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likedovesinthewindd · 1 year

Note

I have a request

So Ash is alive but Fez is in jail

So like Fez and the Reader have been dating for awhile like they're high school sweethearts (even tho he's a drop out) and before he got arrested she got pregnant.

Could you write how that looks. Like phone calls, and letters, and visits, but also write when he gets out and he gets to finally see his kid

hi love! ty for requesting🩷 idk if you wanted a little blurb but you got this big ass fic lmao, sorry i got carried away! also in this custer was never killed at Fez's house so he only got charged with drug possession and given like one or two years because he's a first time offender (i think?) ik it's all over the place but i hope you like it;)

fezco x pregnant!reader

warning: mentions of drugs/drug abuse, murder, jail, pregnancy, throwing up, giving birth, infant care, Fez's dad is mentioned once, religious imagery/mentions of praying, lots of crying.

wc: ± 4530

a/n: this is so similar to my other fez fic but also not at all lol. I tried changing it up as much as possible but there are def a lot of similarities I'm sorry. not proofread!

gif not mine, all credit to original creator.

You and Fez met back when he was still in school, just before he had dropped out. He sat next to you in History and the two of you would only talk briefly, often just about things like what the date was or when the next period would be. He would occasionally crack a joke or make a lighthearted comment that would always catch you off guard.

He was a normally stoic and calm person; he didn't talk much and kept to himself most of the time. This made you appreciate the rare jokes and little bursts of personality even more. You quickly found yourself talking more and more with him, and he'd start greeting you when you passed each other in the hallways. You had considered him somewhat of a friend after a while. Maybe not the closest, but you valued the little time you two would spend together.

Then he started showing up to class less and less, and rumors had begun spreading around. A few weeks before he dropped out, he had asked you if he could copy your notes that he had missed while absent, and you agreed. He told you to drop them off at the convenience store his grandmother owned, because that's where he spent most of his afternoons.

You did this every time he didn't show up to class; you'd write him all the notes neatly and bring them to him at the store, and in return he'd let you take whatever you want from the shelves free of charge. You always took the same thing (a can of Sprite, a packet of Sun Chips and a pack of cherry flavored twizzlers), and after a while he had started keeping the three items at the counter, ready for you to grab when you came around. One day he asked you if you'd like to stay a while before heading home, and you spent your afternoons sitting on the roof of the convenience store eating your treats and talking about whatever came to mind.

You never asked him why he wasn't at school, or even asked yourself why you'd go through all this trouble for him. Maybe it was because you've always been way too nice for your own good, or maybe because you had a little crush on him. One day when you were on your way to give him the day's notes, he'd told you he was dropping out. When you asked why, he only replied with, "Have to take care of my grandma."

You didn't stop visiting him after he left school, and would go to the store every other afternoon, quietly doing your homework by the counter while he restocked the shelves. He never explicitly told you, but he enjoyed having you around. You never asked too many questions and you were always nice to him. He would say maybe too nice to count as just being friendly.

As time passed the two of you grew closer and closer. You had met his brother Ash and occasionally helped him with his grandmother, who you had only met briefly before she became ill, when you were making your rounds to drop of his notes.

A few months later he had asked you out, and you said yes. You haven't looked back since.

That was years ago, and this was now. Now, you were sitting on the lid of the toilet in the dead of night with a pregnancy test clasped tightly in your right hand, while the other covered your mouth in shock. The two red lines stared back at you tauntingly as you felt your head spin with anxiety.

You were pregnant. You were pregnant with Fez's baby and you had no idea how you were going to tell him. You finished up, washing your hands and face and made your way to the bedroom you and your boyfriend shared. You hid the test in the drawer you kept your underwear in and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for your boyfriend to return home.

He arrived eventually, but you couldn't find the strength in you to tell him. You knew you had to eventually, you couldn't possibly keep this a secret for too long, but you were terrified. You had no idea what his reaction would be, and you feared the worst.

The night you finally did get the courage to tell him, was the same night he decided to almost kill Nate at a New Year's Eve Party. Your plan had been derailed once again and that night you found yourself sitting in the bathroom while you silently cleaned the cuts on his hands. You knew you couldn't tell him then, he was still on edge and filled with adrenaline from everything that had transpired. He was definitely not in the correct headspace for a revelation like that.

Everything after that night was an absolutely downward spiral.

With Faye moving in, Mouse getting killed in your house and ultimately Fez getting arrested after Custer had ratted him out, you found yourself at your wits end. He had been arrested and taken away right before your eyes, and you felt completely helpless as you watched him get dragged out of the now ruined house, with a distraught Ash clinging to you like a lifeline.

☆˚｡⋆

Fez was only given three years for drug possession with the intent to sell, considering he was a first-time offender. Three years may not have been much considering it could have been a much heavier sentence, but your stomach still churned at the thought that he would be away for that long. What about Ash and Marie? What about the store?

What about the baby?

You couldn't do this. It felt like the world was suddenly dropped on your shoulders as you watched the officers drag Fez out the court, and away from you.

You shot up from the uncomfy wooden bench and made your way to the closest bathroom, where you threw up the little food you managed to keep down this morning. When you finished you flushed the toilet and made your way to the sink to clean up. As you stared at your reflection in the dirty mirror, everything struck you at once like cold water being thrown in your face.

You were going to be alone. Alone and pregnant, having to look after Ash (who God willing, they don't take away from you) and his grandmother. You hadn't even realized you were crying until your reflection became blurry and your breathing erratic.

You went back home that evening, with a dreadful feeling deep in the pit of your stomach for what the future holds.

☆˚｡⋆

Fez had finally been approved for calls, and after not hearing anything from him in weeks you were ecstatic to finally hear his voice.

You had received a call from the jail where he was, following all the necessary steps and pressing all the necessary buttons before you got to talk with him. When you heard his voice say your name you had to stop yourself from breaking down right beside the telephone. It hadn't even been a month and you already missed him more than words could describe.

He said your name again in a questioning tone and you realized that you hadn't said anything in return.

"Fez?" was all you could force from wobbly lips as your grip on the phone tightened. "Yeah baby, it's me," he said quietly. "I miss you," you said trying your hardest not to sob. Gosh, you couldn't even think about asking him how he was doing, you just wanted him to know how much you needed him right now.

"I miss you too baby, so fucking much," he replied, "how are things going that side?" You inhaled sharply before answering. "I don't know," you answered truthfully, "I'm still trying to figure everything out right now. But okay I guess."

He hummed. "What about Ashtray, he around? Can I talk to him?" he asked. "Of course," you said before calling out to Ash, who was over the moon when he finally got to speak to his brother after so long. You saw him smile for the first time in months, and you were overjoyed at the sight.

When they were finished catching up he handed you the phone. "You still there?" you asked. "Yeah baby, but I only got like a minute left. Listen I'll call you back as soon as I can again okay?" he said. "Okay, goodnight. I love you so muh, Fez," you rushed out. "I love you too baby, so mu—"

He was cut off by the ending call and you placed the receiver of the telephone back on the wall.

☆˚｡⋆

You didn't know how to tell Fez you were pregnant over the phone, so you settled with writing him a letter. You told him how you were pregnant, and that you were planning on keeping the baby. A part of you already knew you were keeping the baby the moment you stared at the test in your hand. The thought of being pregnant now absolutely terrified you, but recently you had found yourself fantasizing about what the little one would look like.

Would it be a little girl or a boy? Would she have your nose, or your eyes? What would her soft hair feel like under your fingertips? What would her first word be?

You hadn't even realized you were already referring to the baby as "she". That was what made you realize you were already deadset on keeping the baby, whether Fez wanted to be apart of that or not, even though it pained you to think that way.

You nervously sealed the letter and sent it off, hoping for the best. Fez had called you the same day he received the letter.

"Hi Fez," you answered nervously.

"You bein' serious Y/N?" You knew exactly what he was referring to, so you took a deep breath before answering him. "Yes, I'm being serious," you said quietly. You could hear him sigh and curse under his breath before he spoke up louder. "How long you known?"

"From before the raid. But, before you say anything, I did want to tell you on New Years, but that shit with Nate happened and everything after that was a total shitshow," you breathed, "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier."

"Shit, it's alright ma I ain't mad, jus' a bit shocked," was all he said. There was a short silence between the two of you before he spoke up again. "I'm gonna be a dad?" he asked softly. "Yeah..." you said, waiting for anything to indicate how he felt about this. "I'm so sorry I can't be there wit' you for this," he said. That broke your heart. He wanted to there, wanted to be a father and the thought made your heart fill with joy.

"It's okay, we can't help the circumstances," you said. "Listen, I promise you imma be here wit you every step of the way, okay? Maybe not physically, but I want you to keep me updated on everthing alright?" he said. "Okay, I promise I will," you breathed, a smile stretching across your face. "Imma do right by you, baby, I promise. You ain't doin' this on your own."

You were sure your heart was going to explode. You were going to have a baby with Fez. The circumstances were the farthest from ideal, but you were hopeful that you were going to be able to do this. You were going to do this. For yourself, for Fez and Ash and for your baby.

☆˚｡⋆

The pregnancy was anything but easy, and it was even harder without Fez by your side. It helped that he showed his support in any way he could, like always calling and sending letters, checking up on you to stay updated with the condition of your baby. You were roughly at 3 or 4 months and by now the little bump was already visible.

Telling Ash was one of the things you were the most nervous about. You didn't know how he'd feel about a baby being bought into your living situation. You had sat him down and got straight to the point. When the words first left your mouth, his face twisted into an unreadable expression. He seemed to be mulling it over silently, before a small smile stretched across your face and he replied shyly with, "So I'm gonna like, be an uncle?"

☆˚｡⋆

The letters you frequently wrote Fez were on of the only things he looked forward to. He loved reading them, reading about how you were doing and everything that was happening with your body and with the baby growing inside you. It sometimes fet like he got to experience the pregnancy right there beside you, with the way he could clearly indicate your mood swings even in your writing.

The letter would quickly go from I saw an old couple sitting by the old park benches today and I broke down in tears to The guy at the drive-thru told me I couldn't order 'just pickels'. Imagine saying no to a starving pregnant lady!

When he received the letter with a small black and white attached to it, he nearly cried. The little ultrasound picture didn't look like much, you could barely make out the big white blob in the middle as a baby, an actual human being. He turned the picture around and saw that you had written our baby! in your messy handwriting, with a little heart at the end. That was all he needed to actually start crying.

That night he couldn't fall asleep at all. His mind was filled with a million thoughts that were consuming him. What if something happens to her or the baby while I'm in here? Will she be able to cope on her own? What's she gonna do once the baby is born?

What if I'm not a good father?

That's what was eating at him more than anything else. He didn't want to be like his own father, and his worst fear was eventually ending up like him, no matter how hard he tried not to. He didn't want his kid to hate him, he wanted to be the best dad he could be, because he already knew that you were going to be the absolutely best mother any child could ask for. He knew because he saw the way you cared for Ash, like he was your own little brother. He also knew that you had a big heart. When you loved, you loved with everything in you, so he didn't have an inkling of doubt about you being a good mother.

That was the night he had promised himself that he would be the best father that he could be for your child and that he'd give them the love and support he never received from his dad.

☆˚｡⋆

By now you had finally been approved for your first visit, and you were over the moon. The first time you visited you went alone, and when Fez saw you walking into the cold room, a slight waddle to your step and a cute little bump sticking out from your pretty pink sundress and cardigan, he swears he had fell in love with you all over again. You looked so beautiful, he thought, maybe more beautiful than you've ever been.

Maybe it was the pregnancy glow people would always refer to, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't seen you in months, but he couldn't get the dopey smile off his face as you made your way to the table where he sat.

You were permitted to a brief embrace and kiss at the beginning and end of each visit, and when he wrapped his arms around you for the first time in months, and got to inhale the smell of your almost unfamiliar perfume, he didn't ever want to let you go ever again. His grip on you tightened a little bit and you had to will away the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks when you felt his warmth consume your body. It felt like home being back in his strong arms.

"You're gonna squish the baby," you said playfully, placing a kiss on his shirt over his heart. You honestly didn't mind at all; you'd let him hold you like this forever if you could. You eventually broke away when you saw the guard giving you a unhappy look from the corner of your eye. You sat down on the cold metal bench and he found his seat accross from you.

You so badly wanted to hold his hand while you talked to him. You wanted to sit next to him and feel the warmth of his body radiating off him and bury your face into his neck and hold onto him for dear life, but you couldn't.

"Y'know if it's a boy or a girl yet?" he asked. You absent-mindedly tapped your manicured nails against the metal table that separated you two, until the guard had given you a stern look from behind Fez, by now irritated by the repetitive sound. You retracted your hands, placing them in your lap and shaking your head. "No, I'm finding out at the next appointment," you smiled, "do you still have the photos I sent you?"

You were referring to the ultrasound photos as you had sent him in letters from all your appointments. "Of course I do," he smiled, "keep 'em in my cell, under my pillow." You smiled, looking down at your belly and softly running your hand over it.

"I think it's gonna be a girl," you said softly, as if it was some secret only the two of you had the right to know. "Nah, it's a boy," he replied and you rolled your eyes playfully, which made him laugh. "Of course you think it's a boy," you joked. He shrugged "I'm still gonna love 'em whether they a boy or a girl," he said, before adding, "but it's gonna be a boy."

You rolled your eyes at him once again, this time more dramatically, and rubbed at your belly. "I just know it's going to be a little girl," you said, and when you looked up from your belly your eyes met Fez's. They were filled with an immeasurable amount of admiration and love, and you couldn't help but shy away from the attention.

"If it's a girl, I hope she look like you."

☆˚｡⋆

The last few weeks of your pregnancy you had asked your mother to stay with you until it was time to go and give birth. By now your belly was fully formed and perfectly rounded, and you were waddling around the house like a lost penguin. Everything was hurting, from your feet to your back and pregnancy brain was truly kicking your ass. As much as you loved the beauty of pregnancy, you couldn't wait to finally get this over with.

You were on the phone with Fez when you had first felt it, the liquid running down your legs followed by a slight cramp in your abdomen. At first you were scared that you had peed yourself (your bladder had been your number one enemy recently) but it didn't take long to realize what was happening.

Without even sparing Fez another word you hung up and called for your mother. This was it, you were finally going meet your baby.

Ash was shitting bricks as he paced around the house while you and your mother gathered everything to head to the hospital. Soon enough you found yourself in the hospital, with your arms leaning on the bed trying to control your breathing. The pain felt like nothing you've ever felt before, and at some point you thought you were going to pass out.

A little while later and you had started to dilate. After what felt like a lifetime of mindless pushing and incoherent shouts, the screaming of your baby girl filled your ears. You looked next to you, to your mother who was still holding onto your hand tightly while her other hand pushed the hair out of your sweaty face. You were beyond grateful to have her with you, but your heart yearned to have Fez with you for this moment. When you got to hold your baby in your arms you cried like a crazy person. She was so beautiful, and your heart was already filled with abundant love for her.

☆˚｡⋆

You've had baby Eden at home for almost two weeks, when you finally got a call from Fez.

"How'd it go baby? Is she healthy? Are you okay?" he had asked as soon as he heard your voice greeting him. You pressed the phone tighter between your ear and your shoulder. "She's as healthy as can be, and she's beautiful, Fez," you said happily, as you rocked the baby in your arms to sleep. "You gonna send me a picture of her?" he asked.

"I already have a few taken, I just have to get them printed then I'll send them to you," you smiled, "she's so beautiful, Fez." You knew it was a little biased, but she truly was the most beautiful baby you'd ever seen. Her pretty long eyelashes that rested on her chubby cheeks and the pretty pink lips that would sometimes streatch into a toothless smile, or her cute button nose that would scrunch up when she yawned or sneezed. Everything about her was so absolutely perfect.

"I can't wait to see yall ma," he whispered. You could hear the slight sadness in his voice. "Me neither," you replied with a sad smile.

☆˚｡⋆

He had no doubt when you told him that Eden was a beautiful baby, but when Fez got to see a picture of her for the first time, all the air was knocked out his lungs.

That was his baby. His baby girl, wrapped tightly in a fluffy pink blanket and a little cap to match. He couldn't stop looking at the picture, his thoughts going at a hundred miles per hour. Fez hadn't seen a lot of babies in his life, but he was one thousand percent certain that Eden was the most beautiful baby he'd ever layed his cynical eyes on.

He couldn't remember the last time he prayed, but that night Fez found himself closing his eyes and praying. He prayed that you and your baby were kept safe, he prayed that his baby girl would stay healthy and happy, and he prayed for the patience to diligently serve his sentence, counting down the days till he got to hold you both.

☆˚｡⋆

You sat in shock as you read the contents of the letter over and over and over.

Fez was going to be released from jail earlier for good behavior. He was coming home, to you, to Ash and his friends and to his baby. He was going to meet his daughter.

Ever since giving birth you hadn't brought Eden along with you when visiting Fez. She was still very young, and you didn't want her driving the long distances back and forth. This unfortunately meant that Fez hadn't got to meet his daughter yet. That was changing soon though.

☆˚｡⋆

You were pacing back and forth in the house, waiting for Fez to come knocking at your door. Today was the day Fez was coming home, back to his family, back to you.

He had to go through several release preparations, then pre-release custody and then supervision. After he complete those steps he had a full release from the BOP system, and they arranged transportation for him to come back home.

He had asked you to not tell anyone about him coming home, he didn't want people bothering him and wanted to spend his first night in just the company of the people he loved the most. You had kept to your word and not told a soul, not even Ash, who you knew would soon be jumping out of his skin when he gets to see his brother.

You had Eden in your arms, gently rocking her back and forth to soothe her. She was a little cranky because she didn't get her afternoon nap in, and when she finally dozed off, you went to go place her in the small crib next to your bed.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other nervously, before checking that everything was good. The food was cooked, the house cleaned and the bed covered in clean sheets.

The hard knock on the door almost made you drop the pie you had taken out of the oven. It was custard pie, his favorite. You removed your oven mits and sprinted to the door.

When you opened it, there stood Fez with a small smile on his face. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him as close to you as possible. He was here. He was back home with you finally and you got to hold him for as long as your heart desired.

By now you were sobbing into his neck, beyond relieved and happy to finally have him home. When you broke away he looked down at you, tears in his own eyes.

"Hi," he breathed. "Hi," you replied through a half sob half laugh. "You're home." "I'm home."

Ash had cried when he saw his brother standing in the living room awkwardly, and wrapped his arms around him tightly, almost as if he was scared of losing him once again. Once everyone had settled down somewhat, you decided to ask Fez the big question.

"Do you wanna see her?"

☆˚｡⋆

The room was dead silent as you pushed open the door and made your way inside, Fez following soon after. You could see the anxiety written on his face, evident in the slight tremble of his hands. This was a very big deal to him. He was going to meet his daughter for the very first time.

You made your way over to the crib, standing next to it and urging him to do the same. He warily moved closer to the crib, looked over the edge and down to where the little girl layed peacefully assleep. He could see the small rise and fall of her chest as she breath rhythmically, and the way her two small fists layed clenched tightly next to her body. If he listened closely enough he could hear her breathing, and the soft cooing sounds in between.

"She's beautiful isn't she?" you asked quietly, and he only nodded, not once lifting his gaze. "Would you like to hold her?" This made him look up at you. A part of him wanted to say no. He didn't want to hold something as precious as her in his hands. Hands that have done shameful and awful things, much too tainted to handle something as fragile and irreplaceable as her.

"It's okay, Fez," you said, sensing his hesitation, before reaching into the crib to pick her up gently. When she was secured in your grasp, you turned your body to him and he hesitantly reached out to take her from you.

Once she was in his arms the small tears began to fall from his eyes. You rubbed his back comfortingly as you watched him closely.

Nothing that Fez had ever achieved in his life measured even closely to this moment. No amount of money or fortune would make him trade this. This was it. This was him, being home and being able to be with you, with his family.

His grandmother had taught him the importance of family and looking out for each other. She taught him that the family he'd have would be the people he was willing to die for, and as he stood in the quiet room, his daughter in his arms and you by his side, he knew that he had found his family.

He looked over to you, and when his eyes met yours he saw the contented look on your face, behind all the happy tears.

"She looks like you," he smiled.

#fezco euphoria #fezco x reader #fezco x y/n #fezco x you #fez x reader #fez euphoria #fezco fluff #fezco fanfic #euphoria x reader #euphoria fic #likedovesinthewindd

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jkslipppiercing · 8 months

Text

Bumblebee 04 | jjk

• summary: Jeon Jungkook was your high school bully. What are you gonna do when your parents are forcing you to marry him as the country's most well-known CEO?

• pairing: ceo!jk x reader, high school bully!jk, dom!jk.

• genre: enemies to lovers, slowburn, high school bully to lover, arranged marriage, CEO/billionare romance, marriage of convenience.

• warnings: choking, humiliating (kinda idk), close proximity, cursing, miscommunication.

• WC: 2.1K aprox. (she's a little baby)

• taglist form

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A single tear runs down your cheek.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You've never cried over a guy. Is that going to change now?

Possibly.

Jungkook has already left for work at about 9:00, leaving you to your thoughts. He said you're due to show up at his office at 12:00, considering him being free for the day. He claims he needs to use his rare vacant hours to talk you over the basic dos and don’ts of working for him.

You agreed, acting like you've met him two days ago over a work interview.

“Y/N, I went to a gentlemen’s club yesterday.”

You run his words on repeat in your mind, like a jammed tape that's just running through your head. His voice refuses to back down, growing louder at your conscience. He's basically screaming the sentence at you now, overwhelming you.

“A strip club.”

Shit.

Another tear escapes.

In all honesty, you have no idea how to feel. One minute you’re fuming at how he didn’t care enough to show up to dinner yesterday, and the other you’re miserable; because you don’t want to be mad at him.

Every time your feelings are brought to the matter, you spiral. You truly don’t know how to feel. You want to understand him, but you’d be tossing your pride in the trash for you to forgive him for what he did. It was a mistake, you know how badly he knows he’s fucked up, but you still haven’t heard an apology. All it takes is one fucking apology, just good enough to show he cares.

You blocked your feelings out and wore a cold mask, in disguise of your true emotions. You expected him to be mad at that reaction, because you basically gave him nothing to work with, but he reciprocated it. He’s playing your game. Now, you’re going to play his.

You look at your reflection, wiping away at the stray tears of utter confusion. You plaster a satisfied smile as you appreciate the effort you put into the outfit you’re wearing.

You’re wearing a mini-dress.

In basic work attire ethics, wearing a mini-dress to work is inappropriate. It’s the epitome of unprofessionalism, and you’re wearing it purely to provoke Jungkook. He said you’re going to start working for him, but the poor man doesn’t know how you operate.

He’s giving you the secretary job only to show you who holds the true power, thinking it’s him who does.

He’s so gullible to think you can simply agree to work for him.

Soon, when you’re married to Mr. Jeon and you’re officially declared as his wife, you’re also officially a partner of the company. The company of which HG and Jeon Agencies will merge to form. So, in actuality, you're soon due to be working with him.

If you wore a mini dress to work as Jungkook’s future wife, who will dare to speak a word about it?

An off-shoulder, tight black mini dress- at that.

•••

You strut through the company like it’s your own, endless gaping faces staring your way.

Your head is held high, your hips swaying with every step in such an authoritative manner. It’s impressive- to say the least- the amount of confidence you’re radiating through every stride.

As you enter the elevator, you catch a rather cute employee- the quirky type with glasses- staring at youwith her jaw to the floor. You make sure to send her a rather flirty wink just before the elevator doors close and you’re taken up to Mr. Jeon’s office. You catch a glimpse of her swooning over the action with rosy cheeks, a victorious smile pulling the corners of your lips up.

A couple of minutes later, you’re in front of the secretary’s desk, Yoona staring up at you in bewilderment.

You smile at her half-heartedly, getting straight to the point; “Is Mr. Jeon alone in his office? Does he have anyone scheduled to meet him anytime soon?” Your voice drips in professionalism, cutting straight to the point.

Yoona takes quite a bit of time before she stutters a semi-coherent answer. “U-uh n-no. He’s alone.”

You nod your head in acknowledgement as your don’t waste your time any more, heading for Jungkook’s office door.

You don’t knock. Why would you?

Holy heavens.

Jungkook is leaning back on his desk as if awaiting your arrival. He has a glass of what seems to be whiskey in his hand. The tie around his neck loosened as his suit’s blazer was forgotten on the couch.

He has 2 leather chairs on either side in front of his desk and a wide couch in the center, in addition to an aesthetic coffee table; seemingly creating a lounge in the middle of his office.

He has a couple buttons of his shirt undone, as the sleeves of it are rolled up on his forearms. His hair tousled like he’d run his hand through it a million times, which he does before he smirks. He tucks one of his hands in his trousers’ pocket, using the second to bring the glass up to his lips. He smirks through it at you, all the while maintaining eye contact between you two. His watch glints in the sun, grabbing your attention.

You've always had a thing for men and watches, and goddamn is it a weakness.

The sun rays shine through the tall floor to ceiling glass windows, illuminating his figure and complimenting its height and the lean muscle that hides beneath the sheer material of the shirt.

The sight knocks the breath right out of your lungs and skyrockets your heartbeat to over one hundred and ten per minute.

Whoa.

His eyes rack over your body, starting from your toes and making their way up to your head. He takes his time taking you in, a glint of lust- maybe even hunger- swirling in his chocolate eyes. He takes another sip of whiskey.

“Mr. Jeon.”

“Mrs. Jeon.”

The name escapes his lips in an amused manner.

What?

Last time you checked, you were still Ms. Y/L/N.

“Excuse you?” You raise a brow as you approach him. You place your purse on the couch, joining his blazer as you strut towards him, your head held high.

“You better get used to being addressed by that, Y/N.” He stays leaned back on the desk, speaking as if he has not a care in the world. “You are my future wife, after all.” He smirks.

God damn that smirk of his.

Oh how much you want to kiss it off his face.

You continue your stride toward him, betraying no emotion when your face stays neutral.

You stop right in front of him, only to take the glass from between his fingers and cradle it in yours. “I can still say no, you know.”

You shrug casually, bringing the glass up to your lips to take a tantalizingly slow sip. You make sure to drink from the side he had drunk from, licking your lips after you let the sensation of the alcohol burn your throat.

His expression stays unreadable, so you make sure he understands what you mean: “To the marriage. I still have an option.”

As you go to set the glass back on the desk where he’s leaned on, you almost stumble causing him to hold you by your hips. You straighten, your nose touching his in the process.

He leans in further, his lips brushing against yours as he looks into your eyes. It feels like he’s staring deeper into your soul, and the thought scares you.

What if he finds things better left untouched?

What if he reads in between the lines of your emotions?

“What makes you think I’d let you?” He whispers to you, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. His hands are still glued to your waist the same way they always are, driving you absolutely mad in every way possible.

“This isn’t very professional now, is it, Mr. Jeon?” You place your hands on his chest as you push him away, solely to put distance between the both of you. A rosy blush kisses your cheeks as his hands find their home on your waist again, only for him to pull you closer.

His tone turns cold, speaking as if he hates the thoughts of you running through his head.

“You think you’re slick, huh?” He chuckles, but it comes out rather evil than lighthearted. You almost flinch.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” He stares deep into your eyes again, making your head swim. Your mind is too lost in his eyes to register the position you’re in. You don’t know what to do.

“Showing up to work in a mini-dress, Y/N?” His hand snakes up to rest on your jaw, but it’s a threat. It feels like a threat. You fail to move.

“That’s not very good now, is it?” He smiles, but it’s void of emotion. It’s scary. “Trying to provoke me?” His body is flush against yours now, with him no longer leaning against the desk, but handling your body in a way that makes it impossible for you to move; you don't even know if you want to. He’s taller than you- by far- his frame all too consuming the entirety of your thinking by towering over you.

His hand moves from your jaw to your neck, resting there. You struggle to appear unaffected, knowing very well how miserably you seem to be failing. The way he's looking at you almost seems like he's belittling you, making you doubt yourself every time you look at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You breathe out a response, surprising yourself. Why does he have such a great effect on you?

“Playing dumb now, are we?” He coos, mocking you in the way he smiles. His dimple laughs at you.

The hand on your neck flexes, barely cutting off your air suply.

You stay rooted to your spot. Your mind is going in so many different directions that it makes it harder to stay focused. Not that you are- by any means- focused. Your breaths are turning more shallow by the minute, but you love it.

You trust Jungkook, and he knows you do.

You'd trust him with your life, no matter how mad you are at him.

He's sure of it.

“Hm?” His tone grows irritated at your lack of response, so you simply shake your head no- as much as his grip allows you to- at least.

“I already taught you how to use your words, Y/N.” You can’t breathe. Your heart beats in your throat and you just can’t- breathe.

But still, you push through. “Why would I want to provoke you?” You ask instead.

“Don’t you feel betrayed?” Jungkook looks at you now. Fully looks at you. No playfulness, no amusement whatsoever. His hand falls from your neck, coming to rest at your waist.

The question catches you off guard. Where did this suddenly come from?

“Aren’t you hurt?” His eyes turn to ones so deep in feeling, it sets you off. Is he talking about the prior night?

“About?” You mask the emotions struggling to stay veiled by trying to sound as calm as possible.

Don’t show weakness. Your mind screams at you, a desperate attempt to keep you collected.

Of course you feel betrayed. Of course, you feel hurt. How dare he ask when it’s him that’s causing you to feel this way in the first place. All you crave in this particular moment is to unleash. Unleash the anger you’ve been trying so hard to bottle in. Although you crave that from deep within your bones, you stay cool- calm.

All the haze from the earlier teasing dissipates into thin air, and you take the time to properly look at the man before you.

Jungkook looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He has dark purplish eye bags under his currently heavy lidded eyes; the most beautiful ones you’ve ever been graced to see. Even in the exhaustion clearly evident in them, his eyes hold infinite depths of beauty. They captivate your whole being, leaving you intoxicated by their effect.

“I’m tired, Y/N.” He looks like he’s seconds away from collapsing. He’s angry again, his face fully expressing anger and frustration. But you have the right to be angry, too. Doesn't he think so?

You don’t give a shit if it means you’re being petty. You deserve an apology.

Your eyes squint in defiance at him, and you see his muscles tense further as a response to the action.

“You humiliated me.” You scoff, staring at him in disbelief. “You think you deserve the right to be fucking angry, Mr. Jeon?” You jab a finger to his chest.

The formality aims straight for his heart, while the coldness laced in your velvety voice stabs at it further. He stays silent, looks at the floor as his hands fall from your waist, only to hang helplessly on either side of his body. He clenches them into fists, only to unclench them right after. He repeats the action, in hopes of focusing on it instead of you. He doesn’t want to talk about it. About this. He’s thought about it too much, where it’s gotten him to a dead end. He doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t understand what he feels towards you; it’s a feeling that catches him off-guard.

A feeling he isn’t familiar with. A feeling nobody taught him how to deal with.

You jab a finger to his chest again, “Pick me up at 9, we’re going to the club you suggested the other day.”

Your tone comes out void of emotion- another stab to the heart. His eyes don’t betray the floor he appears to be so fascinated in.

You step away from him, turning away. Just like that, you’ve left the office, leaving Jungkook to drown in the confusion that’s slowly eating away at his mind- little by little, piece by piece.

Little did you know, Jungkook was angry at himself.

@hoseokteardrop @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring@bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @nochuel @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdoll @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotz @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime

#bumblebee #jungkook x you #bts jungkook #jeon jk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jungkook #enemies to lovers #bts fanfiction

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kimvvantae · 6 months

Text

the misadventures list; 5 (m)

➜ the night shift can be very wild at times. you’ve witnessed so many strange, concerning and absurd situations happen inside the tiny convenience store that you could make a long list with everything that got you stunned - and the situation that takes the prize of being the weirdest of your list is the night a desperate millionaire, for the sake of saving his fortune, asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend.

pairing: playboy!jimin x (f) reader

genre: smut, comedy (?), fluff • fake dating au

warnings: toxic parents. brief mentions of homofobia. alcohol consumption. explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, oral m&f receiving, throat fucking, unprotected sex, praise kink kinda, cum play, dirty talk). made-up celebrities. me trying to be funny i guess

rating: 18+

word count: 20k

A/N: i can't thank you guys enough for waiting for this update! i know it's been a while but i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!! as always, feedback is MUCH appreciated <3

➜ Chapters: check out masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

It’s almost 6PM.

Jimin is not happy about it.

The change in his expression as he checks the hour on his phone is subtle, but you see it as clear as day. The smile that remained on his lips and vanished from his eyes. He sighs, putting the phone inside his back pocket, and goes back to saying his goodbyes to everyone at the pier.

It makes you forget for a second that you were in the process of saving your own number on Jane’s phone.

You look down once again, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. Damn. You weren’t supposed to be making friends. Jane is the lesser problem right here - she doesn’t know anyone from Jimin’s family except Jimin himself. The problem is that many of Jungkook’s friends are Jimin’s, too, and they asked for your number or your Instagram. Which, sure, isn’t that big of a deal and isn’t something unpredictable either, but hey, your purpose here is to pretend for just three days. You’re supposed to vanish from Jimin’s life right after it’s over. “Vanishing” doesn’t include making friends with his friends.

“What? You forgot your number?” Jane asks, eyeing you. She’s so drunk that it’s obvious that she’s not seeing you really.

“Yeah, I’m… a little dizzy.” You chuckle awkwardly. That’s a lie, though - you’re not drunk in the slightest. As soon as you noticed that alcohol was making you act weird, you stopped with the cocktails and drank as much water as possible to dissipate it from your system (so much pee). Going to the Park’s private concert drunk is out of question.

Giving in, you type your real number on her phone and hand it back to her. Jane smiles.

“I’m so glad that we met, Y/N! You’re such a great person! For real, like, you have a nice vibe!” Jane says excitedly. Yeah, definitely drunk. “We should meet again before the trip is over!”

It won’t be possible, of course. You’re not free to do whatever you want. But you nod anyway, hoping she won’t remember anything later. “Sure, let’s go out!”

Your little chat is interrupted by Jungkook calling everyone for a group photo. As soon as everyone starts gathering in a spot, you feel Jimin’s hand resting on your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His grip is warm and gentle and heat spreads from the spot he touches. His hair is kind of a mess right now, yet he still manages to look cute. Jimin doesn’t say anything, just sends you a small smile before posing for the camera.

A few clicks later, he leans over to say quietly in your ear: “We really have to go now.”

You nod. Both of you still have to get ready for the concert in a few hours. As Jimin explained, up until now, only his parents’ closest friends arrived; tonight, though, is when the real people will arrive. Not causing a good impression on them is not an option.

You start to make your way out of there, in the midst of saying goodbye to the people you walk past (consciously ignoring the vultures that were around Jimin, though. You ain’t acting nice to them at all). As you both walk past Jungkook, Jimin puts his hand over the younger’s shoulder and sends him a warning gaze.

“You better sober up,” he says. Jungkook only opens a carefree smirk in response.

“C’mon, I’m not even that drunk yet. Don’t worry.” You’re not so sure about that, though; there’s something kind of psychotic about his silly smile. “See you guys later!”

Instead of arguing, Jimin just sighs.

And finally, you’re walking away from the pier.

It’s quieter now, which honestly is such a relief. The temperature started to cool down a bit. The sun has already disappeared behind the horizon line, yet the sky is still clear, painted in beautiful shades of orange, yellow and pink. You just walk in silence, hands behind your back, feeling a little funny. Since you stayed a long time in the water, it feels as if your body is still floating. It’s been a while since you felt this way.

“Jimin, I wanted to ask you a question…” you say quietly after a while.

After not getting a response, you frown and look around. Jimin isn’t beside you.

He’s a few steps behind, holding his phone to eye level.

“What are you doing?”

Jimin smiles. “Registering the moment.”

You quirk one eyebrow up and walk back to where he stands, a little bit confused. Jimin lets you see his phone for a second.

Your jaw drops.

You stand at the very center of the photo he took, your back turned to him, hair swaying with the wind. The beautiful sight of the evening sky serves as an astonishing background, the last beams of sunlight framing your figure beautifully. It’s breathtaking. He made such a trivial moment become something incredible with a single shot.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim, astonished, making Jimin chuckle. “You’ll send me this, right? This has to go on my Instagram feed!”

“Nope.” He says in a cocky manner, sticking his phone to his chest so you can't see it anymore. “I’m gatekeeping this one.”

“Aw, come on! That’s not fair!” You cross your arms and frown at him. "What are you going to do with this photo anyway?"

"It's my lockscreen already." His eyebrows shoot up in a playful expression. "What makes me remember, you should change yours, too. Why didn't we change it before? Such an amateur mistake!" He swiftly takes your phone from your hand and opens the front camera.

"What are you doing-?"

You gasp softly when Jimin pulls you by the waist, sticking your body to his. "Smile, pretty!"

His act was so sudden that you, indeed, end up cracking a genuine smile - at the same moment his lips touch your cheek tenderly.

Click.

Jimin steps away and smiles proudly at the photo. "We look like a real couple here. Come on, set it as your lockscreen."

You take the phone back from his hand, feeling a little dizzy.

Oh well.

You literally made out with him in front of everyone just a few hours ago, in the middle of the ocean. Why does the chaste kiss he planted on your cheek still makes your face burn? Is it because now you're alone, not having to pretend to be a couple anymore, that his act felt much more intimate? But… there was no one else around during your first kiss at the beach, either.

It's because you're head over heels for him already.

You shake your head frantically as if to yank these thoughts away from your head. No no no. I'm not falling that easily. I'm a cold hearted bitch. I'm just flattered because he's cute and hot and rich, but it'll go away. Right?

"Yeah, right." You mumble.

"What?" Jimin quirks one eyebrow up.

"What?" You freeze, realizing that you voiced your thoughts out loud. "I-I mean- I want to ask you something."

"Oh." He puts his hands behind his back and starts walking again. You follow him shortly. "What is it?"

You munch the inside of your cheek nervously. "You can not tell me if you don't want to. But… what happened earlier today? That family meeting, I mean. Is there anything I need to know?"

The carefree glint in his eyes immediately disappears. Jimin looks down at his feet. "Oh."

An uncomfortable silence settles between you, only the sounds of the ocean and voices from the other people at the pier lingering. It makes you regret making that question as soon as the words leave your mouth. "You really don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." You say hesitantly after a few seconds.

"No, it's alright." Jimin reassures, but he's still staring at his feet. He sighs and shakes his head. It's so painful to see him sulking this way whenever his family is mentioned… "Basically, they called me to say that Eunbi's parents are pissed about us."

Your eyes widen in surprise. "Really?" You came prepared to be hated by Jimin's parents, but Eunbi's as well? Shit. As if one billionaire middle aged couple of enemies wasn't enough.

"Really." Jimin nods. You have finally reached the stairs that lead to the street level. This pier is within the resort's property, actually, so you're not that far from the bungalows, and the main building is just a few streets ahead. "They came thinking that the engagement was already settled. Without asking for our opinions, you know. They think that bringing you here is disrespectful to their daughter."

"Oh." You knit your eyebrows. "So… they don't care if you're in an actual relationship. They'd want you to break up so you can get married to someone you barely know… even if you weren't aware of the engagement?"

"Yep. That's exactly how they think." He sighs heavily.

You go up the stairs in silence. Your brain is working furiously. "This won't put you into real trouble, right?"

Jimin chuckles. "Y/N, the whole point of bringing you here was to put me in trouble. I want to stress them. Just don't worry too much, okay? Worrying will give you wrinkles, and you have to look wonderful tonight."

You're finally standing on the sidewalk, where one of the Park family butlers already waits to take you both back to the bungalow (he's wearing a short sleeved dress shirt, at least. Poor butlers, having to wear suits in the summer!). Your stomach twirls in nervousness. Spending the afternoon so freely made you forget for a bit your actual purpose here.

"You go without me, pretty. I'll get ready at Jungkook's place."

You turn to him, frowning in a confused expression. "What? Why?"

The happy gleam in his eyes comes back slowly as he steps closer. "I already explained that today is a little more serious, right? More guests arrived, we have to impress people… so I hired a team to take care of you. Hairstylist, makeup artist and stuff. They're already waiting for you."

"Oh." You feel your face burning for some reason. It should be expected of him to do something like that - even obvious, since all the socialites attending are probably getting the same treatment - but still, you can't help but feel a little flustered. "Okay." You change the weight of your body from one leg to another nervously. "So… see you later, I guess?"

Jesus Christ.

He's doing it again.

Standing directly in front of you with his hands behind his back, a mysterious lip tightened smile and mischief in his eyes, watching your every movement with amusement. If your face was hot a few seconds ago, now your entire body is feverish. Will you ever get used to this? The things Jimin makes you feel without even touching you are kind of amazing. Imagine when he actually touch you the way you want the most-

Hey, pervert. Stop.

"I think I've said this a hundred times already… but it's kinda rude to just stand and stare at people." You say, eyebrows knitted - but you can't manage to sound annoyed at all.

Jimin smirks.

"I want to kiss you."

You're so taken aback that your eyes widen.

"Huh?"

"Don't huh at me." He steps even closer - so close that you feel the heat emanating from his body. He rests his hand in the junction of your jaw and your neck, spreading even more heat from that spot. You don't push him away. All this heat is going to make you melt like a popsicle. "Don't try to look innocent right now. You shoved your tongue in my throat not long ago, missy."

You giggle, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I already said… I was just method acting."

"Hmm." Jimin nods slowly, biting his bottom lip. The sight makes you weak on the knees. "Sure. So, me kissing you right now means I'm method acting because one of the butlers is watching and we can't look suspicious around them, okay? Because they're my parents' eyes and ears, okay? Not because I want to kiss you." His voice gets lower as he leans in, a faked innocent expression that has you smiling and melting at the same time. "Just to make it clear so there's no misunderstanding. Okay?"

"Okay." You nod.

"Good. I'd hate if you got it all wrong."

Your giggle is muffled by his lips on yours.

Your hands instinctively rest on each side of his waist, while he cups your face with both hands. Oh God… his plump lips are addicting. This kiss is slower and somehow more peaceful than the one you shared in the sea, but it makes your heart race and your senses go crazy nevertheless. Your lips move slowly, in sync with his. You can feel him smiling within the kiss, which causes your knees to feel even weaker.

He breaks the kiss not too long after, aware that you're standing in the middle of the sidewalk, but not taking his hands off of you. Yet again, he bites his bottom lip, analyzing your features carefully. "Hari will be there. You'll have a lot of territory to mark. Be ready."

You throw your head back, laughing. "Sure. You really are enjoying this way too much, huh?"

"I am. Why wouldn't I?" He confesses cheekily, shrugging. He pecks your lips one last time, lingering for a little longer, before finally letting you go. "See you later, pretty."

"See you."

You hope that Jimin doesn't notice that your legs kind of forgot how to walk as you distance yourself from him towards the butler. Because yes, you feel like a poor popsicle melting under the scorching Hawaiian sun. The sun has Jimin's face, which makes you remember the Teletubbies for some reason, earning a quiet giggle from you. The butler eyes you as if you're crazy.

Maybe you are getting crazy.

But to be honest - this insanity is sweeter than any popsicle you could ever taste.

As a kid, you always fantasized about being Mia from The Princess Diaries. Call it escapism if you want - fantasizing about a perfect life while yours was awful - but it was a dream of yours. Imagine: finding out your grandmother is a queen? Going from a regular loser to a crown princess? Who wouldn't want that?

You haven't thought of that movie in years. Now, as you stand in front of the mirror, it suddenly pops up in your head. Yes, Mia's iconic "transformation" scene.

Except you didn't think you were ugly before, which means right now, you're feeling like a literal goddess.

Maybe that's why God didn't make me rich, you think. Maybe he knew if I looked like this on a daily basis, I would be the most unbearable human being in this world.

"Did you like it?" The hairstylist, Christine, asks, eyeing you expectantly.

If I liked it?! I look like the hottest bitch you'll ever see in your life!

But instead of letting everyone see your God complex, you just nod and smile politely. "I loved it!"

Your eyes focus on the mirror again.

Jimin suggested you'd both wear black tonight as an evil joke. Traditionally, the dinner followed by the private concert is a more "informal" event, so everyone should dress accordingly with colorful outfits (you're in Hawaii, after all). Let's wear black. It represents me grieving my freedom, he said jokingly at the mall. You chuckled and thought he was being dramatic back then, but after everything you've witnessed for the past 48 hours, you realize that Jimin wasn't really joking when he said that.

The Yves Saint Lauren dress you two picked is quite simple: a short, strapless and sleeveless dress with a straight neckline. It's perfectly balanced between sexy and elegant: it enhances your curves the right amount, not enough to be considered vulgar by the aunties. Although it's strapless, it doesn't squeeze your boobies up so the uncles won't get "distracted" (ew). It's so simple but fits your body so well that you can't help but stare at your own reflection in awe. Simple black Givenchy sandals complete the outfit.

Being a (poor) fashion enthusiast, this whole experience is like heaven to you. One thing is to see new collections and judge new trends; another completely different thing is to get to wear a piece from a high fashion house. It's not only about prices and status. This dress is so well cut and woven that it seems to be alive, as if it knows where to be tight and where to be loose.

Doing your own makeup and hair was never a problem and you could do a pretty good job by yourself, but professionals doing it is on another level. Christine styled your hair back, carefully parting it and tucking it behind your ears, so your face is highlighted. Marco (the makeup artist) made your skin look impeccable, as smooth as baby butt cheeks (it's crazy how makeup can lie, huh?); the winged eyeliner, albeit simple, enhances the natural shape of your eyes. The lashes are subtle and make your eyes appear bigger. He completed the look by placing tiny little glitter dots under the waterline, one for each eye, so they kinda look like shiny tears (you suggested it, by the way, being carried away by the whole "grieving" concept. Talk about drama). He chose a lipstick color close to the natural color of your lips, making them appear shiny, plump and healthy.

And finally - the jewelry.

Mr. Zhou arrived at the bungalow a few minutes ago, carrying a leather, medium sized suitcase. You greet each other politely. Jimin texted saying that he would bring the jewelry you'd wear tonight - and you were anxious all along, because while you planned the outfits, he had already said you'd wear jewelry, but he didn't tell which jewelry; didn't show a single photo of what you'd wear, simply asked you to trust him. Although you learned to trust his fashion sense pretty fast, you don't like surprises at all. What if it's something extravagant that would ruin the look?

"Mr. Jimin picked those pieces from the Park jewelry collection himself," Mr. Zhou explains as he puts white gloves on (oh shit - this is so expensive that he has to wear gloves to touch it?!). "He said they would suit you fine - and I agree."

The chief butler opens the suitcase and takes the biggest black velvet case from inside, opening it.

It takes all of your self control not to gasp.

It's a gorgeous diamond necklace (yes, diamonds, fucking real diamonds!); it looks like a thick chain, actually, and at the center of it, sits a bigger emerald (yes, an emerald, a fucking real emerald!). Inside the box there are also subtle emerald earrings framed by tiny diamonds; since the necklace is already too much, the earrings have to be subtle to accompany them.

“I present you The Serpent’s Eye.” Mr. Zhou explains eloquently. “Tiffany & Co., designed by Paloma Picasso and acquired by the Park family in 2006.” He takes the necklace from the velvet case carefully. "If you'll allow me…"

"Of course." You say, turning around and facing the mirror again - but you do so hesitantly, because being the fashion enthusiast you are, you recognize the name Paloma Picasso, and the fact that you’re about to have one of her original designs around your neck scares you. You’ve been very well aware that every piece of clothing you wear is worth thousands, but these pieces must be worth much more than everything else combined.

Mr. Zhou stands behind you and places the necklace around your neck, the cool touch of metal and diamonds making you shiver. The necklace sits just above your collarbones. The name of the design is understandable - it indeed resembles a small snake tangled around your neck. He also helps you put the small earrings on.

Finally, Mr. Zhou steps aside.

"You look astonishing, Miss. Y/N," he says, and honestly, he sounds like he means it.

Yeah, I do, it’s what you want to say - but instead, you say “Thank you.”

It’s exactly what Jimin intended: elegance. If you’re too extravagant, his parents would hate it, and it’d make you look cheap no matter how expensive your clothes actually are. If it’s too simple, it’d look like you have no fashion sense. This look is the perfect balance. Your natural beauty is the focus, everything else just meant to highlight you.

You look like a celebrity.

You look like them. Like someone’s rich daughter. And yes, it’s conflicting, because you never wanted to look like them - but you can’t deny that you like what you see in the mirror.

You understand Jimin better now. Of course - he's an old money child, he doesn't know any lifestyle other than this. You're just having a little taste of what this life is. Yet, you can understand why he's so desperate to not lose his portion of the Park family fortune. Who wouldn't want to live such a lavish life? Who wouldn't want to look their absolute best at any opportunity, to wear clothes worth thousands just because they can?

Mr. Zhou looks at the watch on his wrist. “Now that you’re ready, I should take you to the event hall as soon as possible.”

“Am I late?” You ask in a worried tone.

“Fashionably late. I’m sure everyone will understand. It takes time to look your best.” Mr. Zhou reassures. Why is he being so nice today? “I will wait for you outside, Miss Y/N.”

You nod. As Christine and Marco pack their things, you don’t forget to thank them over and over again for their wonderful job. They seem like pretty nice people, actually, and you'd like to get to know them better, but you have no time to. Two other butlers will assist their exit. You take the small black clutch that literally can only fit your phone and a small lipgloss before walking out of the bungalow where Mr. Zhou already waits.

No golf car today. Instead, that same Mercedes Maybach from yesterday is parked outside. Mr. Zhou politely opens the door for you and helps you get inside the car before taking his place on the driver's seat.

Another wave of nervousness hits your stomach as he turns the car on and finally starts making his way towards the hall - a separate building within the hotel's property, sitting in front of the ocean, not far from the pier. The ride will take probably 5 minutes. You exhale heavily, checking yourself again with the front camera, before tapping Jimin's contact.

you: i'm coming

He replies almost instantly:

jimin: waiting for you outside

Oh. You didn't think he'd already be there. You put the phone inside the clutch again and look out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek.

"Are you nervous, Miss Y/N?" Mr. Zhou asks out of sudden, snapping you back to reality. He keeps the formal tone; his voice is soothing.

"A little bit, I'll admit." You say with a lip tightened smile.

"Tonight, you'll be meeting Jimin's parents' close friends and allies from other companies." He continues. He always speaks as if he's picking his words carefully. "It's quite important to them. It's not just a celebratory event, you see… they reassure their place within society and business today."

You frown slightly.

Mr. Zhou never talked this much. Although he keeps that formal persona, you see that he's trying to tell you something very specific, just avoiding the direct words to do so.

And yes, you get the message.

"You don’t need to worry, Mr. Zhou.” You say, crossing your arms, your expression hardening like stone in seconds. “I won’t embarrass the Park family in front of their friends.”

You see the butler nodding. “You’re smart.” He remarks. “Intelligence is important if you want to be accepted in the family.”

I would never in a million years want to be part of this family, you think. Instead, you just gulp and grip your arms, trying to ease the growing anger.

Finally, he parks in front of the events building. Yet, instead of immediately going out - and stopping you from opening the door yourself, since you’re already annoyed, Mr. Zhou turns around on his seat to look at you directly.

His expression is serious.

“I don’t want you to take my words badly, Miss Y/N.” He says in a quiet, yet stern voice. “I have been watching over this family even before Jimin was born. I know each of them very well, and I know how dysfunctional they are. When I say you have to be smart around them and watch yourself very carefully, I don’t say it to belittle you; I say it because I know what they would be capable of doing if you offend them somehow.”

“Are you trying to scare me?” You lean forward a bit, getting defensive. “Did they tell you to threaten me?”

“No.” His voice and expression don’t change despite your obvious outrage. “I am warning you because I see that you’re not quite aware of the type of people you’re dealing with. And because you seem like a respectable young lady.” Mr. Zhou’s eyes soften a bit. “I see that Jimin likes you a lot. I’m not quite sure of what your relationship with him really is, and I’d be happy if it’s genuine, because he really needs it in his life. But I know Jimin very well…” Mr. Zhou tilts his head to the side, frowning a bit. “...and I’d hate it if you're somehow harmed because of his immaturity.”

He sends a last significant gaze before finally opening the door.

You just have these short seconds to recover your breath before he opens the door for you. Shit. What he said actually gets you. Call it naivety or whatnot - but you didn’t stop to consider that Jimin’s parents are actually powerful people that could mess up your life if you annoy them enough. But… Jimin wouldn’t have asked for your help if he knew his parents would try anything serious against you, right?

Mr. Zhou knows Jimin better than you do and he just called him immature.

Oh shit.

The butler opens the door and offers his hand for you to walk out of the car. Now, you’re not just nervous - you’re worried.

Thankfully, the temperature dropped - it's still considerably hot, but much more comfortable than hours ago. You stand up, inhaling the fresh nightly air, and look at the gigantic building in front of you. Important events happen here quite frequently. Large marble stairs lead to the entrance of the hall. There is a gathering of women and men dressed elegantly slowly making their ways inside, greeting each other politely as they walk in, as well as many security guards. You stand on the sidewalk and nervously look around, searching for Jimin.

You spot him before he spots you.

He's standing at the corner, kind of hidden, close to the first steps, absently checking his phone. You already knew what he would be wearing tonight, but to see him in the outfit makes your brain malfunction.

Obviously, Jimin wears all black: a silk turtleneck under a black glitter Louis Vuitton blazer that fits him marvelously. The turtleneck is tucked into the dress pants. On his feet, leather black boots. His hair is pushed back, a single strand falling on his forehead, and he uses a pair of shades to complete the look. Instead of the usual dangly earrings, he wears small hoops tonight that match the outfit very well. Once again, you're left astonished at how this man is doing basically nothing - just standing there with one of his hands tucked inside the front pocket of his pants, checking his phone with a blank expression - but Gosh, he's gorgeous. His posture is perfect: he has the elegance of a swan, the grandeur of an eagle, and the confident gaze of a tiger about to slash you to pieces. In fact, he looks so good that you even forget the short talk you had with Mr. Zhou a minute ago.

It takes him around three seconds to lift his gaze from the phone and spot you.

It's funny, because you see the exact moment he freezes.

The shades slide down the bridge of his nose. He looks at you with slightly widened eyes and parted lips. It's like he's in shock.

Then, a smile breaks its way and lightens his face.

Jimin shoves the phone inside the pocket of his pants and rushes to you in a second. Nervousness bubbles within your stomach at every step he takes. It doesn’t help that he walks with the stance of a model - he’s definitely doing this on purpose. Handsome men that know they are handsome are the most dangerous type. Jimin is not only very well aware of his appearance, he uses it to his advantage all the time.

And when he stops in front of you, checking you out from head to toe - it’s like you can’t even breathe.

It’s a different feeling from yesterday. There’s no playfulness in his eyes at all. Only that same electricity hanging in the air you felt earlier today at the yacht - when you sat on his lap, when you kissed. This electricity is getting more and more intense, it’s like you’ll start seeing sparks around you at any moment. Fuck, he didn’t even touch you yet. You don’t know how much longer you can resist…

Honestly, you’re not sure if you want to keep resisting at this point.

Jimin takes your hand and makes you twirl around, earning a soft giggle from you. He bites his bottom lip, that mischievous smirk making you feel weak on the knees.

“Just so you know,” he says in a low voice, putting his hand on your waist, “If I make a fool of myself in front of everyone, I’m blaming you. Because I won’t be paying attention to anything else tonight.”

You giggle again, tentatively touching the lapel of his blazer. It’s beautifully embroidered with circular patterns; you can only see them if you stand close enough, though. Your sight lingers on his lips (for long seconds; they’re so plump and glossy and delicious) before you look into his eyes again. “I could say the same thing, Mr. Park.”

Jimin’s smirk widens and he tilts his head to the side. “I knew The Serpent’s Eye would suit you.” He touches the necklace with his fingertips. The action makes you gulp - this necklace seems to weigh tons and you’ve been painfully aware of it all the time, your anxious brain already making up scenarios of you losing the millionaire design and Jimin’s parents making you pay with your life.

“Why did you choose it, by the way?” You quirk one eyebrow up in a teasing expression. “Are you calling me a snake? Should I be offended?”

Jimin chuckles. “Of course not. Serpents are astute and smart animals… just like you.” Sir, the actual smooth person here is you, not me. “Not everyone can pull off such an aggressive design. I knew none of my mother’s friends would dare to choose it.”

Jimin hooks your arm around his and slowly starts to guide you towards the stairs. “So your mom lets her friends borrow her jewelry?” You ask.

“From the family collection, yes.” Jimin nods in a gracious movement. “The most expensive pieces, only to the closest and most important guests. It’s a sign of trust and respect.”

“But your mother surely doesn’t respect me.” You say between gritted teeth, aware of the people around you.

“Don’t worry, she won’t say a word about it. It’d be weird if the guests noticed that her daughter-in-law isn’t wearing one of the pieces. Like I told you… this event is about appearances. She’d rather die than let people think her family isn’t perfect.”

Daughter-in-law. This makes you shiver. You've been her fake in law for barely 48 hours and it already feels like hell. Imagine being her real in law… Jieun must’ve done some awful things in her past life to deserve this, honestly.

You’re forced to pay attention to your real surroundings before you can overthink more, though, when you realize you’re the center of attention.

This is probably the closest you’ll ever feel to being a celebrity. It’s not unusual to be the center of attention when it’s your birthday, for example. But this… this feels different. You don’t know most of these people, just some familiar faces from earlier today - yet, it seems that they already know you, they measure you up and down, they smile and greet you before you can. Sure… your arm is hooked with one of this event’s hosts, the Park’s youngest son. Yet, you see that people are also actually seeing you. You’re not just Jimin’s accessory.

Is this good? You’re not sure. This means they’ve heard from you somehow. In the span of less than 48 hours, these unknown people have been talking about you.

They approach you with curious smiles; they greet you and Jimin, make some shallow - almost diplomatic - comment about the weather or how long they haven’t seen Jimin or about the outfits or I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N! (how the hell did they hear a lot about you in such a short time, though?) or you make a gorgeous couple! (you know they’re not lying about this bit; you do look gorgeous). They do not look at you disapprovingly, so you can confirm that the outfit choice was indeed appropriate for the event, albeit dramatic.

“You’re great at this, did you know that?” Jimin compliments after yet another middle aged couple walks away, leaning a bit closer to your ear so only you can hear. “You even remember their names.”

“I have a good memory,” you say between a gritted-teeth smile. “Also, working on customer service teaches you a few things.”

“Really? You weren’t this charming when we met at that convenience store.” He says in a teasing way, cocking an eyebrow up.

“First of all, I met you sitting on the floor behind a fridge. You looked like a freak.” He lets a giggle at that. “Second, I’ve moonlighted as a waitress many times. And event hostess. Never any event of this level, of course.”

The last sentence was spoken in a quieter tone. Once again, you’re a bit scared of how Jimin - and everyone else - don’t seem to be bothered by the absolutely luxurious environment around. The immense hall is decorated in similar white and cream tones from the dinner yesterday (there’s a reason for that; Jimin’s parents are celebrating their 30th anniversary, the Pearl anniversary, apparently). Even waiters and waitresses, walking around with silver platters in hands and pretty smiles on their faces, wear cream uniforms. There are literal cascades of white lilies and roses so beautifully entangled that you’re intrigued at how they managed to arrange that. The round dinner tables are also decorated with white flowers at the center. There is a massive ice sculpture of an open oyster with a pearl in it at the entrance of the hall; the presence of pearls and oysters is almost everywhere in the decoration. The hostesses and waitresses even have small oyster shaped pins on their hair. At the very front, there is a stage; it’s barely lit yet, but you can see musicians discreetly preparing their instruments for the concert later. Professional photographers walk around the hall, recording and taking pictures of anything remarkable.

It’s jaw-dropping.

You feel weird inside.

It doesn’t matter that you look like them; you don’t feel like them. You don’t belong in this place, and it feels that everyone will notice it too if you do the slightest thing wrong. It’s clear in the way you’re astonished (outraged) at how someone can spend so much money on flowers (do you even know how much a single bouquet costs? Can you imagine thousands of flowers?!) while these people walk around with hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging from their ears or around their necks, and to them it’s just another weekend.

Oh boy. Mr. Zhou was kinda right. You will have to be very careful not to embarrass Jimin or his family in front of these people.

You walk around with your arm hooked around Jimin’s for a while, making silly small talk with the guests. Jimin quietly whispers who they are and their importance as they approach. It’s always some over the top shit like Biggest LG Shareholder or Co-Founder of This Very Famous Car Brand or CEO of This Very Rich Food Company and it makes your stomach drop every time. It seems that half of the country’s GDP is hanging around in this hall. A bunch of old guys with their (1) same age, but full of obvious cosmetic procedure wives or (2) much younger wives that of course married them out of true love.

Jimin complimented you earlier, but it’s him who deserves the most compliments. He’s really good at this. It’s so easy for him to engage in a superficial but polite conversation. Hello! I acknowledge your presence here! I am thankful that you came but I do not care enough to talk more than two minutes with you! Yes the weather is nice! See you later! All that with the prettiest smile and most genuine fake laughter you’ve ever seen (sounds contradictory but that’s exactly that). And they all fall for that. He’s so unbearably charming.

Which makes you wonder.

Jimin said that the whole purpose of bringing you to Hawaii was to upset his parents. But… he’s not really acting like someone willing to do that. Of course - maybe he knows that if he goes too far, his parents might really cut him off of their sweet sweet money fountain. Yet, it doesn’t match with what he stated earlier. Does he really want to piss his parents off? Or does he want to play the good boy so his parents leave him alone with this engagement thing? Those are opposites, he can’t want both.

Does he even know what he wants?

You’re unsure.

Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have accepted this insanity, the little anxious voice in your head says. Maybe he really is too immature and is about to fuck me up.

Jimin gives a little pat on the hand that holds his arm and smiles.

“We’re doing really well, pretty. I’m relieved that you’re here.” He says quietly. “This kind of event always stresses me out, but you’re making this easier.”

Don’t go around saying cute shit like that while I doubt you!

You avoid his gaze and sip a little bit more of the champagne you picked earlier from a waiter. “It doesn’t look like you’re stressed at all.” He shrugs.

“I’m method acting, too. Kinda used to it at this point.”

And there it is. That quiet sadness in his eyes.

Goddamnit.

All the questions in your head crumble to the ground, and you immediately want to comfort him like a baby.

That’s not a baby. It’s a grown ass man. Get yourself together.

The voice in your head is angrier now - and she’s kinda right, to be honest.

Jimin sighs and pats your hand again.

“Okay, we’ve wandered around enough. Food will be served soon… so we have to get seated.” He doesn’t even try to pretend he doesn’t despise the idea of having to sit with his family for another torturously long dinner.

“Okay.” You nod, placing the now empty champagne glass on another waiter’s platter. You inhale, trying to gather more confidence. “Let’s go.”

So, you start walking towards the table at the front of the stage - the most important one where everyone can see from all directions.

They’re already there, surrounded by their closest friends.

At every step, you try to gather more and more anger within yourself - this anger will fuel your confidence and muffle the nervousness (in theory). Fuck this middle aged billionaire couple. Fuck their matching cream outfits - Mr. Park Hyunjun wears a very traditional (read: boring) cream suit, while Mrs. Park Eunji wears a long, flowy dress with blue details in it and beautifully embroidered with silver patterns that seem to remember a soft breeze. A beautiful pearl necklace adorns her neck and modest cleavage. Their outfits are very “age appropriate” and posh, indeed, and they are an attractive couple, but everything about them is so painfully traditional.

Also fuck the way they look at you two with disapproval.

Another nauseatingly fake scene unfolds in front of your eyes - Mrs. Eunji giggles and side hugs Jimin, gushing over how handsome he looks (she can’t hide the obvious distaste for his black outfit, though).

“What an… interesting choice,” she says, touching the embroidery on his blazer with her fingertips. “Rather dramatic, I’d say.”

Jimin smiles. “Everyone looks good in black, you know. Also, I didn’t want to stand out.”

Bullshit. No one else is wearing black because it goes against the dress code. The way he said it so innocently would make any unsuspecting ears believe him, but his mom is certainly not one of those - neither are you.

“Of course, black can make anyone look presentable at least. Y/N is live proof, isn’t she?”

She eyes you from head to toe and smiles sweetly.

Holy fucking shit. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

Her tone. The way she looks at you. Her awful Tom Ford perfume that makes you want to vomit as she approaches and - gasp - side hugs you too, like a good and loving mother-in-law. You smile and give her some soft pats on her back, but God, you can’t act as well as her at all - although you force yourself to do your best, well aware that all eyes and ears are focused on the Park family.

“You look astonishing tonight, Mrs. Park,” you say between gritted teeth. “This color really suits you.” Cream is boring. Like old paper. You almost smell like mold, too, rattlesnake.

“I’m glad you think so.” She’s not glad you think so. “See, me and Elie spent a long time choosing the color palette for this dress… he did such a wonderful job in the end.” She widens her eyes slightly. “Oh! My apologies, you can’t possibly know who I’m talking about…”

“Elie Saab.” You promptly say. Of course Elie Saab himself designed a dress for her. “Yes, I know his work.”

“Really?” She raises one eyebrow and this small movement spreads anger through your system. So much disdain, and she just said a word. “I didn’t think you’d know such a highly regarded fashion house, since you seem so… humble.” She has the audacity to eye you up and down with disgust again. “A wonderful trait to have, you see! Our Jimin definitely needs someone in his life to teach him some humility.”

In all honesty, you don’t even know how to respond to this.

Your wanted reaction is to reach for the nearest fork and stab her face with it. Which is, unfortunately, socially inappropriate. You also think of calling her by the ugliest names in existence, which, unfortunately is also socially inappropriate (won’t take you to jail, at least).

But all you can do is keep that smile plastered on your face and anger in your eyes.

This level of contempt is not unusual.

Alpha High taught you to get used to it. The giggles, side glances, or straight up offenses spoken out loud so everyone could laugh at your expense, too. It taught you to accept it silently, because you knew no one would stand up for you; you didn’t have enough money or a heavy surname to back you up. You weren’t important enough. Who cared if you had an excellent academic performance? It wasn’t as cool as having a summer manor in Greece anyway.

You hate that no clever response comes to your mind. You hate that you can just stand there and awkwardly look at her - this woman that made you feel cheap even though you have diamonds sitting around your neck. You hate that, deep down, you’re feeling as cornered as you were as a defenseless fifteen year old standing on the school hallway.

Not a fun feeling at all.

And things just start getting progressively worse.

Before even Jimin gets time to say something, another couple approaches - and your blood freezes. You’ve seen them yesterday at the reception dinner and earlier today, now feeling a little stupid that you didn’t make the simple connection. They’re followed shortly by another person, a much familiar and hated face.

Eunbi’s parents, apparently; Mr. and Mrs. Jeong.

Now that you look at the three of them, the silly part of your brain wonders who Eunbi inherited her beauty from, because they don’t share much of it with her, let’s say. They’re impeccably well dressed, of course, but their daughter’s beauty steals all the attention. She wears a rosé pink minidress (is it MiuMiu?) with a straight neckline and thin straps. On her ears, diamond earrings that seem to resemble raindrops; around her neck, a diamond choker necklace. Everything combed with the subtle makeup gives her a young, cute look.

You measure each other up and down like two rival lions about to fight. Complete opposites, black and pink.

The tension is so extreme that it’s almost visible - like some kind of fog.

Jimin is the one to break the ice, stepping closer to greet the couple, and you do the same, glad that you don’t have to look at Mrs. Rattlesnake even for five seconds - though this other lady also hates you, apparently. It’s kind of amazing how Jimin can act like the heavy tension isn’t there at all.

The seven of you stand there smiling for long and silent five seconds. It looks like a smiling contest. You can’t tell who’s angrier.

“So… Y/N, right?” Mrs. Jeong says. She looks like an eggplant, some part of your brain remarks silently, almost making you (very inappropriately) giggle. “It’s such a surprise that you and our Eunbi were classmates. We would’ve never guessed.”

If that’s even possible - your anger levels increase. It might’ve sounded like a pretty normal thing to say, but her tone and the way she measured you up and down makes it clear that what she really meant was we would’ve never guessed that a nobody like you also studied in Alpha High.

“We were surprised, too.” Eunbi says before you can, smiling sweetly. “We haven’t seen each other in years.”

“This is a great excuse for you to come with us to a day at the Spa tomorrow, isn’t it, Mrs. Park?” Eunbi’s mom says, eyeing the other woman knowingly.

“Of course! Y/N and Eunbi must have a lot to catch up after all these years, right? Y/N, you have to come with us tomorrow.” Rattlesnake hisses- (oops) says.

You look at the two other women with uneasiness.

First of all, this doesn’t sound like an invite, but a summon. You simply know you can’t say no. Second of all - these three despise you, they wouldn’t want you there if they didn’t have second intentions. What do they actually want?

You want to say no thanks, but it feels like you’re handcuffed in this situation.

“Sure. It sounds refreshing,” you finally agree with a painful smile. It didn’t even happen yet, but you know tomorrow is already ruined. Don’t let these bastards get to your head, your inner voice advises; don’t show weakness. You can deal with them.

Yeah, right.

You notice that, surprisingly, Eunbi looks very uncomfortable with the whole idea; she avoids her mother’s gaze and looks down, smile faltering a bit. She doesn’t want to be around you as much as you don’t want to be around her, apparently. At least you can agree on something.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Park stepping closer once again, placing his hand on his wife’s back. “Dear, dinner’s ready and about to be served. We should take our places.”

“Of course. I’m sure all of us are hungry enough.” She turns around to the other guests to announce it loudly, and somehow all the nearly one hundred people manage to hear it, walking to their respective seats.

Respective seats.

The seats are all charted - something you only saw in movies before, but you should’ve expected it at this point. Coming closer to the round table, you notice that over every beautiful white and blue porcelain plate, there is an elegant tag name in golden lettering on top of it. Mr. and Mrs. Park; Hyungsik and his wife sit by Mr. Park’s seat, while Jimin’s place is by his mother…

And by Jimin’s seat…

You freeze. Jimin freezes, too.

Jeong Eunbi’s name tag.

Feeling your stomach drop, you look around, searching for your own name tag - but there’s none to be seen, and it’s getting increasingly embarrassing as everyone else sits down while you and Jimin remain standing.

Your throat gets dry.

“She’d rather die than let people think her family isn’t perfect,” Jimin said as you walked inside the hall. This made you think she wouldn’t want to embarrass you.

Oh, Jimin. How wrong you were.

“Hm, there must be a mistake.” Jimin speaks up. The smile is still there, but his eyes hardened and his breath gets deeper as the visible anger fills him. “Where is Y/N’s seat?”

“Oh! Jimin, dear… this is a bit unpleasant,” his mother says, stepping closer with clasped hands and (fake) apologetic eyes. “You know that we planned this event months prior… the charting was already made long ago. We didn’t know Y/N would be here today. Unfortunately, there was no time to tell the catering staff to provide one more seat at our table.”

Funny how your legs start feeling cold all of sudden.

It’s the second time you’re at a loss of words tonight, this time much worse than before. You grip Jimin’s arm just a little tighter, feeling how the situation is starting to get people’s attention. Mrs. Park isn’t trying to be quiet right now. Your legs are cold, but your neck and face suddenly warm up with embarrassment as the guests on the main table whisper among each other in confusion.

“We found a vacant seat, of course, right over there, Y/N,” Mrs. Park continues - for fuck’s sake, she just continues - pointing over to the other side of the hall. “With the Kim family. You’ll love them, I know it!”

Your brain can’t process a coherent sentence.

With the corner of your eye, you notice Eunbi standing a few steps away awkwardly. She has the decency to look embarrassed, at least. Everyone else at the table is already seated.

You’re… you’re supposed to be their daughter-in-law. Their younger son’s girlfriend, the first girl he ever brought over. Yet… they refuse to let you sit by Jimin’s side on the main table, the hosts table, and want you to sit alone on the back so they can set up Jimin and Eunbi. And they’re doing it publicly.

This is the type of humiliation you wouldn’t expect from an adult, a mature person. But it’s happening nevertheless, and you want to sink and disappear. You can’t think of a quirky comeback, a way out that would make you feel less humiliated - even though Jimin isn’t even your real boyfriend and these people aren’t your real in-laws. This trip feels like a mistake, like a bad idea, like Mr. Zhou was absolutely right in his warning.

You’re so overwhelmed by this sour feeling that you don’t notice how Jimin’s smile disappears.

He sighs heavily, looking at his feet, jaw clenched.

“Okay.” He looks up at you - and you’re taken aback, because you’ve never seen Jimin angry before. “Y/N, let’s go back to our room.”

And he starts walking away, taking you along by the hand.

“What? Jimin- where’re you going?” Mrs. Park says, making Jimin stop. “Dinner’s about to be served.”

You see the warning in her eyes and gritted teeth and hardened smile, but for once, Jimin doesn’t play along. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak louder, but when he does speak, it’s in a hard and serious tone.

“If Y/N doesn’t have a place here, neither do I. I don’t see why we should stay in this situation.” He doesn’t bother to whisper, aware that he has the table’s attention. “Now, if you’ll excuse us...”

Oh shit. He’s angry and offended. Jimin turns around again, holding your hand tightly.

In the midst of all the bad feelings, this is so satisfying. You’re simply happy that Jimin didn’t leave you on your own, didn’t lower his head to his parents. He stood up for you and is genuinely pissed! His mother is still babbling - she for sure didn’t expect Jimin to want to leave like this - and even Mr. Park got up from his seat; Eunbi is pale, her parents watch in disapproval, similar to Jimin’s older brother, who glares at him as if he did something wrong.

“Wait, Jimin, please,” someone else says, which catches both yours and Jimin’s attention: Mr. Hwang. He’s gotten up and looks between you and Mrs. Park cautiously. “I am sure we can solve this situation very easily. There’s no need to miss this amazing night.”

Mrs. Hwang also gets up; her eyes are widened with worry and an uneasy smile. “I am sure everyone at this table can move a little so Y/N can sit with us.” Murmurs of agreement echo around, much to the Park’s displeasure. “Waiter, please? Could you assist us?”

You and Jimin eye each other as Mrs. Hwang politely asks a nearby waiter to bring another chair, while the guests start getting up with no protest to open a little spot by Jimin’s side. In no time, there is one more chair at the table; another waitress hushes to bring a new set of plates and cutlery.

“See? It’s done! Not a big problem at all.” Mr. Hwang says happily; the guests at the table also seem content.

“I guess we can all sit now, right, Jimin?” His wife says. “We all would hate it if this lovely young lady missed the concert.” And to your surprise - the table agrees.

You look at Jimin again. He doesn’t look happy - not at all - but it seems that he softened up a bit because of the Hwang couple; same goes for you. If this was a competition for Best Middle Aged Couple, the Hwangs would’ve won it by far.

He raises an eyebrow at you - a question. You shrug and nod in small movements. Although you’d rather not be here, at least Mrs. Park looks infuriated that her silly little plan didn’t work and she in fact caused a ridiculous scene. Her attempt at embarrassing you completely backfired.

Jimin sighs heavily and, instead of saying anything, walks back to the table once again. The guests sigh in relief; Eunbi looks even more awkward; the Parks are fuming. Jimin pushes the chair for you to sit, and as you do, a little spark of victory fills your chest.

“I’m glad this is solved,” Mrs. Park says, glaring at you as if she wants to stab you with the nearest knife, a lip tightened smile. “I hate unforeseen events.”

You are the unforeseen event. About to be the worst she could ever imagine.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Park. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.” You say sweetly. Jimin does his best not to laugh; she definitely wants to stab you.

Me 1 x 0 Rattlesnake

A win, at last.

Everyone at the table does their best to forget The Seat Incident for the sake of a good mood.

Lighthearted conversations. Good (amazing) food. The band plays soft background music. Understandably so, neither you and Jimin talk much - he is still visibly upset; chooses to just respond whenever someone mentions him or makes quiet comments in your ear from time to time. You, on the other hand, don’t talk much because the person sitting by your left side is Eunbi and you’d honestly rather swallow nails than willingly have a conversation with her.

All things considered, everything is going alright. They’re asking fewer questions than yesterday, which is great, so you can focus on whatever the name of this thing you’re eating is - taking small bites and chewing slowly so you don’t look impolite and desperate for food. Your stomach twirls every time you hear Jimin’s parents' voices, though, which makes you enjoy the taste less.

You’re doing great, you mentally pat yourself on the back. A few more hours and you’ll be back in your room. Just get this over with.

After pretty much everyone is done eating - your stomach is so full that the dress becomes uncomfortably tight -, Mr. Park gets up from the chair and softly clicks the side of a knife on a crystal glass, enough to call everyone’s attention. You notice when a waiter swiftly places a mic on the table for him.

The band stops. Everyone goes silent. Mr. Park Hyunjun takes the mic, a soft smile adorning his features, as the spotlight focuses on him.

“Good evening once again, my friends.” His deep and elegant voice echoes softly through the speakers. The whole hall greets him back. “I hope everyone enjoyed this amazing dinner prepared by Chef Mauro Bianchi. Mr. Mauro, it is a pleasure to have you with us once again.”

A round of applause. An aggressively Italian man with a cook outfit politely bows and smiles as the spotlight focuses on him in the back of the hall, close to the kitchen doors. Of course Mr. Park only acknowledges the worldwide famous, I-don’t-know-how-many-Michelin-stars holder Chef, but not the entirety of the staff that helped organize and serve everyone.

“As most of the friends present here already know, me and my dear wife prepare this event every year not only as a celebration of our union, but also as a celebration of all the many achievements and challenges we win throughout the year.” He makes a dramatic pause, his eyes scanning the crowd to make sure everyone is paying attention - and everyone indeed is; despite your hatred for the man, you can’t deny that with this level of oratory, he could’ve easily been a news anchor.

He offers his hand to help his wife get up from the chair as another round of applause echoes. Mrs. Rattlesnake has a pretty smile, you have to admit. Once again - yeah, they do look great together, and otherwise you’d think this is all too sweet, but there’s just something inherently wrong with this scene… too poised, robotic - trained to detail.

“And past year was indeed one of the most significant of our lives. After much work, Aurum ranked fifth place as one of the biggest steel companies in the world. We’ve achieved heights my parents would’ve never imagined.” He continues. More applause. What does it even have to do with his marriage? “Unity. This is the word for our 30th anniversary. Everything we’ve made and built, we did together - and I’m sure we wouldn’t have gotten this far if we were apart.” Oh, so your fortune was “achieved” because of your wife? I thought it was because of the already rich company your dad left on your hands.

“And the oyster, my friends, is the perfect symbol of unity; it summons up our life as a couple very well.” He looks at his wife sweetly. You have trouble telling if Mrs. Rattlesnake’s glossy eyes are fake or not. “An oyster. Two shells, pressed together - working together to create the most beautiful pearl. And our pearls, our jewels - the biggest gift this marriage brought us both - is our two sons.”

My God.

You want to vomit.

The applause is a bit louder now as the spotlight focuses on both Jimin and Hyungsik. Both of them smile and wave to the public. If you hadn’t spent the most uncomfortable hours of your life around this family, you would’ve fallen for Mr. Park’s sweet words - but hell no. I mean, it might be true about Hyungsik - but Jimin? The dear son they very publicly disrespected only barely an hour ago, by ignoring his partner? The dear son they mock constantly, scold, disrespect, and want to force into an arranged marriage against his will?

These people genuinely make you sick.

You’re a bit surprised as Jimin grabs your hand under the tablecloth, where no one can see. You take it and squeeze softly. He wants to vomit as much as you do.

“You two are live proof of our love, and we are so proud to know you’re our children.” The applause continues as Mr. Park speaks this time. Kind of funny how he says that while Jimin himself stated that he sees his parents once a year. That’s not the behavior of someone that cares this much.

“Unity. Family. Love. Friendship. It’s what we’ve been harvesting together for the past 30 years, and I couldn’t be more happy and grateful.” He squeezes his wife’s hand sweetly. “Now, let us celebrate together, my dear friends.”

The lights go off while the hall applauds; the band starts playing again, way louder this time - a melody you’re familiar with - and when all the spotlights focus on the stage-

You gasp loudly.

“What the-?!” You whisper in utter shock. Jimin chuckles.

The woman standing on the stage is… is Kim Gain.

Like, why are you even surprised at this point? What, you thought the Parks would’ve hired a bar singer for their super expensive wedding anniversary? But even so, you didn’t expect to be seeing the 90s love songs’ legend Kim fucking Gain standing a few meters away from you, wearing a gorgeous long silver dress, her beautiful and powerful voice filling the hall as she sings her all-time smash hit Flower Hill. This woman doesn’t even do concerts anymore! You can’t even imagine the insane amount of money they must’ve paid her to do a private concert.

She sings looking directly at the main couple, and God- despite the age, her voice sounds even better live than recorded. It makes you forget for a while all of tonight’s awful events. You quietly hum along to the lyrics of Flower Hill word by word - it’s impossible to not know this song, not only because it’s a classic, but because it’s your mother’s favorite song and she hammered it into your head.

Your memories are as clear as the blue sky; your mother played her CD over and over again - this song specifically - while she prepared lunch. You helped her peel the boiled eggs, standing on a stool so you’d get tall enough to reach the sink, while she cut cabbage swiftly. You both sang along to Flower Hill. Even your father would hum along eventually as he put the dried bowls on their respective cabinets.

It’s a good childhood memory. One of the few. You remember thinking that your mother looked so beautiful when she wasn’t frowning and angry at you.

And all of sudden - sadness hits you like a truck.

Funny how being humiliated in front of these people didn’t even get close to making you cry the way just thinking of your mother does.

You sigh and look down, that familiar heavy thing growing in your chest, stubborn tears that you blink away before they can even come. Shit shit shit. Don’t you dare to cry here, Y/N, you scold yourself harshly. But goddammit- Mrs. Kim Gain sings really well, and when the chorus hits, you always melt away.

It’s moments like this that remind you that you are, in fact, not indifferent. And you are, in fact, far more hurt that you can put into words.

It’s your turn to squeeze Jimin’s hand for comfort.

He eyes you quietly, confused - but chooses to not make any comment.

You elbow Jimin’s side, eyes squinted, as if unsure of what you’re seeing.

“What?” He asks, relaxing on the chair next to yours, now sitting on a table at the external part of the hall. Finally some cool night air; from the external part, you have a wonderful view of the immense garden that goes down the hill directly to the sea. You can see the pier down there; it’s full of parked yachts - much more than during the day - but there’s some in the distance as well, shining against the otherwise pitch black sea like little stars.

“Am I crazy,” you say after sipping more champagne from the glass, “or that’s Kim Minju?”

You discreetly point to a certain girl standing inside the hall. She’s tall and gorgeous, wearing a green sundress. You’re not really into idols - you don’t have time to keep up with celebrities at all - but even someone like you can recognize Kim Minju, the new “it” girl from the new “it” group everyone’s been talking about lately.

Jimin squints his eyes as well, and when he sees who you’re pointing at, he nods. “Yep, it’s her.”

You raise one eyebrow up. “Why are your parents friends with teenage celebrities?”

“They’re friends with her mother.” Jimin sips from his own glass of champagne. He took his blazer off and rolled the shirt up to his elbows, looking much more relaxed now that he can finally stay away from his family.

Kim Gain finished her concert, which meant people were allowed to just hang around and talk again, while the band kept playing background music. You decided to leave the main table as soon as you could, finding this almost-hidden table at the external balcony (you’re glad it’s this hidden, because it’s getting hard to sit all lady-like with your feet hurting like this. These Givenchy sandals were way too expensive to be this uncomfortable to wear). Jungkook was hanging out with you two minutes ago, but suddenly something “very important” happened and he had to leave (in other words: some hot girl passed by and he went after her).

“And her mother is…?”

“One of MNET’s biggest shareholders, basically. Why do you think Minju is the most popular member? Her mother pays for her to be the center, to have the best clothes… this kind of thing.” He speaks in a low voice, aware of the people around. “Most popular idols are only popular because their families pay for their popularity.”

“Oh.” Makes sense. You look him up and down, the hint of a playful smile on your lips. “You could’ve asked your parents for help in this area, Jimin. You would’ve made a great idol.”

Jimin chuckles and pushes his hair back. “I know, right? But I don’t think I would survive a day in this life. I mean- a dating ban?” He scowls. “Just no.”

You chuckle too, resting your chin on your palm. You’ve only been sipping champagne - though they’re serving other interesting drinks, too -, afraid to get even slightly intoxicated and embarrass yourself (and Jimin) in front of these people. Even so, this champagne is starting to make you feel a little funny inside. Maybe I should stop.

“How do you even know this dating ban thing is real?” You raise one eyebrow at him. Jimin huffs.

“I had a thing with this idol girl for a while.” He says nonchalantly - then interrupts himself, as if he just realized he said something he shouldn’t. He eyes you apologetically.

“I don’t care if you talk about other girls.” You assure, rolling your eyes. And you actually don’t. It’s not like you have anything real going on for you to care. (You’re quietly blaming your rage fit against Hari earlier today on the alcohol).

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why would I?”

Jimin looks at you in silence.

“Kinda hoped you’d be jealous.”

You laugh it off, furiously ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. “Just tell the story, Jimin.”

He seems dramatically disappointed, which makes you giggle again. Jimin sips more champagne and tilts his head.

“So… me and this girl. Whenever we went out together, we had to literally - I mean literally - hide. Wearing masks, sunglasses, hoodies, all this stuff. At the beginning it was kind of fun, but then it got unbearable. Her manager kept calling her all the time to know where she was. One time, a paparazzi caught us and I had to pay them a shitton of money to not release the photos.”

“Why didn’t she pay for it? Or her company?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“Because her company didn’t know. She didn’t tell them, scared of getting punished or whatever. And she didn’t have the amount they asked for. So I paid for it.” He shrugs. “Then I broke up with her. I mean, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, why did I have to hide?”

“Yeah, sounds like a strict life. I don’t think I could take it, either.”

You notice the way Jimin’s eyes glint with playfulness again; a mischievous smirk adorns his lips. He comes even closer to you and looks around, making sure the people aren’t paying attention to the conversation.

“Back on the topic of Kim Minju,” he says in that quiet tone that means gossip. “Her mother is lesbian.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Really? How do you know?”

“I know a lot of things about a lot of people.” He discreetly points to an elegant woman standing near Kim Minju - maybe just a bit younger than Mrs. Park. “That one.” You squint your eyes to analyze her. “She’s been ‘single’ for around ten years, since her divorce with Minju’s father. She’s, like… the most famous closeted lesbian I’ve ever seen. In terms of how much people I know she fucked, she must be only behind Mr. Junghoon.”

Your eyes widen even more. “Jungkook’s dad?!”

Jimin nods vehemently. “Yep. He must’ve fucked at least half of this hall. All those pretty younger wives.”

You eye Junghoon - standing in the middle of the hall, laughing at something someone said. “Like father, like son, I guess.” Jimin chuckles at this. “I mean, he is very hot for his age.”

“That’s not even the craziest person here.” Jimin narrows his eyes, looking for someone into the crowd. You find yourself entertained by his sudden will to spill people’s lives on you - it even makes you forget how much your feet hurt for a while. When he finds them, he elbows your side lightly. “That couple over there? The Kwons?”

You take around three seconds to find them- a middle aged couple, a bit older than Jimin’s parents, perhaps. They seemed very polite (considering you talked for less than two minutes).

“Yeah?”

“They host massive orgies.” You look at Jimin in pure shock. He looks back at you with his eyebrows raised in that I know, girl expression. “They have a mansion in Malibu only for this purpose. They invite dozens of people to participate.”

You sip more champagne. That conservative looking couple host orgies? They look like the type of people that think women showing their ankles is a sin. Appearances really mean nothing around here! “Were you ever invited?”

“Thank God no. And I wouldn’t go anyway. Not into voyeurism.” Jimin makes a disgusted scowl. “But I know some people that went there. They’re pretty creepy, actually. Just… stay away from them, okay?”

“Noted.” You’ve watched enough documentaries about how rich people can be creepy to know Jimin isn’t kidding.

“There’s also, let’s see… oh! Jinwoo, over there.” He points to a man in his early thirties that you briefly greeted earlier today. “His marriage was arranged, too. I heard he has a severe humiliation kink. He likes to be treated like shit by women.” You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to hide the bubbling giggle. Not to kinkshame anyone, but wow. “But his wife is not into it at all. From what I’ve heard, they even live in separate houses. So Jinwoo has to pay women to satisfy him.”

“I wouldn’t think that of him… he looks like the type that calls women females.” You remark.

“People around here look nothing like they actually are.” Jimin sips more champagne. You expectantly wait for him to tell you more - (1) because you like gossiping (2) because this is the most fun you’ve had the entire night. “Oh! Minho and Krystal. Over there.”

Said couple is standing quite far, talking to Jimin’s brother and his wife. They must be in their early thirties, too; an attractive couple that haven’t stepped away from each other the whole time. You briefly remember thinking they looked cute together.

“Yeah?”

“They’re in a forced marriage, too. Minho is gay.”

You pause. “They look genuine.”

“They’re not.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I met him in a bar last year in Berlin. He hit on me. Insistently. He’s friends with my brother, so I turned him down. But yeah, I saw him with other guys there.”

You look back at Minho in silence.

Oh.

This one’s kinda sad.

“So… he was forced into marrying a woman even though he’s gay.” You reason out loud. “Does his family know?”

“Probably not. At least, they pretend they don’t.” Jimin sips more champagne with a sour expression.

“That’s fucked up in so many levels.” You’re starting to get angry just talking about it. “He’s trapped with this woman, having to pretend his entire life? All for the sake of appearances? What, are we stuck in the XVIII century and nobody told me?”

“I told you that’s how things work around here.” He says, staring at the bubbles in his champagne glass.

And he actually told you. In your third encounter, back at the convenience store. But you didn’t believe him. It felt too far from your reality to be taken seriously. Now, though - after finding out that most of these pristine looking people, the “role models” of society are in secret what they most demonize - you truly realize how awful everything is. This much hypocrisy feels repulsive, overwhelming.

Is this how Jimin has been feeling his entire life?

“What about you, Jimin?” you ask quietly, any hint of playfulness gone from your face and voice.

“What about me?”

“What if you’re stuck in this situation? I mean, I remember what you told me back then. What if you want to marry a guy? Your parents would be against it… are you going to end like Minho? Having to pretend for the rest of your life? Can you accept this?”

Jimin sighs and hangs his head back, closing his eyes. You hate it because for a moment all you can look at is his half parted plump lips and your brain malfunctions for a sec.

“Let’s not talk about me, please?” He asks in a whiny, raspy voice.

“Why not? I’m worried about you. Can’t I be worried?” You put one hand on your hip, somehow starting to feel offended.

“No, you can’t.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Yeah, you’re offended now. “Okay, then. I’m sorry for caring.”

Jimin looks at you with half opened eyes.

His voice drops.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“What?” You raise one eyebrow up.

“Act like you actually care.”

“Why do you think I’m acting?” You slightly push the empty champagne glass away, so nothing is between you two. Because he’s quieter, you unconsciously drop your voice, too.

“You said so. Method acting.”

You’re getting tired of this “method acting” thing. You inhale heavily. “Well, I’m not acting right now.”

Jimin drops his eyes to his own empty champagne glass, drumming his fingers on the table softly. He makes a small pout. His lips are so damn attractive. “You know, I’m conflicted about you.”

“Please elaborate.”

“I know I shouldn’t be expecting anything real from you at all, since I hired you to be here. But why do I feel that something real is going on?” He looks up at you again. “But then, sometimes, I feel like it’s not? I don’t know what to think of you.”

Holy Shit.

He went straight to the point.

You feel goosebumps on your spine (though you try to blame it on the cool breeze hitting your back, not on Jimin’s piercing gaze, of course). It’s kind of creepy how Jimin can balance being silly and cute in a moment and then boom - painfully straightforward a second later. He didn’t beat around the bush at all.

And yeah, you get what he meant.

You can’t tell if something real is going on. It’s way too early to say something “real” - whatever it is - is happening; you barely even know Jimin. At the same time he doesn’t know if you’re serious, you don’t know if he is being serious; many times, it feels like he’s acting, putting up a character around you. The way you’re rapidly getting attached to him is scary - what if you’re getting attached to a character? What if you’re surprised by Jimin’s real persona in the worst way possible?

You have no idea about any of that.

What you know, though - something that is very real, is almost visible - is the undeniable attraction you feel for each other.

This isn’t deep. You don’t have to think much about it.

And right now - with the alcohol subtly fogging your judgment and making you feel hot inside; the accumulated tension - you don’t really want to fight back anymore. You don’t want to think of consequences. All you can think of is his pretty plump lips.

You smirk, resting your face on your palm again. You see how this single look of yours affects him. You’re not the only one that can do this, Jimin.

“You know,” your voice is very quiet right now; half lidded eyes that stare back at him with the same intensity. “Knowing everything isn’t fun. I think it’s better this way.”

You’re still in public, but it’s like everyone else becomes distant.

Jimin smirks, too.

“Let’s play a game, then.” He says all of sudden, getting even closer to you, on the edge of his seat. “I’ll ask a few questions. You can answer them or not.”

You feel his hand on your leg, under the tablecloth.

This makes you widen your eyes, surprised, looking around discreetly. “What are you doing?”

“You said your feet hurt, pretty.” Oh shit. That mischievous tone, playful smile, glinting eyes. You’re a popsicle melting under his heat. You cover your mouth with your hand, trying not to giggle, as Jimin rests your left leg over his own legs. “Free massage.”

You’re kind of hidden - your leg is fully under the tablecloth - but you still look around frantically, trying not to make any weird face. “Jimin- they’ll see us.”

Jimin clicks his tongue at the same time he swiftly unbuckles your sandal and places it on the floor. Your heart beats faster with adrenaline - if any auntie sees this, they might want to arrest me! “They’re not paying attention to us.”

Indeed, no one is. Mr. and Mrs. Park are having a dance in the center of the hall; most of the crowd surrounds them. The place became dimly lit as the spotlight focuses only on the couple as they sway to a romantic tune and everyone watches them.

You’re about to make another complaint, but as both of his hands hold your aching foot, pressing it - you have to fight back what would be an obscene moan. It feels too good. Jimin chuckles.

“So, back on the game.” It’s criminal how he acts like he’s doing nothing wrong as his hands massage your foot. “Did you want to hook up with Hoseok?”

This comes so out of the blue that you freeze. “What made you think that?”

“I saw the way you looked at each other.”

Well. It’s not like Hoseok tried to pretend when he first saw you. “No. He’s hot, but no.”

Jimin nods. He seems satisfied with the answer. His hands work around your feet miraculously, pressing on the right spots, easing the pain.

They go a bit up. On your ankles now.

Oh God.

“Did you want to hook up with Jungkook?” Still not looking at you.

“No.” You chuckle. “What got into you? Are you jealous?”

“I don’t know, am I?” He raises his eyebrows and shrugs, making you smile. “I’d only be jealous if something real was going on between us, right?”

His hands are traveling up your leg, still massaging as they do. You gulp heavily. Your heart beats faster.

“Right.”

Your thigh.

You gasp quietly as, in a sudden movement, he pushes you even closer to his body. The chair scratches on the floor. You’re glad the music is loud enough to mask the noise.

His hands are warm. His smirk widens.

Jimin massages your thigh slowly. You don’t make any attempt to stop him. His hands are resting just a little distant from the hem of your dress.

You want them to be under it.

Yes, you are very much aware of all the people standing around, the things they’d think if they notice what is going on. But Jimin’s hands are on your thigh and you feel hotter inside every minute and his delicious lips are right there and holy fuck he’s enjoying torturing you as much as you enjoy being tortured and- you don’t even remember what you were worrying about a second ago.

“You’re so soft.” He says in a quiet, sultry voice that makes your insides quiver. “Are you feeling better now, pretty?”

“Mmmh-hmm” you say quietly as your breath gets deeper - which makes Jimin smile even more. “You’re good at this, did you know that? You have a hidden talent.”

He chuckles darkly, lifting his eyes to meet yours. “I could show you what else I can do with this talent of mine.”

His fingers - slowly, hesitantly - travel just a bit upwards, while he eyes you tentatively. He sees no disapproval or discomfort in your expression, which only ignites his excitement. He smirks and shakes his head slightly.

“I’m actually going insane because of you, Y/N.” The smirk in his voice makes yet another goosebump run through your system. In response, you tilt your head to the side, eyeing him innocently.

“Why? I’m not doing anything.” You bite the tip of your tongue while smiling, which makes Jimin gulp.

Oh, the electricity. It almost sparks in the air with the power of a lightning. And to think you were trying to act all chaste not long ago, gaslighting yourself into thinking that doing anything with him would be equivalent as “selling yourself”.

Who fucking cares?

“Last question.” He says quietly, leaning even closer to you until his lips are right by your ear, sending shivers of excitement down your body.

“Will you let finally let me fuck you?”

The words get stuck in your throat.

Jimin hasn’t been this obscenely straightforward up until now. It makes your mouth water, your heart beat faster. His voice wasn’t demanding. It was pleading. Like he was desperate for you and couldn’t take it anymore.

And that’s your last straw.

You lean away just enough to look at him. Fuck, he’s got pleading eyes, too. Your panties feel humid, you remember the last time you had sex was three months ago, you feel his warm hand on your thigh, dangerously close to your intimacy.

You smile and, in a swift movement, move your leg away from his hand.

Jimin looks confused for a moment, his smile faltering, as you take the sandal and put it on your foot once again. He looks even more confused - maybe thinking you got offended? - when you get up and adjust your dress.

Then you look at him.

“Excuse me. I need to go to the toilet.”

Without looking back, you take the clutch from the table and make your way inside the hall.

The main couple is still having their moment in the middle of the hall - and for the first time you’re thankful to them, because no one even bats an eye as you discreetly make your way to the restroom. The dim lights hide you, not even waiters or security guards or photographers notice you.

As you get into the black marble restroom - completely empty - you have around five seconds to look at your reflection in the mirror before Jimin walks in and shuts the door.

His lips on yours shut you mid-giggle.

Jimin grabs the back of your neck and glues his body on yours with the other hand as he hungrily kisses you - the kiss tastes like the cherry from your lipgloss and expensive champagne. You grab both sides of his neck as Jimin and you stumble to one of the stalls and you close the door clumsily. Holy fucking shit, it’s getting hot. The kiss is deep and desperate and full of desire.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he says in a breathy voice that makes you smile seductively. “Why you gotta do this to me?”

You unconsciously squeeze your thighs on one another as he leaves a wet kiss on your neck; you grab his shoulders for support. “I’m not doing anything yet.”

He chuckles darkly against your skin, his hot breath increases your temperature even more. His hand travels down your back to squeeze your ass, making you gasp lightly. He leaves one more wet kiss, and another, and another.

Jimin leans away so he can look at you. His lips are reddish, wet and a bit swollen.

“You don’t need to.” He parts your legs with his own. Your insides bubble with excitement. “Look at you… all dolled up. The prettiest of all of them out there.” He licks his lips slowly. “I want to make a mess of you, Y/N. I want to see how pretty you look with your hair and makeup ruined by me.”

His knee presses on your intimacy, making you involuntarily sigh; the pressure is still too soft, not even close to satisfying the raging fire inside your body, but it already makes you gulp and breath heavier. God, you want this man inside of you. You need him.

Jimin notices your change in expression and his smirk widens as he moves his knee against you, making you sigh again. You kiss him eagerly. There’s still music out there, but all you can hear is the kissing sounds and breaths and Jimin’s deep humm of approval.

“This is the face I wanted to see the most.” He whispers on your lips, his leg pressed against you, his hands caressing your waist and hips. “Let me make you feel good, pretty… please?” He pecks your lips. “Hmm?” He bites your bottom lip lightly, passing his tongue on it right after. “Can I fuck you now?”

Shit shit shit. It’s embarrassing how you already feel this wet while you barely even started. Were you this much touch starved? Or is it because you’ve been wanting this as much as him since the beginning?

You kiss him again.

“Not here.” you whisper in a breathy voice.

Jimin nods. It’s obvious. Anyone could walk in at any moment.

Back to your shared bungalow? It’s too far from here - only five minutes by car, yes, but you don’t think you can wait this long. Not to mention Mr. Zhou would be the one to drive you both back and you don’t want to look at that old man’s face before having sex.

Inside some car? But which car? This place is full of butlers and security guards, anyone would notice what’s going on. Just no.

As you’re about to ask where you could head to - Jimin’s eyes glint in that way that tells you he had an idea.

His smirk widens.

He steps back and grabs your hand with a boyish, playful expression.

“Let’s go.”

You have time to grab the forgotten clutch from over the sink before Jimin drags you out of the restroom - luckily, the hall is still dimly lit and there aren’t many people back here. Discreetly, you two make your way towards the back exit - avoiding butlers and photographers at the main entrance - stepping out of the hall towards the stairs.

You finally realize where Jimin is heading to when you get to the sidewalk and he takes a turn to the left.

The pier.

Dozens of parked and empty yachts just around the corner.

You’re both laughing childishly as you run towards the pier - stopping only so you can yank those sandals off; who the hell could run in stilettos? - not caring to look back, feeling excitement and just the sheer joy of doing something you know you shouldn’t. The pier is quiet, there aren’t many people around; most yachts are dark. Jimin doesn’t drop your hand as he squints his eyes trying to find a specific one. When he does, he sprints towards it, dragging you along.

Jungkook’s yacht.

Completely dark. Cleaners, bartenders, all the staff are long gone, having finished their shifts long ago.

There is a security guard standing in front of the entrance stairs, though.

He frowns as you two approach.

“Hey!” Jimin says in a happy voice. “You’re… Steven, right? Remember me? We were here earlier today.”

By the looks of it, his name is Steven, and he looks shocked that Jimin remembers it. “Good evening, sir. Did you need something?”

“You see, Steven, I might have forgotten something very important in the yacht.” Jimin says. You want to laugh. “I’d like to go check it out.”

“Of course, sir. Tell me what it is, I can ask another guard to check it for you-“

Jimin steps closer.

“No, Steven. I need to check it out. It’s kind of personal, you know?”

Steven eyes you and Jimin back and forth.

The penny drops. His frown deepens. You’re not even embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t let you in.” He says in a mix of hesitance and annoyance. “This is private property.”

“I know, Steven, and I’m glad my friend hired such a diligent security guard. You’re very professional.” Jimin is a bastard, isn’t he? “I promise I won’t get you in trouble. Just let me check, okay?”

Steven looks around. “I’m sorry, sir… I really can’t.”

Jimin nods.

He drops your hand for the first time, reaching for the inside of his back pocket.

You watch with your jaw dropped as he opens his wallet and puts a stack of money on Steven’s hand.

Jimin casually walks around with stacks of money in his wallet.

The security guard’s eyes are as widened as yours. That much money must be double - shit, triple - of what he’ll get for this shift. You see as his annoyance dissolves and his resolve to not let you in disappears.

“It’s a really tiny thing I’m looking for, so it’ll take, I don’t know… an hour?” Jimin looks back at you up and down and reaches for his wallet again. He takes another stack just as big and puts it on Steven’s hand. “Two hours, actually, to check the whole place.”

Steven gulps. It seems he’s furiously fighting against his work ethic - but the money on his hand is heavier.

Steven steps aside, finally giving up. “Okay, sir.”

Jimin smiles and grabs your hand again. “Make sure to keep the other guards away, okay? Thank you so much!”

You two sprint up the stairs - you have time to mumble an embarrassed “thank you” - towards the deck.

The yacht is completely dark, except for some emergency lights. Jimin guides you around it. You know there are actual bedrooms here, but both of you are way too impatient to go up one more flight of stairs - so before you can even process what’s happening, Jimin has thrown you against the bar counter and is kissing you again.

You drop the sandals and the clutch on the wooden floor before entangling your arms around Jimin’s neck. He presses his body on yours so hard that you lean back, your back hits the counter. And to think you were right here a few hours ago, surrounded by a bunch of people; it’s a completely different vibe with the lights off, silent, the darkness of the sea around you.

It’s your turn to squeeze Jimin’s ass, which makes him chuckle against your lips. He leans away for a moment and seems to be searching for something; with a click of his, the glass top of the counter lits up - there are red led lights under it. Both him and you are painted red.

Jimin looks at you with hungry eyes, out of breath. That damn smirk.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting this, pretty.” He pushes you closer again, grabbing your hair and leaving noisy kisses on your neck.

“I think I do.” You say cockily. You’ve been aching for him all this time - and it’ even embarrassing to admit it to yourself -; it’s embarrassing that Jimin is everything you learned to hate (filthy rich, arrogant, a fuck boy) from your past experiences, but shit, you’ve been wondering how he would feel inside of you all this time, you’ve been craving him since that night in your tiny apartment… and you’ve been wondering if he fucks as good as he talks.

Your hand bravely travels to his front. You rest your palm on his crotch, gently pressing it - earning a soft sigh from him. He’s stone hard. It makes you chuckle cockily against his ear, and the sensual sound sends shivers down Jimin’s spine.

“No, no, no… you don’t really know.” His lips are on your ear as he speaks quietly and deeply. While one of his hands are still tightly entangled in your hair, the other travels down your back - which already almost makes you melt - to rest on your ass; in a slow but unhesitant movement, he grabs the hem of your dress and pulls it up to your hips, fully exposing your ass. “Ever since that time at the store…” he massages your asscheeks with both palms and squeezes it gently. You lick his neck in response. “When you looked at me with such disdain… you were reading a fucking text book behind that counter, looking at me as if you were so much better than me… I imagined fucking you over that same counter, pretty.” Goosebumps. He grabs one of your thighs and you instinctively wrap it around his waist; when he humps his clothed core against yours, you can’t fight back a soft moan. “I imagined fucking you over and over again. Such a hard-working girl…” He humps again, stronger this time. “So pretty…”

Your impatient fingers search for the lapel of his blazer, and you help him take it off, dropping it on the floor; you grab his face with both hands and your lips are pressed again in a hot dance, while he still humps slowly and sensually; each rub on your clothed clit sends electricity and heat through your veins. Your lower part is almost totally uncovered, except for the black lace thong you wear, and the cool ocean breeze makes the tiny hairs on your body raise. Everything is red and hot. Some sane part of your brain registers that if there’s anyone inside the neighbor yachts, they will totally see what’s happening - and it only adds to the excitement.

Jimin breaks the kiss and leans back slightly with half lidded eyes. His lips are shiny and stained with your lipgloss. He’s so sexy that the vision itself makes you feel pleasure.

He grips your ass tightly and watches intently as his movements make your breath get deeper each time, makes you sigh and moan softly. His breathing is deeper, too; his Adam’s apple moves when he gulps. He licks his bottom lip sensually, feeling the taste of your sweet lipgloss. He keeps you glued to his body as both of you move your hips against each other, rubbing your clothed intimacies to a more urgent pace; there are already droplets of sweat starting to cover his forehead.

“You’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, watching you whimper.

“Touch me.” Your voice sounds strangled and slightly out of breath, which makes Jimin smile darkly. “Please.”

“Baby, you don’t need to beg.” He’s so visibly proud of himself and excited that he’s almost glowing more than the red led lights. The hand that supported your leg swiftly travels to your front and he unashamedly presses it on your clothed core, feeling the lace with his fingertips and the wetness underneath. The smile widens. “I’m going to give you anything you want tonight. Anything.”

Your head drops back when he starts to move his fingers in circular movements over your clit. He watches your every reaction intently with that same darkened gaze and smile. With the other hand, he grabs the back of your neck and once again glues his lips to your ear:

“I want to hear you moan for me, baby.”

He says as his fingers slip under the fabric of the thong.

You shiver and an obscene whimper leaves your lips when his cool fingers make contact with your warm, wet intimacy. He hums in approval - and the deep sound makes your legs shake -, feeling your arousal, before once again putting pressure on your clit and moving his fingers in provocative circles. That’s a man that knows what to do with a clit, by the way. You entrance tightens around nothing.

“You like that?” He whispers. You nod, eyes closed, lips half parted. “Hmmm…” is all you can say. His smile widens.

Instinctively, you start to buck your hips, following the movement of his hand. He increases the speed of his movements, noticing your eagerness. You feel the fire spreading from your core down your legs and stomach.

With a quiet chuckle, he suddenly wraps his other arm around your waist. You let a surprised gasp as Jimin lifts you from the ground with ease and makes you sit over the counter (you hadn’t realized that Jimin is that strong, which is kind of hot).

He stands between your legs and kisses you again. Your fingers run through his smooth hair; he massages your thighs, back and ass. You softly bite his delicious bottom lip, and it’s sick how you know he’s smiling before even opening your eyes.

“You want me so bad, baby. It’s kind of cute.” He breathes amidst a quiet chuckle.

“You’re talking too much.”

He chuckles again as his fingers search for the zipper on the back of your dress. “I can’t shut up when you’re around.” The quiet sound of the zipper somehow sounds loud right now. “I want you to pay attention to me and only me.”

“You have all of my attention now. Let’s see if you deserve it.” Jimin finds it sickening how you sound innocent and sweet as you say this, gazing at him with the most daring eyes he’s ever seen. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, let’s see.”

Usually, you’d worry about taking the dress off, scared to damage it somehow, but as Jimin helps you lift it and put it over your head, you couldn’t care less. You’re not wearing a bra. Your chest is fully exposed; you rest your hands back on the counter, gazing at Jimin sweetly, as he almost drools over your body.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He breathes heavily, mesmerized. Without wasting a second, he cups your breasts with both hands and squeezes them gently, earning a hum of approval from you. He kisses your neck, making his way down - slow, wet, loud kisses -, tasting you; you grip and massage his smooth hair, pulling it softly in ways that make him shiver.

When he hungrily mouths one of your hardened nipples, you bite your bottom lip and a soft moan escapes. Just the vision of his plump lips wrapped around your nipple makes you wetter. He swirls his warm, wet tongue around it, while his hand still works on your other breast, massaging it in delicious movements. He sucks your nipple, making a loud noise, before biting it gently - earning a hiss from you.

“I like that sound.” He says against your skin, looking up at you with a smile. “God, you’re delicious.” He kisses a spot on your stomach, under your breast. “You smell so good…” Another kiss. Lower this time. “I want to eat you.”

You giggle, biting your lip provocatively - as if his actions aren’t making you go insane. “Then do it.”

It’s his turn to laugh as he shakes his head; his smile is angelical - even though, right now, with the red light painting his face as he helps you position your feet on the counter - your hands supporting the weight of your body as you lean back slightly, totally spread and exposed for him -, he looks like a hungry demon.

God. You never had sex in such an open place before. The ocean breeze hits your body, making you shiver, at the same time that you’re burning from the inside, trembling in expectation. Jimin takes the hem of your thong and helps you take it off slowly, well aware of how painful making you wait is. He drops the last piece of clothing to the floor before grabbing the insides of your thighs, spreading you even more.

You’re naked and open over a bar counter, where anyone from the neighboring yachts can see you, with a million dollar necklace around your neck - and you’ve never been so aroused before.

Jimin licks his lips, eyes locked on your cunt. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” You bite your bottom lip hard when his fingers press on your clit in circular movements again for some moments before spreading your pussy lips with his index and pointed finger. “I can’t wait to be inside of you.”

He wraps his lips on your clit.

You throw your head back and actually moan this time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck - his plump lips around your clit feel like heaven, much better than what your dirty mind could think of. He sucks softly and licks you, from your entrance to your clit again, flicking his tongue over it (once again - that’s a man that knows what to do with a clit). His warm, wet muscle moving against your most sensitive part makes waves of heat and raw pleasure run through your body, completely clouding your mind, as your fingers grip his hair and moans and hisses escape through your lips. Your sounds of pleasure, the wet noises he makes as he sucks you and the ocean waves create the most obscene and beautiful symphony you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck-“ you manage to breathe out somehow. If he weren’t busy sucking your clit, he would’ve smirked cockily. “Feel so good, baby…”

He leans away for a moment, actually smirking this time. His lips are so wet that the sight makes you more wet. “Shit, if you call me like that again, I will cum in my pants.”

This makes you smile - but your smile goes away quickly as he carefully introduces two fingers inside of you, making you moan and bite your bottom lip. You’re so wet that they slide in easily - but you’re also very tight due to not being penetrated in a while, which makes Jimin move slowly. He watches your cunt with the attention of a professional. Fuck, he might be a pro at this, actually.

He curls his fingers inside of you slowly, making you lose your breath; Jimin pays attention to your every reaction. “You like that, pretty?”

“Y-Yeah,” you moan, nodding, still biting your bottom lip. Jimin looks up at you with a fog in his eyes.

“You look so fucking hot right now, Y/N.” Somehow, the way he calls your name in that low tone instead of pretty sends goosebumps down your spine. He keeps eye contact while his fingers keep moving inside of you. He starts pulling them in and out, and you close your eyes for a moment, feeling shockwaves of pleasure every time he does so. Your breath gets shallow and quick, and out of instinct, you start bucking your hips, following his movements.

He mouths your clit once again while his fingers are still busy, making you moan louder. “R-Right there, Jimin-“ you stutter in a breathless voice. “Just like that…”

You don’t need to ask twice - he keeps hitting the same spot as his mouth works on your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over it, slurping all of your juices. You grip his hair for dear life, incapable of doing anything but moan and hiss and sweat, feeling your legs shake. You also think Jimin looks so fucking hot right now - head between your legs, hair an absolute mess (your fault), wet lips and the hungriest eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.

It might be because you’ve been touch starved for a while, or because Jimin eats pussy too well, or because you’ve been dreaming of this moment with him - but you already feel the orgasm building up. “Don’t fucking stop,” you beg him - and he obeys, sucking and licking mercilessly; maybe even Steven down there can hear the squelching noise your pussy makes every time his fingers move, or your moans that make Jimin feel the hardest he’s ever been. A small pool of your juices forms on the glass under you, dripping from your entrance. Jimin works on your cunt like his life depends on it. You feel the overwhelming heat building up in your stomach, your body shaking, your lungs failing-

You grip Jimin’s hair hard and yank him away from your pussy as the orgasm hits (you pulled so hard that it hurt his scalp - and he loved it); he also loved how tight you clenched his fingers as the orgasm made you convulse, just imagining how it would feel to be inside you. He watches you with pride, all covered in sweat and helpless, your face contorted in pleasure.

He takes his fingers out of you slowly, standing straight again to press his lips on yours - and you don’t care to taste yourself on his lips. Your legs are still weak and trembling when one of his arms once again wraps around your waist and he helps you stand up on the floor, never breaking apart.

“Baby, I need you around me.” He whispers between kisses - and it almost sounds like a whimper, which makes your legs even weaker. “Will you get on your knees for me? Hmm?”

It’s your turn to obey promptly - Jimin ate you out so good that he deserves it. Without saying anything, and still keeping eye contact, you get on your knees, batting your lashes prettily at him while your fingers work on his belt. Jimin takes some strands of hair away from your face, mesmerized; ever since you first met, he always looked at you in a way that made you feel attractive, and right now it has just increased tenfold.

Jimin unzips his pants and frees his cock from his black boxers. You gulp at the sight of his girthy, veiny cock; he’s stone hard, pulsating, and you wonder exactly how long he’s been hard already. He pumps himself slowly, while you once again lock eyes.

“Shit- you look even better than I imagined.” He says in a low, breathy tone. Just the fact that your usually fierce and unbashful persona is obediently kneeled down in front of his dick, looking up at him with sweet round eyes (you’re too good at this), eyes clouded still recovering from your high, almost sends him over the edge.

You stick your tongue out and lick his pink tip, immediately earning a hiss of pleasure. Your lips wrap around the tip and you suck gently at first, teasing him, never breaking eye contact, while he still pumps himself. Jimin gulps, licking his wet lips; the sight itself makes you tighten your pussy around nothing.

“Open your mouth for me.” He says - and this time it doesn’t sound like he’s asking, meaning he’s more desperate. You promptly do so, sticking your tongue out again. He slaps his cock against your tongue, hissing - and it’s fucking evil how you’re smiling right now, he thinks - while his other hand grips the hair at the top of your head firmly.

He pushes in. Fuck - he’s big and fat and you gag around him, but at the same time, he tastes delicious, if it even makes sense. Jimin closes his eyes and throws his head back, starting to roll his hips against your face, as his hand still keeps your head in place and your lips tighten around his cock.

“Shit– you look so good with my cock stuffed down your throat,” he hisses, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Drool and spit drip from the corners of your mouth, you gag and whimper, but it’s the daring gaze locked on his that tells Jimin he can just keep going. “So obedient, baby, taking me like a big girl… fuck– I want to cum all over your face.”

You hum with his dick in your mouth, sending vibrations that make him groan with pleasure. His balls slap on your chin every time he thrusts, and you keep your lips tightened around him, trying to give him the pressure he needs. There’s something sensual about you being naked while he’s still fully clothed - and you never thought you’d feel this way for anyone. He looks so hot with sweat covering his forehead, strands of hair falling over eyes, half lidded eyes and parted lips in a face of pure pleasure; fuck, you’d let him fuck your throat whenever he wanted, you’d suck him forever if it meant you would have this sight every time you did it.

His grunts and moans and hisses make you melt every time, even though his movements become more and more uncomfortable as he stuffs himself in your throat in quick thrusts that make you whimper and feel tears grow in your eyes. As if sensing this, Jimin yanks you off his cock and you gasp for air. He smiles at how messy you look right now, with drool dripping from your mouth and a thin layer of sweat over your forehead.

“C’mere,” he breathes out, helping you get up and hurriedly guiding you towards a nearby sun lounger. Closer to the yacht’s balcony, the ocean breeze hits your body harder, making you shiver. “How do you want me to fuck you, hm?”

Without saying a word, you smile devilishly before getting on your fours for him; you arch your back and purr like a cat, ass up, chest touching the lounger. You're still smiling and biting your lip when you look at him from over your shoulder, mesmerized by the sight of your stretched pussy.

Jimin steps closer and massages your asscheek before slapping hard, earning you a soft hiss. “You’re amazing. Can’t stop saying that. You’re perfect, baby.” He grips your hip with one hand while the other guides his cock to your entrance, getting the tip wetter with your juices. “You’re so good that you make me wanna fuck you raw, baby.”

Truth is - you didn’t even think of protection, and you couldn’t care less in this moment, as wrong as it is - but God, when Jimin finally pushes in, stretching your pussy as both of you moan in pleasure, you couldn’t be more thankful that his cock is uncovered so you can feel his skin purely.

Your breathing fails and you grip the fabric of the lounger tight, adjusting to the pressure and the slight pain it causes. Jimin pushes balls deep in, slowly at first, throwing his head back in delight. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, pretty…”

He starts to thrust in and out, making you moan each time with the glorious friction you desired so much. “Fuck– f-feel so good, Jimin…” you purr, arching your back even more. He grips both sides of your hips firmly, increasing speed with each thrust; the sound of skin hitting skin repeatedly is everything you can hear beside yours and Jimin’s moans and grunts.

Every nerve in your body seems to be on fire. His cock punches deep into your pussy, pushing you closer and closer to actual insanity as your mind becomes incapable of noticing anything but the feeling of him hammering inside of you over and over again, his strong grip on your hips, stuffing you even better than you had fantasized. Sweat covers all of your body now, and the necklace hurts your collarbones since you’re pressed against the lounger, but you couldn’t care less right now.

“I love hearing you moan, pretty.” He sounds out of breath and sexy. You gasp in surprise when, suddenly, he grips your hair and pulls it, forcing your head back. It burns your scalp; you hiss in pain, but the pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure and somehow doubles it. “Fuck– this pussy’s all mine. You’re all mine.”

You never thought Jimin was the possessive type, but people babble whatever comes to their minds when they fuck, right? That’s why, mindlessly, you have the audacity to agree: “Y-Yeah, baby, I’m all yours– ah!”

He pulls your hair even harder at the same time he takes it all out just to slam himself balls deep in again in a way that lets you see stars and drool. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck– he’s merciless, relentless in his quick pace, ruthless in the way he grips you and spanks your ass - but, at the same time, his mouth is full of praises, grunting how good you feel or how pretty you are.

You whine in protest when he pulls out entirely without warning. “Turn around, I want to watch you getting fucked.”

Once again, you do as he said without complaints - but instead of immediately laying back again, your hurried fingers unbutton his shirt and you make him take it off, which Jimin does gladly, since the fabric was already glued to his body due to how much he was sweating. You lay back; Jimin grabs your legs and puts both knees over his shoulders.

He takes his cock with one hand while the other holds one of your thighs, slapping it on your clit a few times. You watch his face distort with pleasure when he pushes inside of you again. Jimin picks a fast pace from the beginning, holding both of your thighs, focused as if he’s on a mission; all you can do is moan and whimper helplessly, massaging your own breasts while Jimin drives both of you closer to your highs.

He watches the way your tits bounce with each thrust, your face covered with sweat, the way not even the ruined makeup makes you look ugly - and the fact that you’re wearing anything but diamonds somehow arouses him even more. You clench around him, pushing Jimin closer and closer to the edge. Neither of you are worrying about being quiet right now, and you can only hope that the ocean will be your ally in muffling your desperate moans.

But you’re suddenly forced to worry about it.

The sound of voices and steps yank both of you back to reality at the same time.

Jimin stops moving. You and him look to the stairs barely five meters away at the same time.

Two voices coming closer.

“Sir, please-” you hear. It’s Steven’s voice - worried, almost freaked out.

And the second voice-

“B-But I’m sure I left it here somewhere…”

You both recognize it instantly.

A very drunk Jungkook.

You look back at Jimin with horror, eyes open wide, as he lets go of your legs and lays on top of you instead, shushing you.

“Sir, please,” Steven’s panicked voice echoes again. “As I told you, the upper floors were waxed… you can’t go upstairs, it’ll ruin your shoes,” yeah, he came up with a smart excuse. But Jungkook keeps babbling about losing something, too drunk to understand.

If he comes upstairs, he’ll immediately see you. You’re not in a hidden spot at all. You want to get up and hurry away-

But then you look at Jimin again and he’s smirking devilishly.

He thrusts again, sending bolts of pleasure through your body.

Before you can moan - he covers your mouth with his hand.

Your eyes talk. Are you seriously doing this?

His eyes talk back. Yeah.

He thrusts again.

And again.

Your eyes roll back, you entangle your legs around his waist. Fuck, these men down there could come upstairs at any moment. They can hear you if you’re loud enough. If they come upstairs and see you in this situation, you don’t know if you’ll get over the embarrassment. But Jimin’s cock is stuffing you so deep and so good. He hits your spot again, and again, and again, and his dick is thick and heavy, and he could tear you open that you wouldn’t mind - so you don’t push Jimin away. No, you tighten your legs around him because don’t he dare stop; you grip his back, you bite your bottom lip in an attempt to keep quiet, but the fact that Jimin can still hear your muffled moans against his hand makes it hard for him to endure this much longer.

He hides his face on your neck in an attempt to muffle his own moans, biting your shoulder in a torturous slower pace now - if he goes too hard, the sound of skin hitting skin will be heard from the floor below. A part of your mind registers that Steven is desperately trying to lead Jungkook out of the yacht, while all the other parts are focused on Jimin’s member inside of you, his weight over your body, his teeth sinked on your shoulder. You can’t stop, neither does he. It’s like you’re in some type of trance.

After long, torturous minutes, you hear the voices going away.

Jimin is ruthless.

He lets go of your mouth and supports his body with his forearms on both sides of your face, pounding in despair; neither of you can take this much longer, it’s getting painful.

“F-Fuck, pretty, you did so well-” he somehow manages to breathe out, smirking in boyish excitement. “Such an obedient girl, hmpf, keeping quiet while I fuck you good…”

“Oh my God–” you whimper, feeling the second - and more intense - orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. “D-Don’t fucking stop, Jimin–”

“Yes, baby, I’ll make you cum again–” he swiftly leans away and places one leg over his shoulder again, spreading you in an even better angle. “You deserve it, baby- shit, shit, shit–”

He punches inside of you over and over and over again until your walls are clenched and convulsing and your toes curl and your eyes roll and you grip the fabric of the lounger tight and your whole body shakes in an explosive orgasm. You’re breathless, weak; it was an almost out of body experience. Did you ever cum this hard before? You don’t think so.

And it’s not time to think of yourself, actually, because when your brain starts recovering from the high, you realize that Jimin had pulled out and is pumping his cock desperately, trying to reach his high. You grab his wrist, stopping him, and - Jimin almost loses it - you meow: “C’mere, come in my mouth.”

You sit up and he kneels over you until his member is on your face and, without wasting a second, you put it all into your mouth until you feel him in your throat, sucking him eagerly. Jimin moans and grips your hair while you pump your head over his length, producing loud suction noises. You just want him to cum as hard and good as he made you.

“Fuck– fuck, Y/N, I’m coming–” he warns in pant, pulling his cock out of your mouth.

You still keep it open, though, sticking your tongue out, as Jimin blows his load on you. You feel his hot seed dripping on your face, feel it on your lips and tongue. You patiently wait until he’s milked dry. Then, you open your eyes.

Jimin’s hair is an absolute mess. He’s all sweaty, panting heavily, face flushed, shaking slightly; you’ve never seen him look so glorious.

He opens a tired smirk.

And, with your gaze locked with his, you lick your lips and swallow.

It’s like he came again just seeing you do this.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

It is your turn to chuckle.

Yeah.

Maybe you will.

You let cum drip on a million dollar necklace.

#bts #jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin smut #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #jimin x you #jimin fanfic #jimin imagine #bts imagine

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obitohno · 1 year

Text

fantasising about husband! aki who can no longer hide just how much he longs for you when you accidentally walk in on him.

fem! reader, 18+, friends to lovers, semi-angst, marriage of convenience, fluff, love confessions, mutual pining, (male) masturbation, making out, fingering, sitting cowgirl, dick riding, vaginal creampie

3.9k (unedited)

reblogs are appreciated ~

it’s embarrassing, really, just how quickly aki adapts to a life dominated by your presence, and yet, it happens so naturally, that without realising, he’s accepting it as easily as he does breathing.

with the both of you now settling into the final years of your twenties, your marriage had been born from the promise of companionship, should neither of you settle with a partner of your own. it was you who had drunkenly slurred the idea after he’d accompanied you home after a night out—rambling something about how much you loved him—and because you were so stupidly inebriated, you had shrieked with laughter when he’d actually agreed.

the promise isn’t mentioned again for the two years that had followed, until a few months after aki’s twenty-eighth birthday, and it is denji, of all people, who brings it up. in truth, after ignoring it for so long, you’d actually forgotten all about that particular night, and so, after aki shoos denji away with a carefully aimed glare, you’re pleasantly surprised when he then proposes that the two of you marry, because—in his very own words—it made sense.

it’s not quite the proposal that you’d imagined when you were far younger, enamoured by the idea of marrying your very own prince charming, and yet, it’s all too easy to agree, and a month later, your life is eternally tied to aki’s with a single signature upon a piece of paper.

only, a year later, and the relationship that is shared between the two of you remains strictly platonic.

you aren’t exactly sure what you had been hoping to change once the two of you married, but even power has begun to notice that your marriage with aki isn’t at all what it’s made up to be.

‘you don’t share a bed?!’ she’d exclaimed one evening after coming to visit and poking her nose around your bedroom long enough to discover that the wardrobe is home only to your clothes.

‘we’re friends,’ you’d stressed, brows furrowing.

‘yeah,’ denji had piped up from somewhere down the hall, head buried within the depths of your fridge, ‘but you’re married.’

‘hm, hm,’ power had nodded, agreeing, and you’d had to hide your grimace by busying yourself with shoving her from your bedroom and clicking the door shut behind you.

the conversation had quickly changed after denji had convinced you to accompany them to lunch—‘cause you’ve got nothin’ in—but it’s still one that you catch yourself thinking about when you tuck yourself into bed each night.

lately, more often than not, he’s the reasoning behind your last thought at night, and the first when you rouse from sleep in the morning. at first, you chalk it down to the fact that now the two of you live together, it’s only natural that he’s who you think of when ordering takeout, because it’s also obvious that you’d wonder what he’d like to eat tonight. it’s also totally normal for hope to rear its familiar heat in the centre of your chest when you return home from work—because, why on earth wouldn’t you pray that he made it home safe and sound? and, of course, it’s just curtesy to ask if he’d like to join you when you’re watching one of those shitty chick flicks that are shown every friday evening, hiding your smirk behind a cushion when he grumbles under his breath about how terrible the movie is, but still comes to slouch on the settee beside you, your feet nestled on his lap.

there’s nothing unusual about marrying your best friend.

at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

until, one night, everything changes.

it’s new year’s, and your small group of friends have gathered to denji and power’s apartment.

it’s just the four of you crammed onto the small settee, a concoction of what smells to be both vodka and beer glaring up at you from the depths of the glass that power had shoved into the palm of your hand upon arrival. you haven’t yet dared to take a sip.

there’s another of those shitty chick flicks playing in the background, but no one is really paying attention to the screen, all eyes focusing on the clock that has been pinned—lopsided—onto the wall. there are only a few minutes until midnight, and suddenly, you’re all too aware of the heat of aki’s thigh pressing to your own, his arm brushing against yours when he lifts a hand to push a loose strand of hair from his face. tonight, the inky tresses are free from their usual tie, and for a reason known only to the heavens, you can’t stop glancing at him from the corner of your eye. it’s not as if you’re a stranger to this particular hairdo, but tonight, the blues of his hair entice your stare back toward him, over and over, and the more you do so, the more confused you become.

fortunately, power pins your attention onto her when she all but throws her weight onto your shoulder, giggling loudly, ‘hey, hey!’

‘hey,’ you hum down at her, vaguely aware of denji jumping from his seat, hopping over the back of the settee, and disappearing down the hallway.

power leans forward so that her cheek is pressed to yours. the stench of beer is heavy on her breath, and when your nose crinkles, she only laughs harder. ‘you guys gonna kiss?’

you don’t have to look to know that aki is staring at the back of your head. awkwardly, you clear your throat, unable to hide your wince in time. denji returns, bowl of freshly cooked fries in hand. he’s already shovelling a handful into his mouth, belatedly remembering to share by shoving the bowl under power’s nose so suddenly that, in her surprise, her left foot kicks out and connects with his knee. he howls, the bowl dropped to his lap, and power snatches it, scoffing down a mouthful herself. cheeks stuffed, she points to the clock, and a garbled yelp of excitement escapes her.

‘look, look!’

there’s just a minute left.

a warm hand eases over your crown, and the way that your spine relaxes is instantaneous. it’s reflex, the way that you curl into his side—as you have hundreds of times before—and you pointedly ignore the way that power jabs her elbow into denji’s flank, his eyes watering as he chokes on another mouthful of fries.

the clock tick-tocks, and the tip of a nose is ghosting over the shell of your ear. his fingers tickle down the back of your neck, and the brush of his lips at your temple welcomes you into the new year.

it’s not quite the kiss that you’d hoped for, once, when you still dreamt of new year kisses way back in your teen years, and yet, your pulse skips a beat all the same.

‘happy new year,’ he murmurs to your cheek, thumb slipping to press to your pulse, and you know that he can feel the way that it stutters, faltering beneath his touch.

it’s just aki, you tell yourself, because it’s easier to lie than it is to acknowledge the way that your stomach twists itself into knots.

from over your shoulder, you peek towards him, unsurprised to see that his stare is already focused on you. he blinks, once, twice, and something in his eye shifts, his lids drooping as his gaze lowers to your mouth. subconsciously, your lips part, as if to say something—anything—to save yourself from the press of the pad of his thumb at your throat, but all that comes out is a stuttered repeat of his sentiment, the words choked upon when that damned thumb of his strokes over the length of your jugular.

clearing your throat, you try again, despite the fact that you’re sure he can feel the perspiration that has begun to form on the surface of your skin. you force a smile, one that is returned by the crooking of the corner of his mouth, and you will yourself to feign indifference, even though you’re sure that he can feel the way that your pulse jumps at the sight.

‘happy new year, aki.’

ଓ

the new year passes.

the world settles into its usual routine, and things in your shared apartment appear to be just as normal.

only, they’re not.

aki has always been a constant in your life, this, you’re grateful for. yet, after new year’s, something changes between two of you. you’re a little slow to realise that all too suddenly, he’s everywhere.

he’s there when you’re stirring your morning coffee, squinty eyed as he smiles when you thank him for boiling the kettle for you because you’re running a tad late this morning. it isn’t until you’re rushing out of the apartment, handbag swinging on your shoulder, that you realise that he is the one who is late for work, as he’s usually out of the door at least an hour before you drag yourself from your bed.

he’s also there when you’re returning home from work, waiting to greet you as you’re kicking your shoes from your feet and slumping onto the settee with an exhausted groan of relief. the tips of his fingers are kneading at the ache that has formed in the arch of your foot, and you fail to realise that he’s staring at the column of your throat, as your eyes are closed. this happens once, twice, and upon the third time, you’ve started to become a tad suspicious, because usually, he doesn’t arrive home until long after the clock reads six pm.

a month later, when he catches you kicking at the boiler because it’s stopped working, again, it is he who calls to have it fixed. in the meantime, he leaves freshly boiled hot water bottles outside of the bathroom door, ready for you to bundle into your dressing gown after you finish bathing under an uncomfortable spray of cold water. you’re a little dramatic, sure, when you exclaim that the cold is going to be the death of you, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the smile that tugs at your lips when he huffs, rolls his eyes, but still takes your hands in his to warm your fingers.

another month passes quickly, and another, and another. you’ve grown long accustomed to the fingers that stroke at your elbow whenever he passes by, to the knowing smiles that conceal secrets that you’re not privy to, hidden behind the rim of his mug as he all but inhales yet another mouthful of coffee. he still comments on your shitty chick flicks, yet, sometimes, you compromise, and he forces you to sit through a range of disaster films that stretch on for almost three hours at a time. oftentimes, you’re falling asleep beneath the blanket that he’d thrown over you just an hour or so before, and yet when you wake, you’re tucked into the comfort of your own bed.

all too soon, you find that each smile, each brush of his fingers, each cup of coffee, each hot water bottle, and each blasted three hour disaster film, are all driving toward something that you can’t control.

spring arrives, and with it, so does the realisation that you are helplessly in love.

and yet, it isn’t you who confesses first.

today, exhaustion has you sent home from work an hour earlier than usual. again, aki’s brogues are stacked neatly on the shoe rack when you step inside, the front door clicking shut behind you. you’re too tired to ponder on the reason why he’s home far earlier than he should be, your feet kicking themselves free from the shape of your heels. the relief is instant, and a sigh has your chest heaving, shoulders slumping low enough for the strap of your handbag to slip down to the crook of your elbow. you allow it to thump to the floor, and you can already hear aki’s voice reprimanding you, but you’re shattered, and right now, all you want to do is go to bed.

rolling your neck until it cricks, you shuffle your way down the hall, pausing by the living room door to see that the television is switched on, but muted. a brow raising, you move on, only to halt when you hear a noise coming from inside your room. if you were more alert, you probably would have hesitated just a second longer, but before you can stop, and think, your hand is twisting at the door handle, the door flying open.

and there, sprawled across your bed, buried within your sheets, lies aki.

only, aki is naked.

the sheets are draped over his legs, his thighs spread, and between them, his cock stands proud, leaking an iridescent mess all over his knuckles. his abdomen is tense, muscles taunt underneath the surface of his skin, and your eyes linger for a moment too long before you acknowledge just what is happening.

‘what the—?’

aki actually shrieks.

then, at the same time, you both yell at one another, the merge of your voices displaying varying tones of mortification:

‘what the fuck?!’

‘in my bed—seriously?!’

horrified, you’re spinning back towards the door, and he’s scrambling from the bed, and there’s a fumble, and all of a sudden, his fingers are curled around your wrist, and he’s begging you to stay, but all you can focus on is the wet of his knuckles pressing to your skin, and you blurt:

‘is that your wank hand?’

you’re not even looking at him, but you hear the stutter of his breath and his grip is tightening, ‘my… my what?’

you exhale loudly, skin aflame with embarrassment, ‘your wank hand—it’s… it’s wet.’

‘fuck, fuck,’ his fingers are all but ripped from your skin, and he’s stumbling somewhere behind you, cursing under his breath. curiosity has you daring to peek over you shoulder, but it appears that you’ve misjudged his ability to dress quickly, as he’s only just shoving a leg through the crumbled leg of his favourite sweatpants. and again, your stare is lingering between his legs, where his prick is starting to droop, his arousal now forgotten. only, he catches your stare, and he somehow stubs his toe on the bedside table, yelling another curse as he trips, falling flat on his arse as he does so. he’s wide eyed, a smattering of red staining both the bridge of his nose and the crests of his cheeks, and you can only gawk back at him, bewildered.

for a long moment, there’s a tense silence that stretches between the two of you.

you remain by the doorway, and he hasn’t moved from the floor, staring at you just as intensely as you stare at him.

and then:

‘i love you.’

your lips part, your mouth opens, and then it closes. again, you try, your tongue fumbling against the inside of your cheek, your breath catching in the back of your throat. again, your pulse is hurtling angrily at the side of your neck. again, your gaze slips, eyelids lowering, aimed between his legs, to where his cock is still half-hard, resting against the crease of which his hip meets his thigh.

eyes snapping toward his, you squeak, ‘come again?’

he clears his throat, glancing at your mouth, once, twice, and then croaks, ‘i love you.’

your knees crumble, bending to accommodate your weight as you crouch before him. your face is buried into the palms of your hands, and your chest heaves as a tiny sob is forced from between your lips. there’s a relief, a hot, burning sensation that prickles at your stomach, and although this isn’t the kind of confession that you’ve dared to imagine, it’s a confession all the same.

‘god, fuck, aki—’

he’s scoffing on a laugh, one that sounds as painful as it feels, and his hand is reaching to tug at yours so that he can see your face. ‘s’this where you say you don’t feel the same?’

you’re laughing—wetly, but still, it’s a laugh—and instead of answering his question, you ask:

‘is that your wank hand?’

this time, he’s snorting, and his hands are pulling at you just as he’s leaning close enough that the bridge of his nose bumps to yours. it’s the only warning that you’ll receive, one that you deem unnecessary, as you’re already meeting him halfway, chin tilting upward just as his lips mould to the shape of your mouth.

you’re unable to focus on the taste of him, not really, not when his hands are grabbing at you greedily, your breath faltering when his fingers are urgently tearing at your clothes. the next few minutes are a blur, and his kisses are a flurry of tongues, gasps stolen between breaths when the blunt edges of his teeth bite into the plush of your bottom lip. there’s a pause when your shirt is all but ripped over the top of your head, his mouth like fire when his lips press to yours again, and it’s quickly followed by another pause as he helps you to shimmy you out of the remainder of your clothing. desperation has him kicking the fabric of his sweatpants from his leg, his fingers deftly ridding you of your bra, your knickers quickly joining the pile of discarded clothing soon after.

his kisses are frantic, sloppy, and his fingers are blindly exploring each inch of skin that he can get his hands on. it doesn’t take long for him to discover the ticklish spot beneath your ribs, or the quiver of your thighs when his fingers grip at your waist, hoisting you atop him. a surprised oof escapes you, mostly formed around the fact that your head is spinning.

things are moving quickly—too quickly—and when you manage to tear your mouth from his long enough to voice it so, he’s stilling, spine rigid as he peeks at you through a long strand of hair.

‘wanna stop?’ the deep gravel of his tone suggests that he hopes for anything but.

‘no,’ you confirm his hopes, the curve of your smirk smothered by the press of his lips.

he’s mouthing at the pulse that beats a steady tune at your throat, his fingers, gentle as they pinch, stroke and tickle their way towards the centre of your legs. you shudder, anticipation trembling down the length of your spine, and when his thumb presses over your clit, your breath catches, eyes widening as you peer down at him. his touch is like fire, your skin scorched, thrilled, and he swallows down the lust-driven mewl that is muffled when he kisses you yet again. it’s almost painful, how slowly he works you open, your opening stretching around the press of his fingers, but he welcomes the feel of your lips at his throat, your teeth at his collarbone next, and your fingers twisting into the length of his hair. above him, your hips rock to-and-fro, and his fingers are tugging free with a wet squelch that has you grimacing, and him, grinning. your pelvis rolls, the plush of your cunt gliding up the rigidity of his cock, his balls heavy between his thighs, and the moan you exhale across the curve of his cheek is mirrored back to you, his lids blinking rapidly in order to watch the way that you sigh for him.

‘love you,’ he breathes, pupils blown wide as he stares at you as if seeing you for the very first time. you’re unable to describe the warmth that is burning its way up the column of your throat, and yet, your fingers tug at his hair, again, coaxing him in for another kiss.

‘i love you,’ he groans the syllables of your name, the width of him stretching the searing walls of your cunt wider than his fingers ever could.

‘shit, yes—justlikethat—l-love—fuck, i love—hngh!’ repeatedly, his cock claims home inside the wet of your cunny, which eagerly welcomes him in, over and over, the schlick, schlick, schlick of his sac—long stained with the evidence of your arousal—smacked tight against the curve of your rear with each thrust as he pistons his girth past the stretch of your fluttering hole.

‘g-gonna—ah, ah!’ and then, his slit is painting thick strands of opalescent jism that have your inner walls glimmering a pretty shade of pearl. your clit is still humming with the aftermath of your own peak, pulse deafening as it thunders an uneven beat past your tragus and down the canal of your eardrums. exhaustion has your thighs trembling around the width of his waist, spine curved as you collapse just enough to rest your cheek to the sharp jut of his shoulder, gasping loud enough to encourage the gentle hum of laughter from out of his lungs. the glide of his cock thump, thump, thumps dangerously close to the tight opening of your cervix, the seam of his sac glistening with the drooling mess that somehow oozes free from the vacuumed grip of your puffy orifice. eventually, he stills, spent, and the back of his head clunks against the wooden surface of the bedside table.

he wheezes a laugh that bubbles from somewhere deep in his chest, and the force has his shoulder vibrating, your cheek jiggling along, until, soon, his laughter titters into something that sounds less pleasant. when the tip of his nose traces the shape of the shell of your ear, it’s cold, wet, and there’s a choked sob that gargles from the back of his throat, and your fingers clutch at his ribs, desperate to feel the warmth of him just a tad longer. ‘i love you,’ he murmurs, voice thick, hoarse, strained with the weight of a fear that you understand his ego won’t allow him to acknowledge aloud.

still, you nose at the space beneath the cut of his jaw, and there, is where his scent is the strongest, the familiarity of nothing but him, him, him now intermingled with the salted musk that clings to the surface of his skin. and there, is where the shape of your smile eases the uneasy ache that roughly thwack, thwack, thwacks his jugular against the bridge of your nose until it begins to settle into a pace that comes with the soft exhale that flutters across the back of your head. and there, is where you breathe that no, this isn’t where you say that you don’t feel the same, because, actually, you love him too.

he’s laughing again, vocal chords twisting around the sound of relief, and when his mouth seeks yours again, his hand comes to cup the shape of your cheek, fingers brushing at the wispy baby hairs that wind around the tip of his finger. the taste of him dominates the inside of your cheeks and the flat of your tongue, and when your fingers curl over the circumference of his wrist, the corners of your eyes crinkle with the stretch of your smile. and just as aki’s lips part—awed—you tug his hand from your skin, your fingers slotting between the crooks of his own. the corners of your mouth morph into the shape of a smirk, the dampened surface of your forehead nudging at his, and you ask:

‘is that your wank hand?’

#♡ jordy is writing ♡#csm #csm smut #csm x reader #aki smut #aki hayakawa smut #aki x reader #aki x you #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x reader smut

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hedgehog-moss · 11 months

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Salut madame hedgehog moss!

Maintenant je me prépare à déménager à une toute petite ville au nord-est des États Unis près de la frontière avec Nouveau Brunswick (donc une ville peu peuplée et très rurale). Maintenant j'habite dans une grande ville alors je suis certaine qu'il y aura un peu de décalage au début. Je sais que t'as déménager de Paris vers une très petite village donc peut être tu as des conseils pour comment je peux m'intégrer dans une telle communauté?

Désolé pour des fautes de grammaire. Le français n'est pas ma langue maternelle.

Hi! Your French is really good! :)

I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask for advice on how to fit in with a small rural community, as I chose to live in the woods a few km away from the nearest village because I moved to the countryside in search of solitude. I only leave my lair for groceries once every ten days or so—I'm on a solid "easy friendly small talk" basis with most locals, but I'm only better acquainted with a handful of them, the ones I interact with regularly by force of circumstance (the librarian because I'm a devoted library-goer, the postwoman, the farmer who owns the pasture next to mine...) and that's a level of integration in the community I'm happy with.

I suppose the main thing is to show curiosity and appreciation for the local way of life, rather than expect to live exactly the way you did in the city, but the specifics of what this entails vary a lot depending on locality. Participating in the local small economy, if there is one, is good—I try to attend the yearly events and fairs at the village, like the potter's market; I bought a jumper from the wool shop in town rather than ordering something online, and I buy fruit at the summer market and seedlings for my garden, and some cheeses, from the local farms that sell them, rather than getting stuff from the supermarket even though it would often be more convenient. But I'm glad there are still family farms and local artisans so it's important to support them. There's also a thriving informal gift economy in my village, I offer eggs from my chickens and homemade jams or syrups and later down the line neighbours reciprocate with seedlings or firewood, etc, the more you'll participate in this sort of thing (if it exists) the more connections you'll make.

Another thing re: being appreciative of the local way of life—I know the city people who are disliked around here are the ones who buy land and use it like they would a suburban plot, e.g. build a swimming-pool, mow the grass, remove all 'weeds' indiscriminately (I know brambles are annoying but birds nest in there and eat the berries, you've got to leave some...), or cover their dirt road with asphalt instead of just shovelling some gravel when it gets muddy, etc. Again the specifics vary depending on locality, but people are attached to their local landscapes and way of doing things and as someone who owns some land and has seen the way locals reacted to other people who bought land around here, you're clearly perceived differently if you have a spirit of maintaining and repairing and appreciating the place for what it is, rather than remodelling and innovating and adapting it to what you want it to be.

Also you've got to accept that it can take a very long time to become part of a close-knit community, and try not to take things personally—I remember someone commenting on one of my posts a few years ago that she felt rejected by the people in her village because she was still seen as an outsider, and not allowed to take part in the organisation of some local events, several years after moving there. I wouldn't see not getting to help organise an event as a hostile behaviour towards me, I don't really expect to be included on every level, if locals feel like some things are for people who've lived here their whole lives, okay. I know rural communities are not the most diverse places and I'm not saying to accept discrimination due to bigotry of any kind, but in terms of "being kept out of some things or treated differently because you're not from this specific place", I do see it as something to be accepted. If I'm still seen as a city person and an outsider twenty years from now, so be it, as long as people aren't outright rude about it. I don't think of not being welcome to everything as rude, there are just boundaries that exist and so be it. I'm not saying someone would be wrong for being hurt by this type of exclusion, just that it helps to have this "don't take it personally" attitude when moving to a rural village.

Having a llama also really helps! The only reason I got acquainted with lots of local people in my first year here was because Pampe kept running away and I kept having to knock on people's doors with like a photo of her and go hi, have you seen this criminal. And then people would stop me at the grocery shop or something two weeks later like, did you end up finding your criminal? And I'd complain about her and they'd sympathise and tell me about their own annoying animals. I can't recommend animal misdemeanours enough as a source of friendly mutual understanding with rural neighbours.

Oh and speaking of complaining—another obvious way to integrate in a small community is to fight together against a common enemy. This is anecdotal but last year a state-owned company started to build a metallic structure (I'm trying not to be too specific) outside the village and it spoilt the landscape a bit, and I hesitated to grumble about it when making small talk because I was half-expecting to come across as an annoying city person, complaining about aesthetics while local people's livelihoods would be improved by this thing—but not at all, people also hated the look of it and were like "they hardly even consulted local authorities on this, they think we don't get to have an opinion on what our land looks like" and we went to the town hall to complain and the mayor agreed with us and eventually we complained enough that the company replaced the metal parts with wooden ones, so it at least looks more natural and more discreet in the landscape. It was very satisfying to come together and have this happen, and I never felt more integrated in the local community than when I was in the town hall complaining with everybody else.

#ask

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ddejavvu · 2 years

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hii can we get aaron being soft with pregnant reader while they are at one of rossi’s get-togethers?

You know the signs before it happens. The subtle twitch of Aaron's wrist, his frequent glances down at your belly. All it takes is a semi-overexaggerated sigh for his hands to sneak under your stomach, lifting the weight of your baby off of your back and supporting it in his palms instead.

He's standing behind you now, head hooked over your shoulder while he lifts your belly. The next sigh you let out is an appreciative one, and you crane your head backwards to nuzzle his cheek with yours in thanks.

"I remember that," JJ looks fondly at Aaron's hands beneath your baby, "Will used to do it during movie nights."

"Always crapped out early," He remembers with a sheepish chuckle, winding his arm around her much-less-pregnant belly, "Don't know how you did it 24/7, babe."

"I don't know how she does it either," Aaron muses, eyebrows raised as a fond smile overtakes his face. You can't see it, but you can hear it in his voice and you can feel it against your skin.

"I take a lot of naps," You grumble sleepily, your eyes yearning to slip shut as Aaron continues supporting your belly, "Rossi must have a spare bedroom in his mansion," You drawl his famous boast, "Do you think he'd notice if I took one now?"

"I think he'd notice that some of his pasta is left over," Aaron murmurs, keeping his voice low so that you remain in your groggy, bleary-eyed state, "And he'll be deeply offended that you wanted to sleep instead of eat it, but he's never carried a human being inside of him before, so I'll vouch for you."

"He doesn't even carry his own bags," You grumble, remembering the many times the older man has conveniently needed to use the restroom before grabbing his bags, leaving Reid, always too kind for his own good, to trek them up to his hotel room.

Aaron's chuckle at your jibe is deep and you feel it through your back as it resonates in his chest. He's warm, soft, and comforting, and the thought of his hands leaving the underside of your belly makes you want to cry.

"Come with me?" You propose, seeing JJ and Will migrate to the table, the aroma of dinner enticing, but not enticing enough.

"Alright," Aaron nods, though his hands shift under your tummy, "I've gotta let go, though. If you fall down the stairs I have a feeling the baby won't be okay."

"Oh, just kill me now," You grumble, wincing as the weight of your child lands heavily once again upon your aching muscles, "You owe me twenty minutes of that later."

"Deal," Aaron grabs your hand, leading you to the empty bedroom and shooting a very indignant-looking Rossi a casual wave on your way out, "I'll make it thirty for being the one who put the baby there."

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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qqtxt · 1 year

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The boys are gamers this isnt news so here. me. out.

The boys are gaming but reader wants cuddles/attention (could be both *don't look at me im touch starved*) but the boys are busy playing in their pc and so the only compromisable solution is that sitting on their lap at first watching and cheering them on then ending in you sleeping 🥹 AIXBKSBDJS CAN YOU IMAGINE FALLING ASLEEP LIKE THAT, HEAD ON THEIR SHOULDERS THEY LOOK AT YOUR SLEEPING STATE, SMILE ANS KISS YOUR SHOULDER OR SIDE OF YOUR HEAD

me @ you reading this ask because HOW DARE YOU PUT THIS IMAGERY IN MY HEAD??? i was going to write this out later but i was just HIT with the feels so i wrote something quickly for each of these you ABSOLUTE MONSTER–(jk ily this was fun to explore thank you i hope this hits you in the feels just as you did to me with your ask >:))

[🌸] close to you w/ txt

✿ pairing: ot5 x reader / fluff 🌸 / idol!txt / non.idol!you ✿ mini-fics with each member for the same situation / less than 400 words for each member / altogether, word count: 1,090 words ✿ in which you decide to be close to them while they play their games (and you fall asleep on them...) [masterlist 🌸] / other members under the cut!

[🐰] soobin soobin might act like he's annoyed initially but deep down, he's as addicted to your touch as you are with his. he appreciates how you let out small sounds of excitement each time he takes down the enemy and it boosts his ego. the second he feels your head resting on his, tilted back as you sink into his embrace, he knows you've fallen asleep despite the fact he's still playing his game so intensely. he chuckles quietly when there's a two-minute break on the screen before the next round continues and he turns the cheek to see how your jaw is slightly slacked, eyelids fluttered shut but your hands hugging one side of his arm along with the armrest next to it. he shifts his arm a bit closer to you and watches how your hands move along with it. your body grows towards the direction of one side of his arm where you can hold it nearer to you and he doesn't resist the urge to reach for his phone conveniently nearby to take a couple of pictures. when there's a signal in his headphones that the next round is about to begin, he plants a kiss to wherever of you that's closest to him (in this case, in this position, it was your neck) before he resumes his game.

[🦊] yeonjun yeonjun tries his best not to tease you too much even though you can tell he's very pleased knowing that you're willing to sit through with him just to be close to him. his serotonin boosts past the roof whenever you let out praises of how well he's doing and he reciprocates it by squeezing your waist, kissing your shoulder, and saying his tagline: "because i have my lucky charm here with me." somewhere along the line when he feels your weight shifting on him and you turn to rest your cheek on his shoulder, he has an inkling you've fallen asleep with your arms around his waist, resting by your side. he has a clear view of you resting peacefully on him that he doesn't dare move another muscle unless necessary. if that means he'll sacrifice his score in the game, so be it. he'll be very chuffed to have you like this that he'll ignore his game half the time just to look at you. (it ends fairly quickly and you find yourself in bed with him by your side; he'll claim that he was tired but really, he just wants to rest with you in his arms properly)

[🐯] beomgyu beomgyu is more than willing to have you sit on his lap as he plays his game. he's super enthusiastic about every question you have and even pushes you to try to play the game if you show interest. but when all you admit to him is that you just wanna be close to him and be near him, he'll be a little too cocky for his own good (or the softest marshmallow, there's no in-between). whenever you cheer him on that he's doing well, he won't really respond but deep down, he remembers every single compliment you give him or respond through actions by kissing your shoulder without tearing his gaze from the screen. he notices when you're growing tired as you start to lean back and your head rests on one of his shoulders. he slyly dips down a bit, giving you easier access to rest your head and soon he feels you lulling to sleep as your body grows heavier on top of him, letting go of your conscious. he sneaks a peek at you when his round ends and he smiles widely, leaning in to kiss your cheek and brush your hair back before he continues his game.

[🐿] taehyun taehyun offers to stop his game but when he sees that you're adamant to let him continue, he gives in with okay, okay, get over here. he does his best to make sure you're comfortable and when you are, that's when he plays his game while trying not to check on you too much. it makes you chuckle with the way he's attentive without looking, that you'd need to keep a hand on his face to make sure he stops turning the cheek and focus on your game, tae. he retaliates by trying to bite your hand and it continues like that for a good moment before he notices your hand isn't by his face anymore and your head is now resting on his shoulder. you shift a little so your face buries against his neck, sitting sideways a little so you can hug him and this boy has literal hearts in his eyes at the sight when he pauses the game to take in your sleeping figure on him. he half-debates bringing you to bed or staying put but quickly makes his decision by staying like that so he doesn't wake you up. he continues playing (even though he might lose a couple of rounds when he keeps turning to look at you) his game, occasionally pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever he feels like it.

[🐧] kai kai is more than welcoming with his arms spread open, putting his plushie to the side so his lap is now free for you to sit on. he's literally walking on cloud nine when he sees you grabbing the plushie to hug as you sit on him to get comfortable that he can't hold back he puts his arms around you. it takes him a good minute of persuading before he gets back to playing when all he wants to do now is hug you. he hooks his chin over your shoulder (a headrest, he calls it) and keeps his hand on the keyboard and mouse to continue playing his game. you chuckle whenever he nuzzles the side of his head against the side of yours and it makes you squeeze the plushie with one hand, the other lapping over one of his arms to soothingly rub shapes on his skin. he knows you've fallen asleep when the grip you have on him loosens and you rest your head against the side of his. he sits back and watches as your body follows him and the slight shift of your body on him lets him know you're deep in sleep. he turns a little, brushing his lips against your temple to press a kiss before he resumes his game; making his mind that once he finishes this game, he'll bring you to bed to sleep more comfortably.

#txt reactions #txt scenarios #txt reaction #txt scenario #soobin scenarios #soobin x reader #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun x reader #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu x reader #taehyun scenarios #taehyun x reader #huening kai scenarios #hueningkai x reader

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hanakoofthejungle · 12 days

Text

My most favourite Overlord Husk AU fanfictions

I am no expert in writing, just a regular fangirl whose brain is constantly occupied by HuskerDust. I like these fics purely based on the kicks I get out of reading reading them. HuskerDust fanfiction is my drug now :))))

All of this start commonly with Husk winning Angel's soul in a game against Valentino, the two eventually got involved romantically but ...

Blue Is Not Your Colour by Shienkha (competed)

It is rare to see Husk as deeply flawed, an addict to his poison (gambling) as much as Angel to sex. Both fell victims to their addiction, ultimately ruined their chance at happiness. In the end, Husk lost his soul to Alastor and Angel went back to Valentino. Husk realized only then that he loved Angel. The two finally reunited at the Hazbin Hotel, connecting the story to the canon.

“And a spade,” he whispered to himself as he headed out, slipping the ring to his chest pocket, “to symbolise how far I would have gone for you.”

As far as it would have taken to keep you happy.

Or, in the absence of it…

… as safe as one can be in Hell.

This is absolutely the best fic in my opinion.

2. Loved You Like Religion by cokedupdicksuckinghoe (completed)

This is as beautiful as the song after which the fic is titled.

Angel killed Valentino to save Husk. Husk was oblivious to his feeling until Angel seduced him with "Why Don't You Do Right". In the end, Husk prepared to throw everything away for Angel.

"He was devoted to Angel; he loved him like religion."

3. To A Player Everything Is A Game by Tat_Tat (completed)

A bundle of domestic bliss. This fic is my guilty pleasure. Whenever I came across a traumatic HuskerDust fic, I come back to this to save myself from the anxiety.

4. Call Your Bluff by RazzAppleMagic

Angel relapsed and went back to Valentino after being 'rejected' by Husk. He later worked through his traumas, left Valentino on his own while befriending Vaggie during Extermination Day. As of the latest update, Angel came back to the casino and reconciled with Husk. The two began dating and Angel prepared to face Valentino once more.

5. Wicked Old Soul by BunnyBight

Husk put Angel in therapy with Charlie. Angel didn't appreciate Husk making decision for him and concealing his status as the Gambling Overlord. As of the latest update, Angel was wooed by a charismatic lion who was hired by Vox to kidnap him. Ah never mind. New chapter came out, Angel is safe for now :))

6. Someone You Can Bet On by Shigariope

Angel begged Husk to play a game with Valentino for his soul. Husk not only won Angel's soul, he also put a ring on his finger to safeguard his Overlord image. I look forward to see how their marriage of convenience progresses :)))

7. House of Cards by abookomaps

Valentino tortures Angel with angelic weapon. Husk proved Angel's worth by betting that Angel can make in one day what Valentino made in a month.

8. But you've got company by mamini2000 (completed)

Angel thought Husk was just an bartender then they fell in love.

9. Mine NOW Val by Rocher1893

Angel filled in for Husk's lounge singer. Husk devised a plan to help him get away from Valentino.

10. When the King Cat finds his Spider by Blahaj_Enjoyer

Husk demanded Angel's soul as collateral for his trade deal with Valentino. Valentino can film at Husk's casino, while he got Angel as new employee. It is precisely because Husk didn't technically own Angel's soul yet that I want to see how this story progresses.

11. Consequences by Bigredboi (completed)

To protect Angel, Husk killed Valentino and the Sin of Greed, becoming the new Sin.

12. First Breath by huskapologist

As of the latest update, Husk and Angel were plagued by nightmares and I by cliffhanger :))

13. Casino of love by @artwaterfall

A slow burn bliss following Angel's path to recovery from his pasts trauma and insecurity. If you are looking for Husk falling in love listening to Angel singing New side of me, this is the best description there is. If I didn't already have a significant other, I would have fallen in love with the spider myself just by reading that chapter, and I had the goosebump to prove it. This story is a treat that I look forward to every week.

14. I Can Only Blame Myself by InkPhoenix

Angle ran away from Valentino and collapsed before an extermination. He was saved by Husk and now had to deal with new disability and the possibility of being sent back to Valentino.

15. Sober to Death by BrainRotgoBrrrrr

Angel beat Husk at poker and he decided to buy him off Valentino. Alastor was eyeing Husk's soul.

16. Luck Be A Lady Tonight by Basic_Witch

Valentino used Angel to spy on Husk. Meanwhile, Husk taught Angel how to play cards and valued his business ideas.

17. The Gambler by @5carecr0w

Angel's appearance somehow brought luck to Husk's game with Alastor, saving him from losing his soul. Angel became his new lucky charm.

18. Him & His Libertine Principles by limpid_spice

Alastor enlisted Husk to make a bet against Valentino. Husk found Angel pathetic.

19. Cat’s Eye Casino by Lunatic_caramelle

Absolute bliss :)) As of the latest update, Husk was attacked by Val's men and injured. Angel took care of him while he healed and they grew closer.

20. Fates Gamble (two traumatized gay men rediscover love) by Chaosfrog

As of the latest update, the Vees had hidden cameras installed throughout the casino, giving Vox's control over machines and tables there. 'Whatever will befall my favourite couple?', I asked while waiting for updates every day :)))

21. High Stakes by dreamnplay

Husk wanted Angel to work the floor on a 10-hour shift per day. Angel thought he want him to f*ck customers for 10 hours a day. Read this and you will wonder when they will start communicate openly and honestly.

22. My Kingdom for The Soul of an Angel by meg_a_dork (completed)

Absolute domestic bliss with shopping, cooking, cuddling and everything. Angel proposed to Husk first :))) They got married and had cake 🍰

23. Ace of my Heart by Karmawillcollect (completed)

Angel beat Husk at poker and he bought him off Valentino. Guilty pleasure smut ensues :)))

24. My Atlantis by Satan_Has_A_Wife (completed)

Husk was bad at feeling, thinking Angel only loved him because he owned his soul and had been half-decent to him. Angel got Husk all hot and bothered seeing him with a gun. Cherri approved of Husk.

25. I Don’t Want The World But I’ll Take This City by highfemmeicequeen

Husk was bad at feeling and thought he knew what Angel wanted. Angel was angry, tired of being told who he was and what he wanted.

26. Love in Bonds by QueenofShadows1987

Husk and Angel dived head first into a relationship based on a 'standard' BDSM contract. Note that Husk is not the consent King we know and love here and Angel had no choice but to be his mate.

27. No Rest for the Wicked by @camelliea

It's been over 20 years since Angel was freed from Valentino yet the moth's shadow was still looming over his relationship with Husk. Husk made alliance with Alastor to destroy the Vees.

28. Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend by purple_hyacynths

The two started of on hostile term. Angel was being a brat because of self-loathing.

29. House of Cards by Transparent_Existence

Angel and Husk are getting closer and one of Husk trusted employee can't have that.

The list is to be updated.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin husk #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x husk #hazbin hotel husk #overlord husk

133 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 2 months

Text

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Arina decided it was better to do as Eris asked and meet him outside her bedroom door after she and Elain had a private lunch in Elain’s bedroom. Eris turned the corner mere seconds later, eyes sliding down her body so intimately it made her shiver. He could do something with his eyes that made her nervous, turning that look on and off like igniting a candle. This time, though, Arina knew he disapproved of the yellow dress.

“Change—”

“No.”

Eris looked upward as if he was asking the gods to grant him patience. “Your clothes are impractical—”

“I don’t walk around prepared for battle. If you’re going to teach me to defend myself, teach me as I am, tangled skirts, long hair, and all.”

Eris paused, cocking his head to the side like a predator. “You’re taking your hair down?”

Oh, did he want her to? She was tempted to tell him no, though she’d put very few pins in her hair today to make it easy to let her hair down once they were alone so she could simulate being alone in her bedroom like she’d been when someone tried to strangle her.

“Does that offend you?”

His cheeks darkened for just a moment as he cleared his throat. “I don’t care about your hair.”

Liar.

“This is probably pointless to say to you, but I would prefer it if you didn’t go easy on me.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Eris promised, falling into step beside her. She expected him to take her outside—somewhere public. Somewhere people could see. It hadn’t occurred to her that Eris would take her to his lavish apartments across the palace, nor that he would close the door behind him.

“Eris—”

“Oh who cares?” he said with a roll of his eyes. “There is no escape for either of us, so what does it matter if they think I’ve had you now or in two months?”

“I care.”

He shrugged. “Where would you prefer we go? To the common hall? The courtyard? Somewhere anyone with eyes can watch? The point of teaching you this is to catch your attacker off guard so you can escape, not help them hone their skills so they don’t make another mistake.”

“I care,” Arina admitted. Her reputation was all she had left—and she knew her father would be furious when the rumors reached him. Eris could still change his mind, but Arina would be unmarriageable if anyone believed Eris had her first.

Eris’s look of frustration wasn’t enough to cow her. “I told you, this marriage is happening—”

“Until it doesn’t,” she countered quietly, stepping closer to a long sofa she could imagine him lounged on, book in hand. “Are you telling me that you’d still honor this contract if your father freed you?”

Eris ground his teeth together. He couldn’t lie to her, so he wouldn’t. Instead, he said, “He’s not going to—”

“He might—”

“He won’t!” Eris snapped, some of his anger getting the better of him. “If only to piss your father off. He is taking that shitty piece of land one way or the other and you are the most convenient way to do it, and unless you think your father is willing to trade it for less than his daughter sitting on a throne, you will be my godsdamned wife.”

Arina hated him a little bit right then. His anger was palpable, a flame burning hot in his gaze. She wanted to hit him, wanted to make him feel every ounce of her own fury and fear until he stopped talking to her like she was a simple, stupid child.

“I don’t want to be your wife,” she whispered, which was the wrong thing to say. Eris advanced on her until he was inches from her face.

“I don’t care what you want,” he whispered, gaze not on her eyes but her mouth.

“I’ll make you miserable,” she threatened. Eris only shrugged, the spell broken. He looked around the room as if trying to find something. It gave Arina a moment to appreciate the shelves of books, the rich rugs of red and cream, the high ceilings and open windows—all of it tastefully appointed and betraying someone with taste far more refined than her own. She couldn’t help herself, gravitating toward one of the shelves to see what he liked to read.

A lot of philosophy, she found. History, too, and more than a few books on poetry. She was particularly fascinated by a cracked blue spine that read Romantic Poetry, the silver letters peeling and worn.

Arina reached for it just as a pair of arms wrapped around her body, holding her tight against a torso. It was Eris, she reminded herself—Eris’s forearm pressed to her throat, Eris’s torso she was pinned against. He wouldn’t kill her.

He’d promised he wouldn’t.

“Are you scared?” Eris whispered, lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear.

Arina couldn’t speak, could only nod her head.

“Relax,” he ordered, pressing his arm harder against her throat. “Go limp.”

Arina tried, but every inch of her demanded she fight him, that she twist and thrash until he let her go. Eris sighed when he felt her rigidity, holding her so tight her ribs groaned.

“Make me work for it, Arina. Go limp.”

Something about the way he said it—with such authority—made her listen. The part of her brain that wasn’t panicking recognized help. Her whole body flopped toward the ground, causing Eris to groan beneath her weight.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise warming that same alert part of her mind. “See how I have to drag you, now? Do you feel how my hold has to shift?”

“Yes,” she rasped. He’d loosened his grip on her neck just enough for her to take a deep breath.

“If you had a knife, this would be the time to use it. Let’s pretend you have one hidden in your skirt. Reach for it.”

Arina did as he told her to, fumbling for her pretend knife. Eris tightened his hold with a disapproving click of his teeth. “Too slow.”

And then, without warning, he drew his fingers across her neck like he was slashing her throat. Releasing her, Arina collapsed to the ground, heart racing.

“You need to be quicker,” he said dispassionately.

“You surprised me,” she accused, rubbing the skin of her throat.

“Do you expect your killer to send an invitation beforehand? You need to be prepared, your instincts razor sharp.”

“My governesses must have missed the lesson on not being murdered,” she snapped, though there was no real ire to her words.

“I’m not surprised to learn your father is inadequate,” was all Eris had to say in response. “Get up. We’ll do it again.”

Arina almost wished Eris had wanted to have sex with her. It would have been easier, would have been over faster. They spent hours going through the same scenario over and over. Sometimes he walked her through what she needed to do step by step and other times he promised her a break, let her drop her guard, and then attacked her all over again.

She left his room wrung out and exhausted. Arina didn’t dare let Eris see it—he wasn’t exactly warm—but the moment she was safe in her own bedroom she fell face first on the mattress and cried her eyes out. Nothing was going the way she’d thought it would and every time Arina tried to make the best of her circumstances, it was like fate decided to add another complication as a little test.

Oh, you thought you could connect with this man? Well, he hates you.

At least he didn’t want her dead. She could mark Eris off her list of the people trying to kill her, which made it a list of four—maybe five if she took Eris at his word regarding his fathers priorities.

Beron Vanserra needed her alive in order to make good on the contract. Her father needed her alive in order to secure position and wealth, as well as continue ruling as a vassal lord. Eris didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her dead either. And Elain and Lucien were outsiders entirely.

But the palace was massive and teeming with people. Was it someone angry she was the one marrying the prince? An angry courtier? A political rival? Just having a direction would have been helpful.

Arina fell asleep turning the question over in her mind, forgetting to go down for dinner or changing out of her clothes. Perhaps she ought to have known Eris wouldn’t give her peace. In retrospect, Arina figured Eris had noticed her absence at dinner and decided it wasn’t enough to torment her during her waking hours.

She felt the weight of the mattress dip moments before he swung his legs over her body and pressed his blade to her throat. Apollo didn’t intervene, raising his head only to look before laying back down in his spot at the edge of the bed. Useless animal.

“Eris,” she whispered, fingers curling around his wrist.

“What happened to your dresser by the door?” he replied, his voice low. She knew what he wanted—or, she thought she did. She didn’t have a real weapon to stab him in the thigh with so she used her pretend one, slamming her fist against his leg before shoving him off her. Eris grunted but didn’t fight her when she straddled his hips, his knife now in her possession.

“If you ever wake me up like that again,” she whispered, her hair falling between them like a curtain, “it’ll be me who kills you.”

Eris’s chest rose and fell rapidly, palms raised upward in defense as she held his knife to this throat. She could have killed him—it would have been so easy to end him right then and there. Eris held her gaze, his eyes cat-like in the dark.

“Eris?” she whispered.

He blinked. “I…shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why did you?”

Slowly, Eris reached for a strand of her unbound hair and pressed it against his nose. “I’m a fool.”

And with that, she was on her back, knife flopping harmlessly to the bed. Eris stood, adjusting his pants before turning back to look at her sprawled over the mattress. “Keep the dagger.”

“Eris—” He left before she could finish her thought, which was just as well. Arina had no idea what she would have said if he’d stayed. It was strange, though, sitting in the dark wishing he’d come back to do the gods only knew what.

Stranger, still, to realize that the man she was about to marry wanted her.

And that she wanted him, too.

ERIS:

Eris couldn’t focus. Standing in a packed ballroom, all he could think about was Arina’s legs wrapped around his waist and how close he’d come to dragging her back to the mattress and doing every wicked thing he could imagine to her. That was made worse by the woman herself, standing beside Elain and his brother in a golden gown that tapered to a dusky rose the further down the beading went. The neckline was low enough he could see the swell of her breasts beneath the soft slope of her collar bone and when she walked, a slit revealed a tantalizing peek of her legs.

He sighed, half relieved when his father approached. “Have you seen your mother?”

Eris scanned the crowd again. “She’s probably fretting over wine again.”

“I’ll handle it. You handle her,” his father ordered, glancing toward Arina.

“Problems?” “With the girl? Not one. With her father? It never ends,” Beron muttered with a scowl. “All he does is complain.”

“Maybe you should kill him,” Eris suggested dispassionately.

“After the wedding,” Beron said with a roll of his eyes. “Finish things with Novak’s daughter.”

“She doesn’t want to be alone,” Eris informed his father, not betraying his own regret. Oh, how he wished Arina acted more like the ladies at court. Their propriety was just for show, their skirts easily lifted. Even now, Eris knew if he made eye contact with any number of the ladies he’d grown up with, they’d be staring right back.

Unlike his betrothed, who hadn’t spared him a glance once.

“You’re charming. I trust you can engineer some scenario that silences her obnoxious father.”

Eris resisted the urge to snap at his father. It wasn’t worth the inevitable pain that would follow. Maybe not right then, maybe not for weeks—but down the road, Beron would make Eris pay. There was only one right answer, and that was whatever his father wanted to hear.

“I’m sure I can manage it.”

His father reached for two goblets of wine off a servant's passing tray. Thrusting them into Eris’s hands, he ordered, “Now.”

Great.

Eris knew his father was watching just as he knew Arina’s father was watching, too. How far would he go to keep Eris from defiling his daughter? Not far enough, given Eris had successfully gotten into her bed chamber unimpeded twice. All he really needed was to get her alone long enough that it suggested something happened. Though it made his stomach churn, he figured he could get her just drunk enough that she’d let him bring her to his room. After that, all Eris had to do was close the door and let her sleep off the wine on his sofa or the floor or anywhere but next to him.

“You win,” Elain said glumly to Lucien as Eris offered Arina the wine his father had given him.

“Pay up, princess,” Lucien replied with a grin.

“Do I want to know?” Eris demanded, his temper getting the better of him. Did Elain always need to be hovering over Arina? Couldn’t he have ten minutes alone with his future wife without a million people staring him down?

“We made a bet—”

“I don’t care,” Eris interrupted flatly, catching the way Arina smothered a smile before taking a drink. “Dance with me before I go out of my mind.”

Arina gulped down the rest of her drink, setting the empty gold cup on a nearby table. Eris followed suit, wondering if she needed alcohol to tolerate him. The thought bothered him even as she turned, flushed and beautiful, and said, “Just one dance?”

Her hand was in his before Eris knew what was happening. He abandoned his drink beside Arina’s, catching sight of a quick-fingered servant whisking them away.

“For now,” he agreed, distracted by the way the lights gilded off her golden hair and how bright her eyes seemed to be. Had her mouth always been so pink? Her skin so smooth? Eris wanted to run his hands up her arms but settled for putting one on the curve of her waist and pulling her just a little too close.

Suggestively so. Arina didn’t seem to notice, staring down at her feet before looking up to meet his gaze. “Can you dance?” he asked.

Arina’s pretty smile shifted and he swore it was disappointment that flashed over her features. “Of course I can.”

He supposed he had been a little mocking when he asked. Eris couldn’t help that. When he was nervous his words came out in a sneer. There was no apologizing, which left him only with a challenge. “Prove it.”

“I hate you. Do you know that?” she asked, stepping with him as the music began. She was fluid like water, eyes on his face, grip pleasant on his shoulder. Eris nudged her a little closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lime.

“I like a passionate woman,” he heard himself saying.

Arina narrowed her eyes. “What else do you like in a woman?”

Eris knew better than to answer that question honestly. “I like you. Isn’t that enough?”

“I would hate to see how you treat women you don’t like.”

Eris couldn’t help himself. “There’s very little difference.”

“Now that I believe,” she said, the softness returning to her expression. Arina gripped his shoulder just a little tighter as the pair lapsed into silence, focused on their combined steps through the music. They weren’t alone—couples twirled alongside them, talking just loud enough to be heard over the band. There were things Eris wanted to tell her inexplicably—things he’d never told anyone, secrets he’d been keeping his entire life.

It was nothing dark, nothing deep. There were things Eris never wanted to say out loud, circumstances he intended to keep alive only in his mind. His throat burned as he lowered his head and murmured, “My favorite color is orange.”

Arina’s brows shot skyward, eyes widening with obvious and open delight. “Really?” she asked him.

Eris felt immediately stupid. He pulled back, heart pounding. That was a stupid thing to tell her, the regret instantaneous. Arina, though, was never going to let it go. She was grinning, her fingers digging pleasantly into his shoulders.

“Mine is green,” she confided as though admitting some terrible truth. Eris exhaled the breath he’d been holding. It sounded like a laugh, maybe because it half was.

“I’m starting to see the merits,” he murmured, taking in the mossy green of her eyes. Arina’s cheeks flushed and when she rubbed her palm over his shoulder, sliding down his back, Eris thought he was going insane. He needed to get out of the ballroom before he did something unbearably stupid.

Like kissing her in front of everyone. There was no doubt in Eris’s mind that the wine had made Arina sweeter just as he knew for certain that if he tried to touch her like she was touching him, he’d earn little more than a slap to the face.

“Have you ever been to the garden?” Arina asked him, pulling Eris from his thoughts. It was tempting to ask why she wanted to know that. Surely she must be aware that Eris had been in that garden hundreds of times for a myriad of different reasons.

He wasn’t stupid, though. When a lady was asking a gentleman if he’d ever been to the garden, what she was really asking for was to be alone. Well. Maybe he was a little stupid, because Eris’s response was, “Not with you.”

“Would you like to see it? With me, I mean?” she asked, her voice sweet and breathless.

“Yes.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Eris remembered this was what he was supposed to be doing. Getting her alone, creating just enough doubt as to what they’d been doing when no one had eyes on them. It didn’t matter if it was true—he’d have her one way or the other—only that people believed it. Eris wished he could say everything was going according to plan but when Arina slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, once again gripping his limb just a little too tightly, all Eris could think about was being alone with her.

Stupid, given he’d been alone with her before. Not like this—not when she was touching him, smiling at him. Arina kept close, following as Eris led them from the ballroom with murmured excuses of getting some air. They certainly weren’t the only ones trying to slip away—it was practically a right of passage for couples to find some private place before their chaperones caught up with them. The only difference was Eris himself, who was a prince and therefore could do whatever he liked.

Well. Not anything. If Eris truly had that kind of power he could have simply pressed Arina against a wall and kissed her like he wanted to and no one—including Arina—would have stopped him. Still, it was a pleasant little fantasy that might have carried him outdoors had Arina not pulled him toward a hall that led the entirely opposite direction.

“Don’t move,” she whispered, yanking him close as footsteps approached. Eris was too distracted by her nearness, unable to look at anything but her palms laid flat against his chest. Obscured by shadows and half hidden behind a rather large pillar, a gaggle of older men filed past, arguing about the latest book written by a poet Eris thought was rather overrated. He might have told Arina so, too, had he not gone to look her in the eyes only to find she was staring back at him.

Oh.

He should have asked. Eris knew it and he didn’t care. If he asked her permission she might have said no and right then every inch of her seemed like an invitation. It was the sweetest she’d ever been, the most inviting and he wanted her. Deciding it was worth the risk, Eris lowered his face and kissed her amid the fading echoes of the crowd, still close enough to the party he could hear the music echoing around them.

Bracing himself for the inevitable outrage, Eris decided to press his advantage and reach for her face. It felt good to press his mouth against hers, to feel her soft skin beneath him. Eris was so distracted that it took him a minute to realize she was kissing him back. His eyes flew open at the realization. Eris needed confirmation that what he was feeling was, in fact, his reality.

Her eyes were closed, fingers curled in the cobalt blue of his jacket to keep him close. It was right there that ruined Eris—that look on her face, the way she was holding him, kissing him, breathing him in.

“Open,” he breathed and the hells help him, Arina did exactly as she was told. The kiss was a mess at first, betraying her inexperience though she was a quick study. Eris had her pinned against the wall, her wrists in his hands as he held them over her head and knee wedged between her legs before he could think about his next move.

All he wanted was to take down her hair and watch it tumble over her shoulders. Well—and then to watch her dress pool at her feet while he slid to his knees and— “Eris,” she breathed, pulling him back to reality. There was something sweet about her mouth.

A familiar sweetness mingled among the wine. Eris kissed her again, taking another taste as he tried to place it. Some part of him didn’t care so long as she kept kissing him…but the other…the other reminded him that she didn’t like him. And now she was half desperate, rubbing herself against his leg as her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and—

“Fuck,” Eris snarled, turning his head in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. The syrupy sweetness betrayed itself—he should have recognized it the moment his tongue first slid into his mouth but Eris was too excited to notice. Myrrah—from the root of a regular berry plant—was a powerful aphrodisiac a lot of people took recreationally at court. Husbands sometimes slipped it in their new brides drinks after a wedding to make things easier, though Eris had never liked that practice.

For one wild minute he considered turning back to the ball and drinking some himself so he could finish what they’d started. He might have, too—the idea was powerfully tempting—had he not felt Arina’s fingers slide into his hands. Catching her wrist without thinking, Eris knew he needed to stop her before she took things too far.

“With me,” he panted, cock twitching desperately.

“Anywhere,” she said, opening her eyes to look at them. Eris swore softly at the sight of her blown out pupils and flushed cheeks. She tried to take a step, but Myrrah made everyone a little disoriented, made the room seemed to swirl in a way that was more pleasant than it wasn’t. Eris scooped her up before she could fall flat on her face, took a deep breath, and began walking her toward her bedroom as quickly as he could.

“I want you,” she said, the pretty little liar.

“Tell me again in the morning,” Eris replied. “Tell me when you wake up and I’ll give you anything you like.” “Anything?”

Yes, anything. Gold, jewels, land—whatever she wanted. Maybe that was his own arousal talking, but Eris would have made her an untold number of promises if it meant she’d willingly put her hands back between his legs.

“Where are you—Eris!” Arina shrieked, but Eris had dumped her onto the floor in her bathing chamber and slammed the door before she could stop him. “Open this door right now!” she demanded, pounding the palm of her hand against the door.

“I can’t,” he told her, sliding down the wood to keep it closed.

“Please—”

“Don’t,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t beg.”

“You don’t want me?”

“Fuck—yes, I want you,” he admitted, forcing the words from behind his teeth. “And if I take you this way, you’ll hate me in the morning.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, saying the words as a reminder to himself. She wouldn’t forgive him, would be furious he hadn’t stopped her. “You’re out of your mind right now and don’t know what you want.”

There was blessed silence for a moment. Eris knew better than to think Arina had fallen asleep—he’d been in her position before, though he’d, at least, been able to relieve himself with a partner. Eris had no intention of freeing her so she could roam the halls like a cat in heat, nor did he intend to help her. She’d simply have to handle things herself.

And like an utter degenerate, he was going to stay exactly where he was and listen.

“I like you,” Arina said softly, still too breathless for his liking.

“Liar.”

“You have nice hair,” she protested, voice rising with irritation. “And I like your eyes…your hands…”

“Stop,” he breathed, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

“Open the door, Eris. Let me show you—”

“In the morning,” he groaned, his willpower shredding with each sultry word that poured from her throat. “Ask me in the morning.”

“Do you not like me?”

Eris groaned again. “Too much,” he admitted, spreading his legs apart. It did little to alleviate his need. “But not like this.”

“Then how?”

Fuck it, he decided, reaching for his belt. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least touch himself. He could still talk to her, could make it a little bearable at least on his end. “In your right mind, to start with.”

“Maybe it’s better this way. Get it over with—”

“Trust me,” he half panted, gripping his cock in one hand. Eris stroked himself to the sound of Arina’s little gasps behind the wood and the image of what she must be doing to elicit such noise.

“Will it hurt?” she asked him breathlessly.

“No,” he swore, closing his eyes so he could imagine it. “Trust me.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Will you be angry if I have?”

He’d never considered that prospect before, maybe because he’d never expected his wife to be untouched. He’d assumed he’d end up with one of the ladies at court and while virginity was the official expectation, it was a rule too often skirted around in favor of hedonistic fun.

“It seems unfair. Maybe I should be allowed—”

“No.”

“No?”

Eris stroked himself again, exhaling a soft, shuddering breath. “No,” he agreed. “It’s too late now. I want your first time.”

“You’re selfish.”

“Jealous, too,” he agreed. “I don’t want to share you anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t be such a bad husband.”

Eris’s hand stilled for a moment, cheek pressed against the wood. There were a million things he wanted to say, all of them choked by emotion. He couldn’t accept the compliment nor could he find the words to assure he would do his best. What if he failed? What if he was no better than his father?

“Where are your hands?” he asked instead, retreating to comfortable, familiar territory.

“Under my dress,” she replied. Eris groaned loudly for her benefit, knowing damn well he shouldn’t.

“Next time it’ll be my mouth,” he told her with more conviction than he’d ever felt. So he couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—maybe he could show her, then. His actions could be enough, he decided, and if not his actions than the way his body touched her own.

“Your mouth?” Arina asked breathlessly. It wasn’t really a question and still Eris gripped his cock tighter, pumping faster.

“Yes,” he agreed, eyes closed as he imagined her legs spread for him. What did he want more? His cock in her throat or the taste of her cunt smeared across her lips? Both, he decided. He wanted it at the same time, wanted her thighs straddling his face as she took him, unable to move while Eris spent half an evening eating her.

And then he’d flip her over, breasts pressed to the blankets, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk the next morning. He could practically feel it, was lost to the fantasy and the sound of Arina’s own soft, desperate moans.

“That’s it,” he rasped, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. “Come for me.”

Arina did—or, he thought she did. He was so used to loud screams that her breathless gasps of air seemed like a revelation. Was this what it was like when the woman he wanted didn’t care if he was a prince or not? Eris came, too, hips jerking off the ground as come splattered against his hand.

The timing was terrible. Arina turned the door handle, tumbling on top of him just as a servant burst into the room, eyes wide with horror.

“I—”

“Well, fuck,” Eris snarled, trying to shove himself back into his pants without making a mess of the woman tangled up in his lap. “It’s not…”

What it looks like. He never managed to get the words out—the servant scurried away, leaving Eris alone

“You feel better now, don’t you?” he dared to ask, buttoning his pants as Arina stood, cheeks burning red.

“I—”

He reached for her chin, squishing her cheeks gently beneath her fingers. Eris kissed her, ignoring how wide her eyes were.

“When you wake up, don’t regret this.”

Though, if he was honest with himself, Eris regretted leaving her in a heap on the floor.

Still.

That was for the best.

#eris vanserra #chapter 4!#halfway done yay!

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sweatervest-obsessed · 8 months

Text

Salvia Splendens Means Forever Mine - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 4.1k

TW: Mentions of past trauma and the episode Revelations, mentions of drug use, emotional exhaustion, blood, vomit, drinking, People hunting People, injury, swearing

A/N: idk why but this one was so difficult to write, but that means a part 3 so I can resolve the issues in the way I want to, and not be pissed with the middle bits. Also it's literaLLY been over a week, so sorry for the lack of Spencer content. I just completed my last first week of college so that was crazy.

Part 1

There was something that Spencer was not telling you. After an extremely emotional reunion that involved tears, and a hug that lasted for over two consecutive minutes, Spencer apologized to you. He said he was sorry. Now what for, you couldn’t possibly imagine then. But now?

You were given seven days of paid recovery to help Spencer cope with the traumas he had endured. Spencer was given as much time as he needed. You managed to fuck around with the schedule, so that way you only worked Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for three weeks, giving you ample time to spend with Spencer, while also providing him with space of his own to cope. He was an independent creature, so him needing a day to recover on his own made sense to you. But when he told you he was ready to come back to the BAU, you hesitated.

You’re not stupid. Your PhD alone could counter that fact. But the profiling skills you had sharpened over the past two years were certainly a help. But you didn’t need to profile Doctor Spencer Reid in order to tell him that going back this soon was not the best idea.

And he argued with you—yelled at you. The two of you had spats, and a couple arguments here and there, but nothing like this. He claimed you didn’t know him; that you didn’t have his best interests at heart.

“It’s like you only care about what’s good for me and bad for me whenever it’s convenient for you.”

Your jaw had dropped. You wanted to cry, but you were more so offended at the fact that Spencer had the audacity to claim you put yourself first. But you knew that wasn’t your Spencer, he was coping with trauma, and you were trying to care for him, support him.

“Spencer. You need to take more time and reall–”

“I’m done listening to someone who didn’t even show up to save me from digging my own fucking grave.”

You ended up working that Thursday, going back to full time, leaving him to his own devices. Was it a little selfish of you to not speak to him and leave him to his own devices while he was coping with unspeakable traumas? Sure. But when Spencer spat that at you, pettiness took over, deciding that clearly he didn’t want to speak to you, so you wouldn’t.

When he came back, it was wrong. Something was wrong. Spencer was despondent, distant, not actually talking to you for days on end unless he had to. He would snap at people, specifically Emily and you. He would disappear for a couple of minutes at a time, appearing moments later when someone asked where he was.

Which brought you to your conclusion, Spencer was hiding something from you. You knew, okay well you didn’t know per se, but you assumed he wasn’t cheating on you—you hoped he wasn’t cheating on you. You couldn’t blame him if he was, I mean seeking comfort when he needed it, and clearly whatever you were doing was just not enough. But you were hoping that he wasn’t sleeping around. The alternatives weren’t better, providing you with absolutely no comfort.

Your hypothesis led you to Hotch’s office. You knocked on the door, pushing the door in slightly, since it was already opened. You closed the door behind you once Hotch had given you the okay, the head nod of approval.

He motioned for you to sit down in the chair across from him, which you did. Hotch always let you speak first, knowing you didn’t need the go ahead. It was something you appreciated about him. One day you would have to tell him how much you appreciated it.

“I think Spencer is using.” It was blunt. It was emotionless. Not exactly what Hotch was expecting from you, especially since he watched as you held a broken Spencer in your arms right after they brought him to you covered in dirt, limping, injured, but alive.

He nodded, and picked up his phone, calling Gideon into his office. Hotch had his own theories, his own thoughts on the matter, and so did Gideon.

Once Gideon had sat on the arm of the chair next to you, you continued.

“You don’t need me to tell a room full of profilers that clearly something is wrong with him. He’s despondent, he’s had moments where he’s an extreme aggressor, he’s been losing weight, he has the lines around his eyes—do I need to go on or did I just confirm your theories?”

Gideon and Hotch looked at one another before Hotch spoke. “We were hoping you’d actually say he was just coping poorly, not with drugs.”

You sighed and shook your head. “Hotch, I‘ve been at Emily’s the past couple of nights since we….had an argument.” Causing you to scoff and fiddle with the necklace along your neck. “But he’s definitely using, probably dilaudid since that’s probably what Tobias was using to subdue him.”

“Have you confronted him about it?”

“Have you?” You shot back a little meaner than you meant, but the sentiment still stood.

“Well, what do we want to do about it?” Gideon looked between the three of you, and before someone could come up with an answer, JJ had knocked on the door. “We have a cas—oh! Sorry. Sorry. We um. We have a case.”

“We’ll be there in a moment. Thank you JJ.” Hotch nodded at her, as she exited, closing the door behind her. “We’ll discuss this later.”

You nodded and stood up, exiting the office. You felt the eyes of the bullpen on you. But you just walked towards the round room, not a word to anyone. Your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was looking directly at you, brow creased, worry lines on full display. You eyed him up and down, a subtle challenge on your part, but nothing else as you left the room.

“Pretty boy’s in trouble…” Derek smirked slightly, nudging Reid with his shoulder. But Reid just shot him a look before getting up and walking towards where you were.

None of them had really seen you act like this. Something was wrong, and everyone knew it. You hadn’t had flowers on your desk for almost a week, there was no humming from your lips, and you were out the door right as the clock hit 5, not saying your usual goodbyes.

Right as Spencer sat down in his usual seat, he went to speak, your name on his lips, everyone else entered. Another case, another excuse for you to not talk directly to him for the next thirty minutes.

People were hunting people.

You, like most other public school kids in America, had read Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game, leaving you scared and questioning the real morals of humanity, only slightly boosting your own ego thinking of all the ways you could survive. Most kids had not taken the short story as an instruction manual, but apparently these two brothers did.

The past few days apart have taken a toll on Spencer. He didn’t mean to push you away, except that he did, and the more guilty he had felt about it, the worse he felt. You were kind, and brilliant, and so caring, and pushing you away was the easiest answer. He didn’t mean to say that to you. He knew why you were told to stay back at the house, knowing you could have lost your job–but he wondered why you didn’t fight for him, he would’ve fought tooth and nail to be the first one to get to you, so why didn’t you?

But when you volunteered first to go into the woods where you could get shot through the heart with an arrow instead of checking the boy’s family home, he knew he was fucked, and some sick and twisted part of him thought he deserved it.

You were just sick and tired of not being treated properly. You missed him, you really did. But if he was going to keep acting like this, if he was going to keep using, then he needed to make the executive decision about you both. It fucking killed you, but god damn if you weren’t the stubborn type. Spencer was just not used to being on the receiving end of it.

When Spencer had heard that both of the brothers had been killed, he was relieved, regardless of the trail of bodies left behind, because you were still okay. Even if you didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, you deserved better.

Hotch had followed your wishes, and gave you a separate hotel room, letting the team know that this really was a breaking point for you. When the whole team, sans you, returned to the police station, his blood pressure rose and it took everything in his power to remain calm, only being able to focus once Hotch had mentioned you wanted to go shower and change your clothes—you had received the heavy end of blood on your clothes, graciously donated by the eldest of the two brothers.

Reid nodded, excusing himself. What if you were hurt and you didn’t even tell him, or anyone for that matter. What if you were just bleeding out on the floor of your shower, in a hotel room, all alone? The spiraling didn’t stop until he found himself at your hotel room door, unable to knock.

You had quickly made your way back to your hotel room, not wanting to deal with the attention you might have received for the gash in your arm. The blood blended nicely with the rest of the blood that had seeped into your once blue shirt, so no one was any wiser. The shower you had taken had helped a little bit, but now you had a major cut down the side of your inner arm, and bandaging it was good enough, for now.

The bed was not comfortable enough for your liking, but it was good enough to lay on and stare at the ceiling, questioning all of the choices you had made up until this moment. Ignoring the pain in your arm, you just laid there.

You were exhausted. Your relationship was exhausting. Your whole life was exhausting, and honestly, it would just be better if you took a moment to fall asleep and then just never wake up.

But life had other plans.

Spencer finally knocked on your door.

You knew it was Spencer by the way he knocked. Short, quick, but in the same pattern he always had.

“It’s unlocked.” You yelled, not moving to stand up from your location on the bed. It was unlocked because you wanted him knew he would show up. An aerial view might have rivaled Fuseli’s Nightmare, but instead of the luscious red drapes and printed silks, you were in a mediocre hotel room bed. The damp hair, the wounded arm, the distressed sheets framing your carelessly tossed body–it was the definition of a modern renaissance painting.

Spencer slowly came into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Spencer. What can I help you with?” You didn’t even look over at him, voice flat.

“You didn’t come back to the station s-so I wanted to c-check in on you…”

“I’m fine.”

“Your arm–”

“--Is fine.” Your voice was sharp, cutting him off.

“Are you–’

“Sure? Yes.”

“You haven’t been home in a couple of days…”

You scoffed as he said the word home. You knew he was standing near the edge of the bed, willing you to look at him. You felt him standing there, you heard the desperation in his voice.

“What did I say?”

“Spencer. I’d really rather not dance around whatever it is that’s been going on with you because I’d hope that you’d love me more than that, and if not, then at least you would have respected me enough.” You went to sit up, but winced as you put pressure on your arm. You should be glaring at him, and your face was definitely communicating that, but your eyes were soft and caring, like they always had been. You could never hate him, but you definitely required an apology for his previous behavior.

He sighed and rubbed the palms of his hands in his eyes. “It’s complicated y/n.”

“Enlighten me then.” You sat all the way up, hands clasped together, in your lap. “Please, tell me what is so complicated.”

“What were you doing in Hotch’s office before this whole case started.” He blurted out, hands fidgeting, eyes looking into yours.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because if you said something—anything to Hotch about the whole coping thing, I could lose my job.”

“Is there a reason your coping would make you lose your job?”

Spencer’s face twisted into something unrecognizable. His hand started twitching, he started to itch his arm.

“You’re surrounded by profilers Spencer. And we know you’re hiding something. I know you’re hiding something. And I wish you—god Spencer you just pushed me away and I wish you would Fucking talk to me instead of the fact that you’re clearly coping in an unhealthy way—when’s the last time you actually slept? More than thirty minutes?”

Spencer licked his lips, staying silent.

You scoffed. “That’s what I thought.” You stood up, almost toe to toe with Spencer. God you missed him. Your body almost started to lean into his, wanting to kiss him, wanting to hold him, but you just walked around him, careful not to let him touch you at all. You grabbed your coat and wallet, and slammed the hotel room door shut.

Derek had just opened his door, leather jacket on, sunglasses on his head. “You look like you need a drink sweetheart.”

“You should be a profiler.” You snorted, pulling your coat on.

“Your arm–”

“--Is fine. Jesus Christ.” You started to walk but stopped and turned around, eyebrows raised. “Are you going to join me or what Morgan.”

Derek gave you a mini salute and followed you as you walked down the stairs.

You two ended up in some local townie bar, opposite sides of the booth. You had ordered a shot of tequila before getting something you can slowly sip on.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You rolled your eyes and took a sip before sighing. “He hasn’t spoken to me one on one in a week, and the first thing he said to me was asking if my talk with Hotch before this case was about him. Not how are you, not even an ‘I miss you’, he just pointed out that I haven’t been home like no shit Sherlock, I know I haven’t been home.”

Derek nodded and took a sip of his drink.

“I just—honestly, can we talk about anything else right now? I really don’t want to think about it right now.”

Derek smiled at you, putting his beer down. “So JJ is one hundred percent seeing that detective from New Orleans.”

You laughed and nodded. “Acting as if we can’t hear her when she takes phone calls from him. It’s ridiculous..”

Derek was a godsend. He had seen you in the hallway, slamming the door, and knew you had needed someone to go out drinking with. He distracted you, pulling topics out of his ass just to help you keep your mind off of Reid. He even helped you walk back, not that you were blackout, but walking in a straight line was not your strong suit at the moment. Once he had made sure you had made it into your room, and we’re settled on the bed, he knocked on Spencer’s door.

Reid opened the door, slightly confused as to why Morgan was knocking on his door at 2 am. “Yeah?”

“Fix this. Whatever it is that’s going on…” Derek felt bad for Reid, he really did, but he was not about to condone whatever shitty behavior Reid was on right now. “I’ll see you in the morning, pretty boy.” And with that, Derek placed your room key in Spencer’s hand, and then went into his own room.

Spencer stared at the key, not really sure what to do, but eventually he found himself opening your door, and called out your name.

You were draped dramatically over the toilet, a renaissance painting if you would. You let out a groan, regretting the last two shots of….something you don’t really remember. You heard Spencer toe off his shoes and make his way into the bathroom.

“Oh honey…” he whispered, sitting down next to you.

“I’m so mad at you.” You whispered into the toilet, clearly too drunk to let your filter cover anything you felt. “Like.” You hiccuped and groaned. “You called me a whore in front of all my friends, knowing it wasssn’t true..and then after a week of me”–another hiccup and groan again– “helping you and holding you….you push me away like you don’t even love me.”

If Spencer could see your face, your eyes would have melted him on the spot. But he didn’t need to see your eyes to hear your voice crack.

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” He whispered, hesitantly putting a hand on your back, rubbing his thumb up and down.

“That feels good but I’m still mad.” You grumbled. After a quick inhale, “No.”

“No, what?”

“No, I'm gonna throw up. Fuck. Oh god I hate it Spence it tastes so gross. No no no.” You mumbled, sitting up on your knees, forehead on your arms as you coughed into the toilet.

Spencer sat up with you, kissing the back of your head, fully rubbing your back. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay. Let it out.”

“Shut up. No.” You mumbled, the pet name making your head even more dizzy than before. “I refuse to vomit.”

You kept coughing, doing your best to not vomit, really really trying so hard.

Spencer cooed your name. “The sooner you throw up, the better you’ll feel.”

“That sounds like a lie the government made up.” You grumbled into the toilet.

Spencer laughed at you, still rubbing your back.

“God you probably think I’m so fucking ugly.”

Spencer shook his head, forgetting you couldn’t see him. “No. No. I promise baby. I still think you’re the prettiest FBI agent on the planet.”

“Is there some CIA agent I need to worry about?” You joked before shaking your head. “Don’t look at me Spence. I’m gonna vomit and it’s gonna be so ugly and you’ll never ever want to kiss me ever again.”

“Okay well that’s not true.”

“Promise me you want, wait no, won't watch.” You mumbled, your breaths becoming shorter.

“I promise, I promise.” He rubbed your back as you vomited, absolutely breaking his promise, making sure you didn’t choke or pass out or worse.

Once it was over you let out a groan. “Mother fucking Christ. My mouth tastes so bad.”

Spencer flushed the toilet for you and handed you some toilet paper for you to wipe your mouth with. “Thank you.”

Spencer kissed your head again.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been home.” You mumbled, resting your head on your arms, face in the toilet bowl again. “It just feels like you didn’t want me home.” You whispered, and if not for the echo of the toilet bowl, Spencer was almost certain he wouldn’t have heard you.

“I always want you home.” He kissed your head, reaching for one of your hands to make you look at him, causing you to tilt your head, still laying your head on your arms.

“Full disclosure?”

Spencer nodded at you, kissing your hand.

“No Spence, I need to hear you say it.”

“Full disclosure.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to make me make you admit to me what’s been happening.” You sighed.

Spencer looked down, fiddling with your hand, staying silent.

“I did talk to Hotch about you.”

He looked up at you, eyes mixed with emotions flashing between hurt, shame, embarrassment, but you saw a moment of relief, an exhale, somewhere in there.

“He and Gideon have their own theories about it, Spence but ...whatever it is, I want you to come to me, I want you to talk to me about it. I’m only going to leave if you push me away.”

“When Tobias would, uh, appear…” you nodded, letting him continue. “He would uh, he would…”

“Dilaudid?”.

Spencer nodded.

“You know you’re—please hold.” You mumbled, and you started coughing again.

“What did Morgan give you, my god.” He mumbled.

“I drank of my own accord thank you very much.” You grumbled, not exactly thrilled at your predicament either.

Spencer pursed his lips.

Tobais Hankel had a gun to his head, ready to end his life, and all Spencer could think about was you. Your face, your hair, your hands, your lips, you. In his last moment, he didn’t want to see Hankel, he wanted to see you.

But then he saw the flashlights, heard the rustling, and you were coming to him. God he couldn’t wait to be in your arms, he couldn't wait to sleep in your arms.

He quickly overcame Tobais, snatching the gun from him, and eventually shooting him. He heard Hotch’s voice, he heard the running, he heard Tobais as he died in front of him, but he couldn’t hear you.

The team helped him up, helped him walk away, but why weren’t you with them? The cars were empty, no one inside of them. The only answer he had received from hotch was that you had been ordered to stay behind but why didn’t you fight for him?

Only when the car pulled up to the police station did he watch as you shoved your way through the doors and some officers, eyes scanning quickly across the three black SUVs, not knowing which one he was in.

Your hand never left your neck, breathing quickly, analyzing all of the faces that came out of the cars, watching and hoping they would have him. He watched as you became more and more anxious, not seeing his face.

Suddenly, Gideon opened the door for him, and helped him out the car. Blood stained his pants, dirt covered half of his body, and he was sure he smelt like fish guts and death, but the way you whispered “oh thank god” when you saw him, made him feel a million times lighter.

Your arms were around his torso right as he heard the car door slam shut, causing him to jump at the contact and the noise. He felt the tears coming to his eyes, and your tears on his chest.

“I watched you-you…” You whispered, holding him tighter, as if letting him go meant he would disappear forever.

“I know, I know. I lo–”

“Spencer?” Your eyes were scanning his face. “You went quiet on me.”

His eyes snapped back to you, feeling the cool tile beneath his hand as he exhaled. “Sorry. Just…thinking.”

“That’s never been too hard for you before.” You snorted, giggling at how absolutely hysterical you were.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Thanks sweetheart.”

“You’re so welcome Spence.”

He watched as your eyes started to close, body slumping as you struggled to stay conscious.

“Let’s get you to be yeah?”

You mumbled something he would only assume was “no” and peeled your head off of the toilet anyways.

Getting you to abandon the toilet and back into your bed was one of the hardest things Spencer Reid has ever accomplished. The bed was way too warm, and not as cool as the tile floor, causing you to mumble profanities at him the whole time, fighting against his help. You also were starting to doze off, meaning Spencer couldn’t fully walk you to bed, causing you to grumble even more at the fact that you had to be standing, and moving.

Once you were horizontal on the correct surface, Spencer went to speak to you, but you were no longer conscious, drifting off to sleep the second your head hit the pillow.

He kissed your forehead, and headed towards the door, a smile on his face as he heard you mumble those three little words.

“I love you too.” He whispered back, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him.

Maybe all of this wasn’t irrevocably damaged, maybe he wasn’t irrevocably damaged, and maybe, he could fix this.

Next Part

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A/N: no one has ever wanted to be tagged in my work before so I’m HONORED. Im absolutely willing to add more people to be tagged in this mini series if anyone else wants to be! but this is for you girl boss <3

@raely-study

#x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid x reader

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