different, from what I had seen in the chatrooms and at the parties. While usually, he oozed flippancy, he now emanated a distinctly intense aura, and it was radiating through the room. I heard a slight shuffle beside me as a woman crossed her legs, but she was practically leaning out of her seat, attention rapt. The rest of the show had seemed inconsequential, but when he took his place, I understood the meaning of the words, and why the actors cared to express them. Zen was pouring his soul out, in a heart wrenching ballad, to the heroine who had rejected him, telling her how he would never be the same without her, but wished her happiness. As he proclaimed that he dreamed he would one day find love again, Zen looked into the audience, as though his soulmate might be seated there, waiting for him. Such a tease. I knew what every woman in the room was thinking: "could it be me?" Every woman except for myself, of course.

But suddenly, as he was scanning his eyes across the room, they met with mine, and my heart stopped. His forehead crinkled and he nearly broke character, stuttering the next line of the song. He looked away, quickly, but I couldn't help but feel the flush which had started on my cheeks, spreading throughout my whole body. Fuck. I could see why he had so many fangirls. But it was this moment - the intimacy, the vulnerability, which caught my attention, rather than the sex scenes he played in, or when a female character ripped off his shirt, bearing his muscular chest. No, compared to that moment between the two of us, all of that was uninteresting.

I spent the rest of the show with my eyes nearly glazed over. There was no way, from that point on, that I would hear a line of dialogue spoken by anyone but him. My attention was rapt elsewhere. The rest passed in a blink. Before I knew it, people around me were getting out of their seats, chattering about the show. It seemed agreed upon that Zen was a highlight. One young woman insisted that they go wait by the back door to see him when he came out, to try to get an autograph. This struck me as odd. Zen was a minor celebrity at best. Why did they care to get his signature? It couldn't have been worth much. And yet… I felt my feet walking, almost out of my control, to follow them. I knew well that this was a mistake, and yet…

When Zen stepped out, at first, he was all smiles and heart, calling his fans jagiya and telling them how it was girls like they who inspired his romantic ballads, but when he saw me, he was momentarily ashen faced. I stood there waiting, while he greeted the younger and more enthusiastic women and the occasional man. When they were gone, our eyes met again, briefly, before I squeezed mine shut as I felt my heart racing, and willed it to slow down and to be quiet. My body was turning me to irrationality.

"What are you doing here?" I couldn't read his expression. Was he confused? Angry? This was the least transparent I had ever seen him. Perhaps Zen did not know himself. "Are you thinking about investing in local theaters? Don't do that." There was an edge to his voice. "It's wrong. You shouldn't be pushing out the small guys, who are just trying to build their way up in the industry from the bottom. You don't understand… it takes years to save to buy your own theatre, and even more to get industry connections for it to sell tickets, and you'd waltz in, stick your corporate logo on the door, and expect people to flock? Everyone would know it was phony."

"You might find that others are more financially motivated than you. But that's not what C&R does. We're an international export corporation. Letting small businesses grow in a country is net good for everyone." Fuck, why was I arguing with him about this? I wasn't actually emotionally or financially invested. And yet, like much with him, the claim had led to an awkward conflict.

"This is why we'll never get along." When I was mulling over my frustration, he had stepped closer to me - standing way too close. I could hear his breathing. "You just don't… it's like that goddamn silver spoon blinded you. You wouldn't know hardship if it slapped you." I looked away, aggravation burning in my chest.

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be a woman in the business industry? The impossible standards we're held to? The questions about children which simultaneously condemn us for the fact that they might affect our work but shame us for not contributing to the company's future and reputation as a family business?" I snapped at him. It was unfair and illogical to take this frustration out on him, but I had spent so long carrying it around that it had tangled in my mind. I was tired of Zen picking at me.

"No, I-"

"Do you know what it's like, as a daughter, growing up with a father who doesn't respect women? Realizing that I would always have to work twice as hard to set myself apart from them. And god… that doesn't even touch the sexual harassment I face. Men who think they can charm me so they can try to take the company… I'm surrounded by those who see me for my face and my assets. Do you want to know why I don't have people in my life, outside of RFA? I can't trust them. They all want something from me." Zen was awkwardly tugging at his long ponytail, seeming at a loss for words.

"Why don't you ever let people know all of that? Why didn't you tell us?"

"I can't. I don't have the luxury of a profession that relishes emotion. In mine, especially in my circumstance, the robot-like qualities you criticize me for are not preferential. They're necessary." He looked guilty and confused. His handsome features were scrunched into a frown, and he was fiddling with his hair. I couldn't help but notice the length of his fingers. His hands were calloused from working out, but they were otherwise perfect and unmarked.

"Why are you here?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Your show…" I paused. "Well, you were good."

"Don't criticize my cast."

"What? Don't you want an honest evaluation?" Zen's walls went back up immediately, the somewhat hostile expression returning to his face. I just couldn't say the right thing.

"If you understood the process, maybe. But you don't."

"Well, that's not to say you were perfect. You broke character, midway through your first song. You shouldn't be losing concentration like that." He shook his head at me in disbelief.

"There is no world where that was my fault." His expression had shifted to one of discomfort - maybe even a little embarrassment.

"What do you mean? You're an actor. You should be able to control… things like that."

"You were there! I wasn't expecting it." He almost looked sheepish, now. "You… threw me off, okay?" I don't know why, but the tone of his voice sent a zing to my chest. Perhaps I was becoming ill. My body was doing so many things which I didn't understand. I would have to order Jaehee schedule an appointment with my physician to make sure that I wasn't coming down with something.

"Seeing me threw you off? Why?"

"I don't know. Just surprised, I guess." He trailed off, not making eye contact with me.

"I brought you something," I said abruptly, taking it out of my oversized purse. The absurdity of the garment was utile - it could both hold the gift to Zen and re-entrench the idea that I was anyone other than Jumin Han. I had a well-deserved reputation for dressing neatly, and anyone who was skeptical of my attempt at appearing average would never believe who I was if they saw me carrying such a thing.

"Huh?"

"I read that it's customary to bring a gift to someone when you go see them in a show. Congratulations on your performance." I handed him a bottle of wine. Zen looked unimpressed.

"What is this?"

"Wine. And nice wine, I might add."

"Jumin…" he sighed. "Don't try to be my friend like this. You can't buy me."

"Buy you? What is that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting anything untoward-" Zen took another step, closing the distance between us, and cut my words off, pressing his lips against mine, kissing me roughly. I gasped into his mouth as he bit down on my bottom lip, scraping his teeth across the soft flesh in a way which was not at all gentle, before forcing his tongue into my mouth, teasing me. I was overwhelmed with how warm his mouth felt on mine, and the way that blood seemed to rush to my cheeks, my chest, my fingers, and… other places at his touch. Zen also seemed lost in the sensation. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his body was leaning in towards mine. I had never been this close to Zen, so I had never before gotten the opportunity to appreciate his scent. He had to be wearing very expensive cologne, and breathing it in, I felt like I was drowning in him. I was quickly becoming lightheaded.

Zen had reached a hand to tangle it through my hair, and, without thinking, I put my hand around his back to pull him closer, but I jumped when I heard something shatter on the ground. Zen had dropped the bottle of wine. There were pieces of glass everywhere, and my leg stung slightly - I was cut. The deep, red liquid was seeping into the concrete, dribbling away. What a waste. More than the wine, though, the moment was broken, and both of us had taken a few steps backwards. We were staring at each other.

"Why the hell did you just do that?" I asked him quietly. I was shaking a little. His actions seemed to register on his face a few minutes too late. We stood silently, eyes locked for a minute. His breathing was ragged, and my heart was still racing.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- do you know what time it is?"

"A little past midnight. Both of us really should be in bed. It's not good for a person's body to lose sleep like this."

"Fuck, don't say things like that." He shook his head at me. "'Both of us should be in bed…' Jumin, god. Do you have any idea of the meaning of your words?" I looked at him blankly.

"Yes. I need about eight hours of sleep a night to function. A regular sleep schedule is important for a person's heal-"

"You should go. It's getting to be about the time that I turn into a beast." I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes back in my head. I had heard many a time about "the beast" and found the rhetoric uncompelling.

"The beast doesn't scare me." Zen's eyes widened.

"What are you saying?" He sounded disbelieving, but couldn't mask the quiet but increased huskiness in his tone. I sighed.

"Nothing. Goodnight, Zen." I turned around and walked towards the street, where my driver was waiting. I had taken one of the plain, black, company cars in hopes that no one would notice my extravagance. A limo would have not been appropriate here. I shut the car door behind me, and I looked back through the window, to see if I could spot Zen again, but he was gone.

Alone, I took a moment to examine my condition. My cuts were starting to sting, but they were mild and could be treated at home with bandaids. More concerning were the pangs of butterflies floating around in my stomach, the swelling in my lips, and the rapid beating of my heart. What could all of this mean?


Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you like what you've read or have any thoughts at all!