#the bow at the neckline is unnecessary but it's a nice dress

[littlesniggy]

Commission Sir Crocodile x female reader

Well this is my very first commission for the lovely @sir-crocodile-slut ! Thank you so much for your support and trust in my writing skills! I really appreciate it and I hope that you like the result. 🙈

Warnings: non-con / dub-con, choking, degrading, blood, nsfw, 18+

Pairing: Sir Crocodile x female reader

Word count: 5.7 k

It’s not always that people turn around when you walk by, having to take a second look as if they aren’t sure if they could believe their own eyes. The crimson dress with just the tiniest hint of sparkling from the small silver stones, with the long slit on either side of your legs, and the beautiful neckline, showing off your décolleté just the right way – not too tacky but not too modest either – underlines your physique in just the right ways.

You’re not used to so much attention and nervously brush a stray strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your right ear. The cute silver heels that are only attached to your foot by a thin shoe strap with a small and elegant bow and the part where your toes are being pressed uncomfortably together. As adorable as they seemed in the store as inconvenient are they to wear for longer than two minutes. But your friend insisted on you buying them so you obliged. You should’ve anticipated the pain that would follow later.

When you enter the bar through a dark and wooden door that is being opened by two employees you’re almost overwhelmed by the décor. To say it looks expensive would’ve been an understatement. You’ve been more than impressed with your room in the hotel the bar is a part of but this bar takes the cake.

The bar counter is made of dark marble, the front for black leather. Behind the counter are countless bottles of expensive beverages neatly lined up on shelves that reach the ceiling and behind the bottles is a mirror, giving the illusion that the bar is bigger than it actually is.

Along the walls are tables lined up made of the same marble as the bar with leather armchairs and red decorative pillows. On top of each table is a candle, emitting a warm and soothing light.

The waiter leads you to a table next to a window, giving you a beautiful view over the city. You’re really taken aback by the sight and you feel like you can finally relax for the first time in what feels like ages.

You order a drink that is usually way too expensive for your liking but you just don’t care right now. You’ve been through so much over the last couple of months that you feel like you deserve to finally treat yourself to something nice, not having to think about anything.

There is a table close to you where a group of men is seated. Some of them give you glances that are less than innocent but you ignore them. Tonight, only you and you alone matter. No men, no anyone – just you. Or so you had envisioned the night to go.

You smell the sweet smoke before you see him. A tall, if not to say huge man approaches you, a confident smirk on his lips, the big scar crossing his face would’ve given him away as some sort of criminal if you hadn’t known who he was in the first place. Your features turn sour when you realize he is walking towards you, two glasses of what seems to be whiskey casually in his hand.

You notice the men from the other table looking away, probably thinking the warlord is your partner by the way he so naturally takes a seat right next to you, placing one of the glasses in front of you.

“Care if I join you?” the question is unnecessary given he is already making himself comfortable, leaning back casually while lifting his glass with a “cheers” before taking a sip. You don’t return the gesture, simply stare at him in disbelief.

“What is a pretty lady like yourself doing here all by herself?” his deep voice seems to through your own body when he speaks, self-assurance practically oozing from his tone. You don’t like it. Not one bit.

“I’m not sure why it should be any of your concern.” You simply reply, eyes as cold as you can muster. An amused chuckle rings in your ears, his lips upwards in a cocky smile.

“A feisty one. I like it.” He replies, not minding your obvious animosity towards him. It irks you that he seems to have no concern for your personal space, invading your private moment with his presence even though it’s more than unwarranted.

“Can a woman not just enjoy her own company without being bothered by some man?” you ask him, purposefully taking a sip from your own drink instead of the one he just placed in front of you. Sir Crocodile doesn’t mind.

You see his smirk widen a tad more, obviously enjoying how he makes you uncomfortable.

“Other women would enjoy my presence.” He simply stats confidently, his eyes shamelessly trailing down your body, stopping a bit longer at your cleavage, making you feel exposed and vulnerable.

“Then clearly other women don’t have high standards if they want to be associated with someone like you.” You say nonchalantly, wanting him to leave you the hell alone. You think insulting him would get this point across perfectly, telling him bluntly that you’re not interested.

The corners of his lips turn south, the aura around him tensing at your words. First, you think he will get it and leave you alone, maybe even sulking over his precious whiskey but you notice too late that now you’re the one interpreting his mood wrongly.

“Do you know who you’re insulting?” his question makes you think. Of course, you do. That’s the whole reason why you did it. But then it slowly dawns on you. You just insulted someone with a bounty higher than anyone else you’ve ever met; someone, who is constantly “fighting off” intruders singlehandedly. Someone people say doesn’t hesitate to kill.

You suppress the urge to swallow hard, not wanting to give him any sign of weakness. Instead, you double down.

“The moment someone decides to become a pirate they lose all respect from me. So, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings but you’re nothing more than that: a pirate. And I feel it’s incredibly dumb and entitled of you to believe that, just because you have some money and power that everyone just bends over backwards for you. You might believe that you can just take anything you want but I’m sorry to disappoint you that I’m none of it! So, if you excuse me, I’m leaving. Thank you very much for ruining the night for me.”

You didn’t notice that you were raising your voice but when you get up and confidently walk away you see all eyes are on you. Slightly embarrassed of your small outburst you hurry out the bar and towards the elevator. So much for enjoying the night.

.

.

.

It is late at night when you are woken up by the faint smell of smoke. First, you think it’s a fire and panic spreads through your body. With wide eyes you sit up straight in the huge hotel bed, trying to make out the source of the smell. Your eyes dart around the dark room, searching for the glimmering of the flames that would undoubtfully make their way through the whole room. But you can’t find any sight of them. Maybe it was in the neighboring room?

The faint flaring up of what seems like a cigar catches your attention and you squint your eyes, trying to make out if it wasn’t just your imagination. Your hand searches for the light switch and the bedside light turns on as you flip the switch.

What meets you almost gives you a heart attack. Now, you really wished your room was on fire. It would’ve been a thousand times better than staring at the man you insulted not even a couple of hours ago.

“How did you get in? What are you doing here? Get the fuck out of my room!” you yell, pulling up the blanket to cover body. You usually don’t wear much when you sleep, always getting hot if you have too many clothes on. Right now, you could slap yourself for it.

The warlord chuckles in amusement, almost in the same manner like he had before. There is just a slight difference: the smile on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, they bore right into your soul, the smoke of the cigar giving him an eerie aura.

With slow, calculating steps he approaches you, his eyes never leaving yours. You shrink with every thud of his shoes against the floor a little more until you’re pressed against the head of the bed, wide eyes looking up at him as he towers over you.

“Do you really think I would let a whore like you insult me and get away with it?” he asak you, voice sounding calm as he speaks but his eyes are unforgiving. The coldness of his stare has your blood freeze in your veins, a shiver runs down your spine as he leans down.

Ash is falling down from his cigar onto the blanket, leaving a grey spot on the white fabric. The smoke burns in your eyes from how close he is to your face and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

Sir Crocodile slowly lifts his arm the hook is attached to and traces your cheek with the tip, giving you goosebumps at the sudden touch. His thumb, index, and middle finger take the cigar from his lips, your eyes following the movement. Without a word, he presses the burning hot tip of the cigar against your collarbone.

The loud scream when the pain rushes through your body echoes through the room, tears form in your eyes and you jerk away from him. With panic in your eyes you look from him to the angry red bruise back up at him. You can see satisfaction in his eyes as he straightens himself up again, the cigar already back between his lips.

“W-what are you doing?” your breathing comes out fast, adrenaline pulsing though your veins as you try to figure out what just happened. Your mind can’t piece together what is going on but you know it’s not looking good for you.

“This was a warning, love. I don’t take kindly to being insulted, let alone being insulted in public.” He says. It makes click. That’s what it’s all about? Because you rejected him? How narcissistic can one be?

“You’re trying to tell me that I hurt your feelings and that’s why you’re burning me? What is wrong with you?!” you can’t help but feel infuriated by this revelation. What was he? A child? You don’t miss the small, displeased twitch of his eyebrow at your words but you didn’t anticipate what happens next.

Before you realize it, you’re facing the wall to your right. The pain follows only seconds later. And when it hits you, it hits your hard. Everything’s spinning and your whole head feels like it just got run over by a train. You can taste blood in your mouth, your cheek is getting numb.

“You should be thankful that you’re nothing more than a lowly brat. Otherwise, you’d be dead by now.” His voice is nonchalant as if he is talking about the weather. Is he trying to say that he was just being lenient? With the way he hit you?

Slowly, you turn your head back to look at him, vision still blurry from the force behind the slap. The rage you had just experienced moments ago is now gone and replaced by something you haven’t felt in ages: fear. Fear for your life, to be specific.

“That’s a better look on your face.” He comments on your expression, his features softening just the tiniest bit, an indication that his anger is slowly fading away.

“What do you want?” you voice sounds meek; it’s almost unrecognizable. Sir Crocodile’s eyes brighten up at your question as if he had been waiting for it.

“I just want you to make up for earlier. I am neither a rational nor a patient man when I’m angry but you’re lucky I am in a good mood.” He explains. “If you behave well, I might let you live to see another day.” He adds in a sinister tone, making your skin crawl at his indication. It doesn’t need a genius to figure out what he is talking about.

“Why don’t we start with something simple, huh? Get out of the bed.” he voices it like a suggestion but you know better than to assume that you have a choice. Every fiber in your body fights against the urge to pull up the blanket over your head and just pretend like you’re not here but you force yourself with heavy limbs out of the bed.

The white panties and the white, almost see-through tank top you’re wearing compliment your figure just the right way. Your nipples poke through the fabric and your arms come up to cover your breasts. Sir Crocodile clicks his tongue slowly, reprimanding you to stop doing that and let him have a look.

You stubbornly look at the floor, trying to ignore his eyes that are roaming your body, making you feel disgusting at his shameless staring. Out of the corner of your eyes you seem him lift his hand, then you feel the warm touch under your chin, lifting your head up to look at him.

He studies your face with a certain hunger in his eyes. You can feel his thumb trace the outline of your jaw, his touch rough and yet kind of gentle.

“I really liked the shoes you were wearing in the bar. Why don’t you put them on for me again, darling?” you bite your lip at his “request” and when he lowers his hand to give you permission to move you oblige begrudgingly.

The heels are neatly placed beneath the wardrobe right next to the door. You could try and make a run for it, to get out of this room and maybe call for help. But you know better. As much as the urge to flee begs you to just do it, you decide against it and instead bend down to grab your heels and come back, needing to sit down to put them on.

His eyes follow your every move, content when he sees you obviously playing with the thought to run away and actively deciding against it. He watches how you put on the shoes, making your legs seem longer and your behind even more delicious when you stand up.

He approaches you before he circles you like a predator his prey. The warlord stops behind you and you feel the heat of his body radiate against your skin. You fidget with your fingers in front of your body, nervous because of the close proximity.

When you feel his calloused hand brush against your neck, moving your hair aside to take a better look you close your eyes with a shaky breath, tensing under his touch. You tremble slightly as you feel the cold metal of his hook pull at your top before it rips with a sound that makes you flinch.

The fabric slowly falls to the ground, exposing your upper body to the room. Sir Crocodile looks down at you, enjoying the new view in front of him. He sees your breast rise and fall anxiously, your nipples standing hard against the slightly cool air in the room.

“Move.” He purrs before giving you a slight push towards the bed. You bite your lip but comply, the heels clacking against the floor, sounding ten times louder than they actually are. Crocodile’s hand never completely leaves your neck, guiding you on your short way.

When your knees press against the bed, he pushes your upper body down until you have to kneel on the bed. Your head hangs low and your eyes are closed when you hear the clicking of metal against metal and then a shuffling sound. Without looking you know what he just did and you try to anticipate the pain that would inevitably follow.

But it doesn’t come. With every passing second your fists grip the sheets tighter and tighter, your body so tense that it feels like it’s about to burst. Only when you hesitantly turn your head to look back at him does the cool leather hit you.

You let out a painful moan, your body being forced down onto the mattress, lying in front of him with an angry red imprint of his belt on your right ass cheek.

“Get up. I’m not done yet. You can lay down when I tell you so.” He growls, watching you slowly get back on all four again, wincing at the pain. As soon as you’re kneeling, the next slap hits you even harder, tears involuntarily running down your cheeks. “Stop…” you whisper, the pain hot and cold at the same time.

“Stop? But I’ve barely started.” He chuckles before hitting you again. A sob leaves your mouth, followed by a meek beg that is barely audible. He can hear it. Slow, dark laughter reaches your ears, the sound making your heart almost stop from the terror this laughter puts into your body. This is the laugh of a man that shows no mercy.

“I want you to count.” He tells you. “When you reach ten I will stop, okay?” a promise that sounds like heaven in your ears. It’s almost too good to be true but your desperate mind clings to any chance it gets to get out of this alive and as unharmed as possible. You nod, bracing yourself for the first hit that follows right away.

“O-one.” You start, counting every hit of the belt against your skin, each impact harder than the one before. By the fifth hit, your ass already feels numb, cold pain almost unbearable. You’re sure your behind is already green and blue, remembering when you once played this game with your friend where you have to slap the hand of the other. By the end your hands were swollen and every touch hurt like a bitch.

“Eight….” You whimper, arms trembling underneath you. Just two more.

You can’t see the glint in his eyes when he lifts the belt in his hand and lets it collide with your rear but the sheer force has your arms give in once more and fall onto the mattress. You bury your face in the fabric of the bed sheet, crying at the pain and the humiliation.

“Guess we need to start over again.” He muses. Your head spins around to look at him, eyes wide in fear and swollen from the crying.

“No! No, please no! Please stop!” you beg him, holding up your hand to protect yourself from him. There is no sympathy, there is no empathy, there is nothing but calculating cruelness in his eyes, mixed with pleasure from watching you beg for your life. You’re too occupied with sobbing and begging that you don’t catch the bulge filling out his crotch, his dick pressing uncomfortably but yet so sweetly against its restraints. Yes, this is a sight he will remember for a long time.

“Come here.” The warlord demands, holding the belt casually in his hand. Your teary eyes dart to said belt then up to his face. He doesn’t look like he is about to hit you again so you judge for yourself that it’s smarter to oblige and get to the end of the bed, kneeling in front of him with your fearful eyes looking up. His hook comes up to your face, caressing your skin gently. But you can’t relax. You know this is just to make you feel safe; it’s nothing more than a charade, meant to deceive you. But you won’t trust this man! And you’re right not to let your guard down.

You knew something was to come but you’re still caught off guard when the tip of the hood digs into your soft flesh and rakes down, leaving a hot, warm, and burning trail, blood immediately leaking out. You wince in pain and inch away but his hand grabs the back of your head, holding you in place as he repeats this action on your other cheek, marking you with your own blood.

When he has enough, he lets go of your head but you’re not off the hook. Literally. You can do nothing but watch as he puts the belt around your neck, the cold metal and the warm leather a big contrast on your sensitive skin. He pulls the belt up, making you follow his lead but choke at the same time.

Your hands come up and try to pull at the tight leather but to no avail. With desperate eyes you look at him, feeling how the belt slowly strangulates you mercilessly. Your lips form a silent “please” but all you’re met with are his amused eyes staring right back at you.

The feeling of his dick pressing painfully against his pants is more present than ever and he needs some release here. But his hand is occupied and his hook alone is no help when it comes to undressing. But luckily, you have two hands you could put to good use. You’re doing nothing productive with them anyways.

“Why don’t you help me and open my pants for me? I’d do it myself but I’m a little occupied here.” He chuckles, his eyes widen in amusement when you don’t immediately oblige, your hands still clawing at the belt. But a slight (or maybe not so slight) tuck he puts a little more emphasis behind his words. Your hands shakily search for the waistband of his pants, your eyes remain on his face. Your vision starts to blur due to the lack of oxygen, black dots popping up more often than not.

Your hands fumble with the button, becoming more and more hasty as panic spreads through your body. You fear for your life and Sir Crocodile enjoys the sight of your helpless form in front of him.

When you finally manage to open his pants he breathes out in relief at the new-found freedom for his dick. He lowers his hand holding the belt, giving you the room to suck in the much-needed air, your lungs burning with each breath you take. Your face is hot and you’re sure that the white of your eyes has become red. Your head spins and you don’t pay any attention to the huge penis in front of your face, small amount of pre-cum on the tip.

“Open up, whore.” He commands, lightly tucking at the ‘leash’ once more, pulling you towards his hard member. With blurry eyes, you see his member before the tip pokes your bleeding cheek, the salty pre-cum burning the wound. You try to turn your face away but the harsh tuck that follows makes you jerk forward until your cheek is being pressed against his groin, your nose touching the shaft of his dick.

“I can keep start choking you again, if you prefer that.” He threatens. You sob at his words and slowly shake your head as best as you can. No, you don’t want that. You press your hands against his muscular thighs for support, feeling the rough fabric of his pants against your touch. He leaves you some room to move and watches you as your mouth hesitantly inches closer to his dick.

You can smell his musky scent; it’s becoming more and more present the closer you get to him. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to touch his member, let alone with your mouth but the fear of what could happen if you defied him makes your body move on its own.

Your mouth twists in disgust when your tongue sweeps over the tip of his dick, tasting his salty pre-cum that is coating the big mushroom head. It twitches slightly at the touch but Sir Crocodile doesn’t make a sound.

“If my life was on the line I’d be a little more eager to please the other person and a little bit less disgusted.” His voice rumbles through his whole body and his words resonate in your head when you hesitantly open your mouth and close your lips around the head. The warm and slimy feeling, paired with the fact that your gag-reflex is quite strong, has you retch in response and your nails dig into the pants and his thighs underneath, probably leaving red marks on his skin.

Tears shimmer in your eyes in the dim light until they run down the more you take him in. His slow and mocking laughter has you look up at him with meek defiance in your eyes but you don’t dare to let him plop out of your mouth again.

Your tongue is pressed flat against the underside of his cock, the warm muscle trying to somehow wiggle out of its confines but it doesn’t work.

You slowly move your head back, feeling every inch of his hot flesh on your tongue, and move back forth, taking him in again, this time taking him in deeper. You start a slow yet steady rhythm, bobbing your head and making choking sounds more often than not. You can feel the pirate’s eyes on you, feel him watch how you take in his cock with difficulties, your cheeks hollowing when you suck at his dick. He feels your tongue struggle against his member but Sir Crocodile welcomes it.

He winds the leather of his belt around his hand until he is holding you on a very short leash, his hand almost touching you. With that he starts guiding your head. Due to the tight grip he starts choking you once more, making you panic again. The belt is cutting off your air supply, your choking sounds becoming more frantic. You try to push yourself away from him but the warlord is merciless.

Sir Crocodile starts thrusting his hips against your mouth, shoving his dick further down your throat and enjoying the tightness of your convulsing body. His thrusts aren’t fast but deep. You feel the corners of your mouth open up, the faint taste of blood mixing in with the salty taste of the pirate on your tongue.

“What a good whore you are. Taking me so well like the slut you were born as.” He compliments you. Your eyes are tightly shut, letting him do whatever he wants and hoping he’d be done soon. You tried to think of something else, try to leave your own body and maybe find a way to escape this whole ordeal mentally. But Sir Crocodile was omnipresent; as hard as you tried, you couldn’t block him out. Tears rolled down your cheeks, choked sobs an audible sign you were not enjoying this.

Sir Crocodile’s smile widen at the sounds; he can feel his dick pulsing in your mouth and he knows he won’t be able to suppress the urge to come for much longer. He thinks about coming in your mouth, making you swallow every last drop of his semen, watching you struggle with the belt around your neck but forcing you to manage it anyhow. Maybe you would spill something, maybe you would make a whole new mess of yourself – but he decides against it.

With a harsh yank on the belt he jerks your head away from his dick which is bobbing up and down heavily in front of your face. Saliva is dripping down your chin and onto your chest, your whole face one single mess. God, he loves the view you give him.

Sir Crocodile loosens the grip on the belt, giving you finally the room to breathe properly again. You in – and exhale deeply, eyes closed in shame for what he’s just done to you.

The warlord opens the belt and removes the leather from around your neck, a red imprint of said belt decorating your neck just perfectly. Sir Crocodile traces the mark with his hook, every so often adding extra pressure to break your skin, leaving a thin yet bloody line behind. You just let him.

“Lay down.” He orders you in a calm tone. He knows he doesn’t need to threaten you again; you will oblige no matter what. He’s got you in his palm and he is just deciding when exactly he will close his hand and crush you in the process.

You lay down on your back, looking up at him tensely. The mattress dips down under his massive body and he slowly makes his way on top of you. His eyes wander down your body in appreciation, the cocky smile never leaving his features. He steadies himself with his hand right next to your head and leans down, his nose brushing against your cheek, wet from your tears.

You start to tremble when his hot lips wander down your neck and start ravishing your skin, licking and sucking hardly. He tastes the salt of tears and metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Spurred on by your trembling body he lets his hook roam your body, cutting your skin over and over again the more you whimper.

What he doesn’t know is that the whimpering is not only due to the pain and fear. The way he pays attention to your neck has your body react in a different way – excitement. Mixed with the pain he inflicts with his hook it is a toxic mixture of pleasure and pain.

You crane your neck when he moves to the other side of your neck. He looks at you in surprise at your movement but he is not complaining. Instead, he growls contently and rips your panties off your body, pulling your leg to the side and taking his rightful place between your legs. His dick is pulsing angrily between his legs and he wants to fuck you into oblivion, if you enjoy it or not.

At the feeling of his mushroom head against your entrance you tense up and your hands automatically come up against his chest, trying to push him off of you. You could slap yourself for actually enjoying the feeling for a moment. He was a pirate and he had no business doing this to you!

“Better relax, needy whore. It might hurt a little.” He growled into your ear before he eases himself into your surprisingly wet cunt. You mewl and gasp painfully underneath him, your body trying to wiggle out from underneath him but he doesn’t let you. He bites down on your shoulder harshly and his hook digs down into your side painfully. You’re sure his hook is piercing through your flesh but he doesn’t care.

The feeling of your tight walls around his cock are intoxicating. When he starts moving inside of you it’s nothing but rough and deep, his breath coming out in small growls and grunts, animalistic and primal. Sir Crocodile listens to your small pleas for him to please stop hurting you but he couldn’t care less.

Your hands that had previously tried to push him off are now clawing at his broad shoulders, chocked, painful moans and pants mixing in with his grunts. You want to close your legs but his hips are too wide, pressing your legs apart even further.

He slams his hips against you, rocking your whole body forth with each thrust, the sheer force pressing the air out of your lungs.

When he lifts himself up with his arm he looks down at you, a stray strand of hair hanging in his face; the gel apparently isn’t able to hold his hair in place anymore. There is still this smirk all over his face when he sits back, puts his hand on your hip and pulls you closer towards him. Due to the new angle, he hits a special spot inside of you, forcing out a long and loud moan from your body.

Your eyes are wide in surprise at the feeling and your mouth hangs open, sucking in the air desperately. With each thrust, Sir Crocodile tries to aim at your g-spot, his thrusts are sharp and precise.

The longer he keeps this up, the more pleasure you feel from his ministration. You try to suppress your moans but it’s impossible. You bite your hand to muffle your moans, your eyes are tightly shut to not have to look at him in shame for enjoying this. The heels of your shoes dig into his back when you wrap them around his body unconsciously, pulling him closer against your dripping pussy.

The warlord watches your breasts bounce with each thrust and his hook comes up yet again to mark them with your own blood by cutting you open. You moan in response, pleasure and pain now indistinguishable.

You feel your body convulse at the nearing orgasm, something you haven’t been expecting the entire night. His length is rubbing the deepest and most sensitive parts of your cunt, creating a kind of pleasure you’ve never felt before. You want to suppress it so badly; you don’t want your body to react this way, you don’t want to feel pleasure from being handled like this but when the tip of his dick presses hard against your special spot once more you cum around him with a loud moan, your walls clamping around his cock.

He fucks you through your orgasm, watches your lustful expression while your climax washes over you like a tsunami. He pauses for a moment when you slowly come down from your high, your breath coming out in fast pants. He chuckles darkly and you open your eyes, looking up at him tiredly.

“I’m not done with you yet, whore. I will fuck you as long as it takes for you to internalize that you shouldn’t disobey or make fun of me ever again. And I don’t care if it takes the entire night or your entire life….“

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If you liked it and want me to write a commission for you, please contact me 😊 commissions

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[hardyimagines]

Split

DRABBBLEEEE

The room was loud, lively. Women wore smug smiles as they snagged a date from every corner of the room. They were all so pretty, dolled up with blush coated cheeks, painted lips, and colorful dresses. They were beaming, bright, having the night of their lives as they drank their liquor filled drinks.

You were stood at the back, eyes low as you studied the sticky floor beneath you. This party was meant to be a way for you to get over your ex-boyfriend, a way to distract yourself from him for at least a few hours. But all the surrounding blokes were too cocky for their own good. They wore lopsided grins and lust-tinted gazes. You were foolish to think that you’d be successful in finding a sweet gent to have a nice conversation with.

Two weeks ago you’d been curled up on the torn, tattered sofa in your den, droopy eyes fixated on the ticking clock in the corner. Reggie Kray was suppose to be home an hour ago for dinner. Normally it wasn’t that big of a deal, you knew work required him to stay for longer than usual sometimes. That was all good and well and not at all alarming. It only became a problem when he came home, stinking of cheap perfume.

Your accusations weren’t taken lightly, they were blown off. His exhaustion from the day and annoyance at being hounded the second you caught a whiff of the scent was enough to make his anger bubble to the surface.

He hadn’t ever yelled at you before. He really had no right to. You hadn’t shouted or screamed, you’d just asked a few quiet questions, soft, sweet, sad. He’d rolled his eyes and told you to stop with your prying. He’d worked for the entire day, soiled by turned over drinks, mocked by rival gangs. The last thing he wanted to do was come by your house and have you ask him if he’d been fooling around on you.

Needless to say, the argument had been completely unnecessary. All Reggie had to say was ‘no’, but instead he’d barked at you to grow up, to stop thinking childishly. Was it childish? You hadn’t thought so. Neither of you had seen one another since that night when he’d stormed out with so much as a reasoning for the smell. Was it really that hard for him to tell he loved you and he’d merely had a meeting or some of the sort? Why get so agitated over such a small question.

Your heart felt heavy as you sipped the glass of wine cradled in your palm. Your ring tinked quietly against the glass, shoulders slouched and demeanor not too inviting. No gent wanted to talk to the girl hovering in the corner, avoiding eye contact and conversation. You’d been approached by three men — none too handsome. They had greasy fingers, too eager to brush your arm. Sickening gazes. Annoying topics to talk about. You’d swiftly managed to escape each one of them, but now you found yourself glued to your current spot, waiting rather impatiently for someone to come and sweep you off your feet.

You heaved a loud sigh, a heavy sound that made any man looking in your direction divert their attention. Placing your glass down rather loudly on a nearby table, you weaved around the people dancing in front of you and headed for the exit. Your heels clacked noisily against the hardwood, nowhere near as loud as the music, but it was audible to you. You excused yourself when you bumped into people accidentally, soft eyes glued to the floor in front of you as you narrowly avoided toppling over now and then. The door was in view, not too far from reach, but you were halted before you could get out the doorway.

“Excuse me?” A rather light-sounding voice hit you like a truck, halting you from going any further. “Do mind my forwardness, but you look rather familiar.” He spoke again. You squinted toward the patterned glass that decorated the wooden door before you slowly turned around to face the man.

He was tall, not too bulky. He had blue eyes, blonde hair, a kind smile, but it looked too forced. You didn’t recognize him at first, he wasn’t exactly a familiar face. It was only when he brushed his thumb along his bottom lip and let out a quiet chuckle that it dawned on you who the bloke was. You took a small step back.

“I’m.. sorry, you must have me mistaken.” Your voice was breathy, swarming your faux apology. You twisted around to make a quick getaway, but he caught your hand in his own and swiftly tugged you back. You yanked firmly at your arm, shooting him a glare that told him what you wouldn’t verbally.

“I don’t think so. You’re the gal that runs around with the Kray’s.” He spoke lowly, voice growing deeper, harsher. “Reggie Kray’s girl, innit?” You stepped back. No.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” You brushed your hands off on the front of your green dress. He could practically hear your swallow.

“Yeah, Reggie’s a friend of mine.” He uttered gruffly. You knew that he was lying. Reggie spoke a lot about the men he disliked. Charlie was at the top of that list.

You distanced from the bloke again, doing your absolute best to create some space between his body and your own. You frowned evidently. “I’m sure I would’ve met you before if that was the case.” Your words made him sneer.

“So then you do know me?” He moved his hand to his pocket. His fingers sunk into the deep lining, fingers pinching the packet of cigarettes that he carried with him everywhere. He drew one of the sticks out and placed it between his lips. You weren’t given a chance to answer. Your eyes were raking the length of the room, searching for a way out of this conversation with the man in front of you. They moved along everyone’s happy, oblivious features, too drunk and careless to pay attention to you.

You opened your mouth to reply to the blonde, but before your words could leave your lips, the tall, handsome man that owned your heart slipped through the crowd. His hair was slicked down nicely, bow tie clasped to the neckline of his white button down. He looked so good. You were beyond surprised to see Reggie Kray attending the same party as you, but your relief outweighed your surprise.

He was moving toward you like a bull going toward the color red. His nostrils flared at the sight of Charlie. He was too close to you, entirely too close, it was a miracle he didn’t have a bullet between his eyes the second Reggie spotted him.

“Charlie.” Reggie’s voice, deep and smooth cut into the conversation. He was completely audible and comprehendible despite the loud music that played from the speaker in the corner. He looked to you momentarily, a squint to ensure that you were alright. No wounds, no discomfort, but he sensed the tension. “I don’t take kindly to you and your fucking lot speaking to my girl.” He stepped between the pair of you without a sliver of hesitation. You instinctively stepped back, but your small hand found the sleeve of his jacket, fisting in it gratefully as you stood behind him.

“Last I heard she was up for grabs.” The blonde chortled.

“Must be hearing some mighty fucking rumors, mate,” Reggie shoved his hands into his pockets, right hand circling his revolver. “she is off limits, it’s that fucking simple.”

The confrontation was all about you. You’d expected money, casino’s, clubs, men, but you’d never expected that they’d ever even mention a single thing about you — let alone argue about whether or not you were taken. Charlie squinted, challenging Reggie before he lifted his gaze to you.

“Last I heard, she ran out on you because you were fooling around with the redhead down the street. Can’t remember the girl’s name, but word travels fast, doesn’t it, Mr. Kray?” The bloke’s blue eyes glistened with hatred as he snorted in amusement. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” He tipped his head toward Reggie before looking then toward you. “And remember, if you ever do get lonely, Reggie knows where to find me.” He brushed his fingers through his hair, slicking it down more securely before he carried himself away from the two of you calmly. He didn’t care about you and if you were taken, he just cared about using you to get to Reggie and if it any time he found out that you were single — he’d use you to break the gangster.

You released Reggie, heart burning at the words that were spoken by the other man. Whether they were true or not, you didn’t know, but it still hurt you to even think about it. Taking a small step back in order to create some much needed space, you smoothed the front of your dress down.

“What are you doing here?” You asked without much thought. “This party is more for..”

“The Richardson’s, I know. I could be asking you the same fucking question, yeah, but I heard, and I heard quite quickly, that you were coming down here tonight..” He clenched his jaw visibly, as if trying to restrain himself from speaking any further. He didn’t want to say anything accidentally that would upset you. Being so angry, he was liable to spew hurtful words. But he bit his tongue.

“I didn’t come because I knew who’s party this was, I came because I got an invite from a sweet boy down the road. He’s been chatting up every other girl here though.. so I was just a target they brought to fill in empty space. The bloke’s here aren’t my type.. far too cocky, not so handsome.” You sighed heavily. “I don’t even want to be here.”

Reggie watched the way your sad eyes flickered around the room, seemingly searching for the quickest exit.

“I’ll take you home.” He offered quietly. There was no undertone of deceit in his words. He would just take you home and drop you off.. that was it. But you didn’t know if you wanted to go with him. You still hadn’t discussed the one thing between the two of you that seemed to be anchoring all your stress down. Had he cheated?

There was no time to sit and wonder if this was the right choice — going with him — you had to. You didn’t want to stick around at this crummy get together just to be hit on by men that hated Reginald Kray. His arm opened up and his fingers lightly grazed your elbow, guiding you gently through the sea of people. You stuck close to him, afraid that one of the surrounding blokes would jump you if given the chance. His touch was featherlight, delicate, tracing your soft skin for as long and as discreetly as he possibly could. The second the crowd opened up into a breath of fresh air, you broke away from him, ceasing his touch.

The night was silent, no wind, no birds, no nothing to fill in the quiet air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, providing more warmth than you’d had when your arms hung at your side. Pulling your lips in, you rubbed them together before counting the cracks in the sidewalk as the two of you began the journey to your home. Reggie was captivated by the stars in the sky, studying them and their various ranges of brightness. He narrowed his eyes in the slightest before looking toward you when you stumbled over a stump in the sidewalk. It was just a small trip, but he reached for your wrist to steady you nevertheless. He received a brief inspection before you pulled your arm back to yourself and continued forward. You had nothing to say to him. He was the one with explaining to do — and as if he’d read your mind, his lips parted.

“Can we talk?” His pink tongue slid over his lips. “Properly.” He added when he noted the snarky look on your face that told him you were about to bite back a sarcastic remark. You fixed your stare on the scattered twigs and fallen leaves, crushing them beneath the heel of your shoe as you walked.

“Talk.” You told him firmly. He stopped walking then.

“Look at me.” His words were demanding, but they weren’t harsh and angry, they were pleading, desperate. You followed his demand without even thinking about it. “Babe, I’m falling apart without you and it hasn’t even been that fucking long, has it?” His fingers lowered to his pocket so he too could draw out a cigarette and place the stick of cancer between his awaiting lips. You set your hands on your hips and watched him, head shaking in the slightest as he lit the end of the cigarette.

“You’re not. You’re fine. I don’t know.. what happened or why you’re behaving so strangely, Reggie. I asked you one question, the night we broke up, and it’s taken you until now to bring this up.” Your head shook in disbelief. You didn’t want to talk about this — you didn’t want to argue. You wanted to go home.

“I didn’t cheat.” He growled softly. “I don’t know why you think I did, pet, but you’re, apparently, not the only one. I, right, I was at the club all night, fucking tired and ready to go home to you and this group of people, they swarmed me, asking me for whereabouts of this and that and blah blah blah,” he took a lengthy drag from the cigarette before stepping toward you with a breathy exhale. “These girls, they pulled and yanked on me, right, trying to get me to go along with it and I told them, babe, that I was with you.” He drew his bottom lip in. “But I smelled like them, I knew I did, my jacket stunk of their perfume because of how handsy they got. They were working with the Richardson’s. They’re doing all they can to get you away from me and I’m doing all I can to prevent that and it’s really.. contradicting itself, innit. I mean..” He let out another sigh, this time a visible one as his hot breaths clashed with the cold air. “I don’t know why I couldn’t just tell you this the other night. I was just infuriated. I wanted to come home to kisses and affection and I guess I just lost my temper, Y/n, I’m sorry.” He stepped toward you again, not stopping until the tips of his toes skimmed yours. “I never wanted to lose you.. I never imagined ever doing so. I..” He really didn’t know what to say so instead of speaking, he just gazed down at you and said more with his eyes than his mouth ever could.

You nibbled your bottom lip, contemplating everything he’d said, considering each word carefully. Your hands lifted to the back of your neck, gripping it as you peered up at the handsome fellow. How had he made you forgive him in 15 seconds? Your stomach churned in warning, telling you that he very well could be lying. He’d had days to conjure up a story. But you didn’t care, you couldn’t think like that. Reggie was being honest, that’s what you told yourself. Truth or not, if you loved him, you were meant to believe him. You opened your arms slowly before wounding them around his waist.

“I’ll leave you if I find out your lying, Reggie..” You murmured out before laying your head against his broad chest. “I mean it, I can’t stand cheaters.” Reggie leaned in to press his lips against your head. He knew you hated unfaithful people, your mom had cheated on your dad.

“I know, right, that’s exactly why i promise you, I’d never even think about doing anything like that. I love you..” He swore, hand lifting to brush your tresses out of your eyes. “I mean that, I really do, and I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” Your head bobbed along to his quiet confession, heart swelling because of the honesty that shimmered in his gaze. You leaned up on your tiptoes and gave him the most delicate kiss possible before you stepped around him and finished the short journey to your house. Reggie was quick to catch up, shoes noisily clacking against the cement as he skipped. He reached the door right as you unlocked it and the second you twisted around, he caught your lips for another kiss. The pair of you were instantly locked in the liplock, forgetting about the rest of the world as you did your best to prove to one another how sorry you were. You, for not trusting him, and him, for not being honest outright.

The city was back to its silent self. Apart from your little conversation and quiet smacking of your lips, the strests were once more drowned in silence. Trees were still. Leaves stuck to their spots on the ground. No cars were driving down the road, no humming from shopkeepers lights. The world was completely silent and it was the most peaceful thing in the world. Reggie and you probably would’ve enjoyed it had you not been enjoying each other just as much, if not more.

——————————————————————

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#tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #reggie kray x reader #reggie kray fanfiction #legend fanfiction

[chaoticneutralwriter]

15; Dark Chocolate

In which you recall satisfying your hunger with expensive chocolate but Jimin satisfied his in a very... different way.

idol!Jimin x staff!reader

genre: fluff, comedy, romance, things get a little spicy/steamy, slow-burn

word count: 6.3k (ooof)

A/N: So I decided to jump ahead in the timeline for this AU bc OOOF you know that look has birthed how many AUs and got me feelin’ all kinds of ways the power of Park Jimin. And whoo okay first stab at writing something a little more intimate and i suuucckkk so ;w; keep your expectations low.

You breathe in deeply, trying to regulate your palpitating heart because you cannot afford to be sweating in this dress right now. Funny and ironic because the dress is precisely the reason why you’re very close to breaking out into a nervous sweat. It’s a fancy award show in Japan, one of which you had to be part of the ‘escort’ team for the boys which you had no problem with (hey, it’s free access to a full award show), only part of the job was also having to adhere to the dress code.

 Your coworker had more of a field day than you when she heard the news, and aggressively insists that she helped you pick out your dress. In part of her insistence, she had talked you into wearing a rather daring number because, ‘you can’t have those idol girls show you up in front of your man! You need to work it girl!’

 And you can’t say her hype-woman ways didn’t get to you because here you are, about to step out of your hotel room to meet up with the rest of the team in that very same dress. The deep crimson colour is nice, it’s definitely something you’d wear but the cut of it is a whole other story. It had a plunging neckline that you can’t say you were use to but as if that wasn’t enough of being out of your comfort zone, the dress had a dual split-front right up each leg that allows for double the Angelina Jolie stance. The only thing saving you from chickening out completely in changing into your ‘backup’ is the long sleeve of the dress; it makes you feel a little…less exposed. Red strapped heels, a little smokey eye, loose waves that was side swept completed your ensemble that had you practically holding up a sign that screams, ‘Lady in Red.'

 You reach up to tuck the loose strand of hair back behind your ear, scowling a little at how shaky your hand had become. You huff once; trying to settle yourself once again by giving a pep talk that you can do this. You can totally march out of here and sashay your way like you own this place. Girl, you. Look. Good.

 Satisfied, you grab your small clutch, checking over if you forgot anything and then fling the door open before the surge of confidence goes away. Your heels are muted against the carpeted flooring of the hotel, but you put an extra stomp to your step to also keep yourself from tripping (heels and carpet are not a good combination). You round the corner just in time to the designated meeting spot, only finding a couple of people already there, dressed up to standard for the occasion.

 You greet them with a bow though you modestly kept a hand close to your chest to avoid unnecessary flashing and smile shyly when compliments were given your way. It boosts your confidence a little, however it fans at your nerves just a little more as slowly but surely, the members start making their appearances.

 “Ohh wow, noona.” Hoseok smiles widely, giving an approving nod your way that makes your cheeks heat up involuntarily. “You’re like a true ‘Lady in Red’. Ah, they’re done for now.”

 You laugh breathlessly; waving off his comment as if he could really say anything about you when he looks about ready to kill half the nation with just his looks alone (the stylists has unleashed the forehead after all, your prayers to the fandom). You say so as much and he laughs boisterously in return, clearly embarrassed by the way his face flushes pink even under the foundation. As more of the boys trickle in, looking red carpet ready in a variety of black suits, the cycle is repeated; greetings were exchanged along with compliments and whoever threw it out first was given one in return and soon everyone is reduced to a bashful, awkward shy mess (even Seokjin, who held out the longest, had his ears turning redder than a tomato by the end of it).

 It makes you feel a little at ease, the way these six arguably most sought out men are still not used to being dressed up and complimented for their good looks. However, your ease was short-lived when the last of the member, Jimin, strolls up, still in the process of shrugging on his jacket with the help of stylists trailing behind him; this man who you thought couldn’t steal your breath away any more than he did on a regular basis, is doing so to the point you don’t even know what breathing is anymore now.

 He’s dressed in a classic black suit to match with the rest of his member’s look; no shine, no sparkles, just plain and simple but the clean look of it along with his coiffed, neatly styled hair had him looking like the heir to an insanely large business mogul, or better yet, an actual CEO of one. The moment he looks up from straightening and buttoning his jacket, eyes meeting yours….

 Hoseok’s right; they’re done for, and by them he actually should’ve meant you because holy hell.

 Jimin looks surprised for a moment as his gaze moves over you, feeling him taking you in and you resist the urge to swallow loudly but by the time his eyes trail back up to yours, it’s taken on a darken look that you can’t help but immediately break eye contact. Thankfully, the managers has taken to getting everyone moving once all was accounted for so the exchange had gone unnoticed, save for the ever watchful and attentive members who only share knowing smiles at one another.

 Your focus is immediately drawn on the rundown of your duties and what’s expected of everyone who’s supporting that’s being given. As much as it’s nice to get dolled up, you still had a job to do. So in a whirlwind that you’re still not quite used to, you’re rushed into separate vans and transported to the venue.

 As soon as you’ve arrived, you go your separate ways to be able to meet and escort the boys ahead of time, touch up their makeup and straighten their suits and direct them to the right staff members to be shown their seats. 

 You find yourself trying to catch your breath for the second time that night from all the rushing you had to do.

 Right on time, the boys walk through after being interviewed on the red carpet, greeting the camera before disappearing down the hall to enter the auditorium through another set of doors meant for artists.

 “Y/N-ssi, can you straighten Jimin-ssi’s tie? It looks like it’s bunching a little.” A makeup artist asks, glancing up only briefly from blotting Yoongi’s face. You gulp but nod regardless, tucking the makeup bag under your arm before you move to where the blonde is standing. He just got his makeup retouched, the makeup artist moving on quickly to the next member, which allowed for you to take her place in front of him. You firmly keep your eyes on his tie; gaze barely traveling up beyond his chin but the close proximity still has your heart beating faster than it should. You could practically feel his breath fanning against your forehead.

 “You look beautiful tonight, noona.” He speaks lowly, keeping the conversation between just the two of you. It makes your breath hitch a little as you look up from beneath your lashes, straightening his tie as best you can.

 “I look like a potatoe beside you.” You say in an attempt to brush off the compliment from burning your cheeks off; it doesn’t work thanks to Jimin’s breathless chuckle.

 “Don’t say that. If anything, you’ll be a sweet potatoe; my favourite.”

 You snort a little before covering it up by clearing your throat. You can only smack him lightly against his chest for giving such a greasy line. He doesn’t seem to care if the wide grin on his face is anything to go by. Your hands travel up to fix his collar and it’s then that you feel him leaning closer; much too close to having one’s collar be fixed. You subtly begin to lean back, but all he does is follow and that’s when you know; he’s teasing you.

 The little shit.

 You give one last pat before stepping away completely, his cologne lingering in your senses. He sends you a smirk before he’s rushed off with the rest to get to their seats. You let out a sigh, giving your own pat on the face to get a hold of yourself as you’re being called away.

 “Since you’ll be seated in a VIP section, can you film some footage for Bangtan Bombs?”  A VJ asks, handing you a handy cam. You’ve only been given permission to film a couple of times but it’s enough for you to get the gist of working the camera and what sorts of footage they want.

 Flashing your staff badge around your neck, you’re lead to your own seating section, placed at the very edge of the artist seating area up top. If you strained your neck a bit, you spot the backs of the boys’ heads and though you had to also angle yourself to get a view of the stage, you were satisfied with your seating (and you get your own modesty blanket too, sweet). Settling in, you brace yourself for the long ride.

 Halfway through the show and about three awards won by the boys later, you set your camera down to give your arm a rest during a commercial break. You roll your shoulders, trying to work out the kinks and contemplate on going to the restroom to freshen up and stretch your legs.

 One bathroom trip later, all the water is gone from your stomach, which makes you realize how hungry you actually are. Is there a secret snack table for artists somewhere that you can mooch off from? Damn it, that’s what you forgot: snacks in your clutch, you should’ve snuck some.

 Pouting, you make your way back to your seat only to be stopped by none other than Jimin. He smiles before waving you over from his seat next to Namjoon’s (who’s missing, probably a bathroom break like you) and curiously, you make your way over.

 “Is there something you need?” You ask, grabbing the larger fabric of your dress to make a makeshift modesty blanket to kneel down without flashing anyone and lean a little closer to him to talk over the noise. Jimin, in turn, leans in and you had to hold yourself back from shivering when his voice comes close to your ear.

 “When we go perform, you can take my seat to film; it has a better view of the stage.” 

 You blink perplexedly but all he does is shoot you a charming smile that has you blushing almost immediately. You avert your gaze, clearing your throat and hurriedly agree to slink back to your seat, already feeling the heat of the cameras, no doubt from Jimin’s fan sites. You’d rather not have a field day in doing damage control if anything gets blown out of proportion. However, Jimin seems to have other ideas.

 “How are you enjoying the show? Are you doing okay?” His hand subtly grazes the wrist of your hand that’s hidden from prying eyes, stopping you from your retreat. You nearly keen over at the genuinely sweet concern he has but also very well nearly combust at the same time.

 “I’m doing okay, I’m also really enjoying the show and performances. Also,” You beam, can’t help the widening smile that stretches across your painted lips. “Congratulations, to you and Bangtan; looks like you’ll each be getting a trophy before the end of the night.” 

 Jimin’s own smile takes up his face, eyes crinkling to crescents as he bashfully tilts his head to the side as if trying to hide the pink tinge taking up his cheeks. “Ah, noona, don’t say that…” 

 You let out a little laugh but compose yourself as you catch sight of the broadcasting camera getting into position and the big screen showing their last advertisement, signaling the start of the show again.

 “I should get going.” You say, making show of fixing your staff badge around your neck. 

 “Ah, yeah.” Jimin makes a move to run his hand through his hair but stops himself midway, realizing he shouldn’t ruin it and instead places it on the back of his neck to rub shyly, averting his gaze. You hold back a giggle at how cute he looks. Before you straighten up fully, he speaks up again. “I hope you look forward to our stage.”

 You smile back at him, not hiding your enthusiasm. “Of course I will.” 

 And you were definitely not disappointed. Their stage has never failed to amaze you and the audience alike; always so pumped with energy, precision, and showmanship that have the auditorium shaking (literally! You swore you felt your seat vibrate to the beat of the song). As well as per Jimin’s suggestion, you got quite the view and you swear more than once you’ve caught Jimin purposefully going towards your side of the stage just to show off.

 Cheeky.

 But as fast as the excitement came, it’s over in a flash and before you know it, you’re preparing to leave for the hotel. Everyone is rightfully exhausted and you don’t blame them; the entire night you didn’t think the boys were in their seats for more than fifteen minutes at a time. However, there’s still a slight buzz in the air that conveyed their good mood as everyone piled into the vans. Even so, a shower and warm bed (and maybe some room service) is something everyone is looking forward to now.

 You all pile into the elevator, the boys chattering amiably with each other about their performances, the awards and how thankful they are that everything went smoothly and no one got hurt, as well as the awards they were blessed with. 

 “I told Jimin you guys would probably be getting an award each to carry home by the end of the night. I should’ve turned it into a bet.” You playfully say, causing most of the boys to laugh.

 “Wow, you would’ve made a fortune!” Seokjin exclaims while still laughing. The blonde in question giggles before you feel his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you feel the heat of his body. He’s changed out of the suit and tie like the rest of the boys, wearing a comfy sweatshirt and dark pants. His hair is still styled and he’s yet to wipe off his makeup too, but the dressed down appearance makes him radiate boyfriend vibes.

 “I’ll buy you something nice then as a way to congratulate you on your prediction.” And if you weren’t already flustered enough, he places a chaste kiss on the top of your head. It elicits a series of whoops and hollers that practically shake the lift. 

 “I—That’s not what I mean, you don’t have to do that Jimin-ah.” You mutter bashfully.

 “What if I want to spoil you?” is his confident reply.

 “Oohhh!! Manly Park Jimin-ssi!!” Hoseok whoops, joined in by Jungkook who’s contorting his expression into something between hardcore cringing and wholesome hyping.

 You try to seem appalled by the renewed ruckus but can only muster a half-hearted smack to Jimin’s chest before burying your face in it when the catcalls from the other boys don’t stop.

 “Hey, stop guys you’re making her shy.” You hear Jimin reprimand lightly, hearing the slight laughter reverberate from his chest as he rubs your back in comfort. “Don’t mind them noona.”

 “Okay, okay, leave the two lovebirds alone guys.” Namjoon chimes in just as the lift reaches the right floor. You had to hold back a laugh on that as you remove your face from your makeshift hiding space by the way Jimin whines at his other members to stop teasing him. You all shuffle out and the boys start going their separate ways to their rooms except for Jimin, who’s seems very adamant on keeping you glued to his side as he leads you in the direction of your room.

 With the shouts of goodnights (and more teases) dying down behind you, you’re finally left alone in the quiet hotel hallway with the handsome blonde.

 “Are you hungry? Should we have dinner together before sleeping?” Jimin asks, voice taking on a low timbre. As if by the mention of food, you feel and hear your stomach rumble and growl as if agreeing for you. It pulls a tinkling laugh from Jimin, one that makes you duck your head in embarrassment, even though you had no intentions of turning down his suggestion, so you could only mumble a yes. 

 You think you hear a ‘cute’ amongst his giggling as you fish out your room card and unlock your door. As you both head inside, he gives your waist a squeeze before breaking off to head over to the phone.

 “What do you want to eat noona?” He calls from over his shoulder as you awkwardly try to unstrap your heels and walk at the same time, eager to flop onto your bed. 

 “A salmon fillet? Maybe miso ramen…?” You trail off, not really sure because you just need sustenance so Jimin’s affirmation noise of hearing your initial answer doesn’t bother you. You finally get your heels off with a huff of relief, flinging them to where you think your luggage is and as you’re about to swan dive into your downy duvets, you’re stopped by the sight of a dark brown box, tied with a nice golden bow, situated perfectly in between two lumps of towels folded expertly to look like swans.

 Chocolates.

 More specifically; Godiva chocolates.

 Bless.

 You like to thank God but also Jesus for allowing you to have this bougie job to be able to get these bougie chocolates in your time of need, you think as you nearly mangle the perfect bow of the ribbon in getting the lid open to the cocoa goodness inside.

 Each piece looks delectable and mouth watering, so you didn’t give it much thought as you pluck one out and pop it into your mouth. You moan to yourself in satisfaction as the first rich taste of chocolate hits your taste buds, your stomach approving as well. You get through the first piece in no time, eager to pick out a second one. As you work through your second piece, you actually take a look at the back of the lid to see what flavours you’re currently eating and which are left (though to be honest, it’s not like it’ll change your mind on not eating them since they all sound as delicious as they look).

 “What’re you up to pretty girl?” 

 You’re startled by a deep Busan drawl and you’re quick to realize that it’s Jimin who snuck up behind you while you were so immersed with your chocolate studying. You swallow the piece in your mouth loudly (you rather not risk choking on it instead), eyes wide from his close proximity. He only smirks mischievously at you, eyes hooded and dark like you had seen just briefly when you first walked out of your room, making your breath hitch a little before his eyes drift to your point of interest.

 “Oh, chocolates! Were they complimentary?” And like that, sweet, angelic Jimin is switched back and it takes you a moment to reorient yourself.

 “Y-Yeah; found them on the bed and…got kinda hungry…” You answer lamely. Jimin hums noncommittally, wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his chin on your shoulder so naturally that you’re a little envious at how easily he initiates skinship.

 “Looks good, can I have one?” His breath tickles your cheek and you have to fight off a shudder to hold up the box and offer it to him. He doesn’t make any movement to reach for one and as you throw him a questioning look, he shoots you a grin before opening his mouth with an ‘ah’ in response.

 Ah, this little—

 “I don’t know which one you want.” Your voice comes out strained, trying to keep cool. Jimin takes the time to laugh.

 “I think anything you give me will be good.” 

 “But you have hands….”

 “But I like being fed. Especially if it’s you.”

 Wow…. You’re about to ascend soon.

 You can only blink at him, having been rendered speechless with a gradually heating face and all he does is smile back innocently. It goes on for what seems like minutes before he nudges you and throws in his finishing move; a pout. You give in. 

 Taking a glance at the chocolate box, you scan it briefly before picking a piece out and bring it up to Jimin, who eagerly leans forward to capture it with his mouth. Least to say, nothing could've prepared you for the feeling of warm, plush lips brushing against your fingertips. You’re lucky that the chocolate piece was in his mouth or else you would’ve definitely dropped it by how fast you take back your hand in surprise, heart racing a mile a minute.

 Jimin doesn’t seem to mind, chewing cheerfully and letting out an exaggerated hum of satisfaction. “Mmm… These really are Godiva chocolate huh?” 

 You nod, trying to calm yourself by choosing another piece of chocolate to devour. You take one blindly and pop it into your mouth without thought, letting the sweet taste wash over you and it seems to do the trick.

 “Noona.”

 You turn on instinct and are met with a familiar feeling: warm, plush lips. Only this time, they graze the corner of your mouth. It’s so feather-light that for a moment you weren’t sure if you actually felt them but he lingers, waiting and watching you. For a moment, you forget how to breathe (for the nth time).

 “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Was that okay?” He asks carefully, voice a little above a whisper as if he doesn’t want to scare you. You feel his breath fan against your cheeks, the sweet smell of the chocolate faint but you find that his words were sweeter. It makes you smile.

 “It’s fine…. You just surprised me.”

 “Then…. Can I kiss you?”

 The question never fails to make butterflies flutter in your stomach and you find that every time, your answer doesn’t change; you nod. You can see the way he lights up, holding a smile back before leaning in to press his lips fully on yours. You meet him halfway. The kiss is slow and tender, wherein Jimin takes his time in molding his lips to perfectly fit yours, enjoying the taste and feel. Though this isn’t the first time he’s kissed you, he still acts like it does, committing every moment to memory. You’re absolutely lost in the feeling, eyes shut and just letting your senses and him guide you that you almost miss the way he pulls you closer, shifting you so that you’re practically on his lap and facing more towards him. 

 You feel his hand cup the underside of your jaw, caressing lightly with his thumb and the rings on his fingers feel much cooler against your rapidly heating skin. There are moments that you two break away briefly, but as if like magnets, you draw back to each other for more. As the kiss drags on into a full blown make-out, Jimin gets more confident.

 You feel the first brush of tongue against your bottom lip; it’s light and almost cautious, like he’s testing the waters. It takes you by surprise that your brain stutters to process it. Now this is definitely a first. It’s a first but you find yourself not wanting to shy away and though your heart is racing with anticipation and nerves, you still felt a sense of trust and security. So tentatively, you part your lips. 

 For a moment you think you’re doing it wrong but then you feel Jimin shift and then you feel a brush of his tongue again, this time against the roof of your mouth. You shiver involuntarily then, floundering but with Jimin’s coaxing, he draws you deeper into the kiss. You can practically taste the chocolate he just had: the sweet and bitter taste intermingling with the velvet feel of his lips and tongue. The new sensation has you sighing against his mouth, feeling like putty.

 He pulls away slowly, lips swollen and you swear a little pinker thanks to your faded lip tint; you wonder if yours is in the same state. The bedside lamp casts dark shadows across his face, highlighting the sheen his lips have taken and not hiding how blown out his pupils have become. You’re both out of breath, panting as you take the other in but Jimin is evidently less in a daze than you are because he’s moving again with a mind made up.

 He reaches for the forgotten chocolate box that you still have clutched in your hand, letting him take it from you to place on the nightstand.

 “I think that’s enough chocolate; don’t want to spoil dinner.” Jimin’s voice has taken on a deep rasp that has your breath hitching in your throat, eyes smoldering in a way you’ve never seen before. You lick your lips out of nervous habit but the action seems to catch Jimin’s attention, dark eyes flitting to them before they come back up to lock on you again. And as if like a trigger, he leans forward, capturing your lips with a kiss that belies ferocity. You’re absolutely flustered that for a moment you have a hard time keeping up with the way he molds his lips to yours and suddenly you think you might be dinner.

 Your hands find his shoulders as a brace and he seems to lean more into your touch eagerly. As he shifts to put more of his weight into you, you naturally let your hands travel to accommodate, leaving no resistance and soon, as if wanting to eliminate any space, he’s got you both falling back against the bed with your arms around his neck and him pulling you closer by your hips.

 “I haven’t kissed you at all tonight.” He says breathlessly between kissing you senseless. “I thought I was going to go crazy.”

 You let out a quiet laugh, not really understanding his dramatics but it’s hard to think properly when his lips are doing such a good job at distracting you. Jimin eventually lets his lips wander, pressing kisses to your jawline and moving downwards, keen on covering every surface of skin he can find.

 “And you had to go looking like this too. Ah really, are you trying to kill me noona…” He sucks a kiss into your neck, just below your ear and like a knee-jerk reaction, your back arches and the first sounds of a soft moan is pulled from your lips. It comes out before you realize it and immediately you feel your face become redder than a tomato, eyes widening because holy shit….

 Jimin freezes at the sound too, his ministrations halting though you can still feel his warm breath tickling against your damp skin. And then, you feel a twitch of his lips that you belatedly register as a smirk before they’re moving again on your neck. His newfound knowledge of the sensitive patch of skin lets him easily pull more breathy moans and soft whimpers from you. You’re starting to wonder who’s really trying to kill who at this point.

 Evidently, his lips were not the only thing that’s wandering. You feel the weight of the hand on your hip begin to shift, trailing down until you feel deft fingers brush your bare thighs. Your leg twitch as you freeze, startled; you completely forgot your dress had those revealing slits. Jimin stills his hand, hovering just out of reach at your reaction and he lifts his head up from kissing your collarbones to meet your gaze, worry washing away the cardinal hunger.

 “Sorry, I startled you. Do you want me to stop?”

 You take the time to gather yourself, blinking away the haze. “Ah…” You’re not sure what to say, your clearing mind giving way for self-conscious thoughts to invade. It’s not that you didn’t like it, just that you’re still testing the waters yourself with being intimate with someone after so long. But despite your obvious fumbling, Jimin is patient and considerate, always making sure you’re comfortable above everything else. 

 You can’t contain a smile at the thought.

 “What?” Jimin chuckles as he rests his hand on the mattress, the piercing grey-blue contacts he has on muted by the adoring gleam his eyes radiate; they practically drip honey.

 “Nothing…. Thank you for being so concerned, Jimin.” You say sincerely, voice quiet from not wanting to break the intimate moment that’s still lingering in the air.

 He shoots you a beaming smile, bringing up a hand to brush your hair back from your face. 

 “What are you saying? What kind of boyfriend would I be if I wasn’t?”

 Boyfriend….

 The word makes a warmth blossom in your chest, which is ironic enough because months before, the word had no meaning to you nor did you really want there to be. You remained indifferent to it. That is, until you met Jimin who’s managed to worm his way into your heart and you’ve never been more thankful. 

 “Mmm you’re right…” You grin back. 

 “Of course,” He says smugly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours, not before sneaking in a quick peck to the tip of your nose that has you giggling. “You could say you have the best boyfriend in the world.”

 You hum, biting your lip to keep another fit of giggles from coming in an attempt to play coy. But what can you say; Park Jimin is a man with his words.

 You sigh, feigning reluctance, “I guess I have no choice but to acknowledge it.”

 Jimin smiles widely to the point his eyes disappear and he has to contain his own bout of giggles. “And you’re the best girlfriend in the world.” He says, voice full of affection before kissing you. Soon though, the soft, short kisses gradually turn deeper and longer. 

 “I don’t mind…” You get out huskily before you’re completely lost in the heat of it all again. Jimin pauses, a mere breadth away to register what your words meant but when he does, his breath hitches a little. His eyes search yours as if making absolute sure, to which you offer a small smile, not looking away from him as you raise a reassuring hand to rest on his cheek.

 That’s all he needs to dive back in with renewed enthusiasm. Your senses were filled with nothing but Jimin; the feel of plush lips kissing yours swollen, the smell of his cologne, the softness of his hair as your fingers run through them and the sounds of his pants and muffled moans, all blending together into an intoxicating drug that has you wanting more.

 Like a scene repeating itself, you feel the first brush of fingers along your thigh once again, only this time; they daringly progress further until you feel the whole warmth of his palm resting on it. 

 “So soft….” Jimin breathes out, more to himself than to you, letting his hand glide slowly over the smooth skin reverently. Before you can let out a laugh, endeared by his unconscious slip of thought, he’s back to sucking kisses on your neck and down your throat and all you could do is shut your eyes and lean your head back, the sensation overwhelming.

 It only allows more access of skin for Jimin and he’s all too pleased as he brings you as close as you can, dragging your leg to wrap around his hips with a firm hand, kneading so delectably into the aching muscles. It’s getting hot, you’re getting hot, and this dress you’re wearing is starting to stick to you like a second skin uncomfortably. And on top of that, Jimin’s sweatshirt is not helping in elevating the heat; it’s just making it worse.

 But just as your hands start to tug at the fabric of Jimin’s shirt, a loud melodic chime cuts through the air. 

 You let out a loud gasp like you had been shocked, nails seizing into Jimin’s shoulder and he chokes out a groan as his attention whips to the direction of the door, body taut from the sudden interruption. After a moment though, he breathes out through his nose, deflating and then dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, blond strands of hair tickling your cheek as you let out your own breath to calm your racing heart.

 “Aish, really…. this timing…” You hear him grumbling and you had to hold back a laugh. The doorbell rings again, the incessant noise a signal that you would have to put this steamy session on hold for another time. You pat Jimin’s arm lightly and he reluctantly lets up his weight.

 “We can tell them to come back….” Jimin tries, blinking wide, puppy-dog eyes at you but you shake your head, smiling widely at him.

 “Jimin-ah I’m hungry, we need to eat.” 

 “But I already had my dinner.” 

 “Yah Park Jimin—!” You gasp, giving his shoulder a nudge, scandalized. He only doubles over laughing, tossing himself to rest beside you on the bed all squeaks and giggles. You roll your eyes playfully, getting up to make your way to the door but Jimin stops you by standing as well and grabbing your wrist.

 “It’s okay noona, I’ll get it for you.”

 “I can go get it, I’m already—“

 “No, no I’ll do it.” Jimin insists, spinning you so that you trade places before forcing you to plop back onto the bed. “A princess shouldn’t have to get up.” 

 “Princess…” You wheeze incredulously as Jimin just laughs again. You shake your head in disbelief though your lips twitch in holding back another smile. He rushes off to get the door and before long, he’s wheeling in a white-clothed table with silver serving covers. He pushes it over to where you’re sitting before he dramatically makes a show of presenting the dish like he’s a butler.

 What a goof.

 The rest of the night is pretty much spent enjoying each other’s company; Jimin talking about episodes that happened before getting on stage and meeting his other idol friends (while occasionally asking to be fed and sampling your food). The atmosphere is relaxing and you can’t help but find it a little amazing that you’re sitting here; with Jimin who’s become someone you deeply care and love. And crazier is that he’s willing to stick by you and help break out of your shell, even when you don’t know what you’re doing half the time. 

 Well, you suppose neither of you do really. 

 But you guess that’s the comfort of it all.

 -

 It’s a little past midnight by the time Jimin decided he should let you rest of the night. Ever the gentleman, he makes sure to take care of the table, rolling back outside to leave by your door before coming back in to say goodnight.

 “Make sure you don’t stay up too late, even though it’s not good to go to sleep right after you just ate.” Jimin says, stopping right in front of the door to face you.

 “I know, I gotta take off all this make-up anyways so…it’ll be a while.” You reply back nonchalantly. He makes a noise of disapproval, grasping your hand and swinging them gently between you two.

 “You’re beautiful with or without make-up, it doesn’t matter how much you got on.”

 The statement makes you laugh shyly, head tilting down in an attempts to hide the blush creeping onto your face. A hand brings it back up however and you find yourself staring up at twinkling grey-blue eyes. He smiles, tilting his head to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

 When he pulls back, he takes a moment to just stare as if he’s taking in every feature of your face, one hand cupping your cheek. You see the way his eyes wander languidly, from the tops of your head before trailing down and lingering down to your chin and neck. You see the beginnings of a smirk itching to make itself known on those full lips of his but he smoothly transitions it to be a sweet smile.

 “Goodnight, noona.” He says.

 “Sleep well, Jimin.” You reply, giving the hand you’re holding a squeeze. With one last gentle caress, Jimin reluctantly opens the door and steps out, turning back briefly to send a small wave over his shoulder. You send one back and you as slowly as you could you shut the door.

 You let out a whoosh of air, placing a hand to your pounding heart in an attempt to prevent it from actually bursting out of your chest. Your cheeks are burning, they also hurt from the wide grin on your face but you feel as giddy as a schoolgirl. 

 “Gosh, relax.” You mutter to yourself, patting your cheek as you make your way to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you search for your makeup wipes, pulling one out of the packet and as you turn to face the mirror….“Holy shit—!”

 Along one side of your neck down to the edge of your collarbone were reddish-purple bruises. You double take to make sure you’re not just seeing things but they were there all right. 

 You huff out a sigh of resignation; this is gonna be a pain in the ass to cover and only thing Jimin is gonna do is probably giggle himself to sleep tonight.

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[witch-chester]

Put on the Glamour Pt. 3

Everyone spent the day preparing for the auction. The plan was for Dean and Mariah to stay in complete view at all times while Sam and Kit snuck away to burn the heart. The brothers were checking weapons. Kit was prepping hex bags under Sam’s dark glare. Mariah was mostly on the phone with some guy named Lorenzo discussing the price of the items they were interested in. Dean was pretty sure the douche’s name was Lucas and he was just a no good thief with a suit. She seemed far to into her role. The laughing and smooth tone of her voice were unnecessary in his opinion.

Dean quickly glanced at silver linked bracelet on his wrist. It was charmed to keep Mariah from reading his thoughts. Kit had given one to him and his brother after a morning of her friend answering unspoken questions and sassy remarks to thought comments. Some how it was harder to keep the brothers’ minds blocked. Mostly him. Finally Kit was annoyed enough to help them.

Both girls were in Mariah’s bedroom at the moment, getting ready. The actual auction didn’t start till midnight, but the gala to show off the collection was at ten. They had been in there for two hours now. After a firm reminder from Kit to not to touch anything they had been left to their own devices. Now both of them were dressed and waiting for the females to hurry up.

“How long does it take to put on a dress?” Sam complained.

“Ask Mariah.” Kit strutted out not in a gown but a very fitted black satin suit. The blazer was open with only was looked like a black and red lace bra like top underneath. Her eyes were all smoke and fire and her lips had been slicked with a deep almost black maroon. Dean nodded. “You clean up nice, Kit.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Dean just chuckled. Over the past twenty four hours they had gotten used to her abrasive humor. Nothing was to be taken personally since she was just as aggressive towards Mariah. Sometimes even more. “Interesting choice of outfit though.”

She shrugged. “I can’t really fight a ghost in a dress. Plus I leave all that fem fetal shit to Mariah. I rather just punch someone.”

Sam laughed. “I’m actually starting to like you Kit.”

“Not my goal but I guess.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Where’s Mariah? We need to head out.”

“She’s putting on her feet torturing devices.”

Dean fussed with the bow tie Mariah had insisted on. He was used to wearing suits when acting like FBI but a tuxedo was a completely different level of uncomfortable.

“Oh stop fussing, Winchester.” Dean turned at Mariah’s voice. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. The dress was emerald silk and clung to her every curve until it flared into a short train just below her knees. The neckline was cut to follows the curve of her chest with straps that hugged her shoulders. Her hair was down but the curls more tight than the normal waves. Her eyes were heavily lined with a dust of green and gold. Her mouth was still her usual deep red that made his head spin.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

Dean cleared his throat. “No. Now we can get going.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so gruff. Her dark brown eye narrowed for a moment then she just huffed. Probably annoyed that his mind was now closed to her.

They had agreed to take both cars but with Sam riding with Kit again and Mariah with Dean. She reminded him once again of the “collector” he was poising as. A young billionaire from old money that had nothing better to do but acquire antiques and rare objects, Maxwell Van Hyre.

“You really couldn’t come up with a less douche sounding name?”

Mariah clicked her tongue. “Well I wasn’t actually planning on having my ‘boss’ show up.”

“Why did you ask for our help?” Dean glanced over at her when her asked. She turned away to stare at the window. “Like I said, it was safer for us.”

Dean scoffed. “You are both very resourceful witches. I’m sure you would have figured it out.”

“So do you not want to come?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ok then. Stop questioning me like you didn’t trust me!”

“I dodn’t trust you.” Their volume had slowly been raising till they were almost shouting. Mariah was now glaring at him and Dean saw a flash of something in her eyes from his last comment.

Mariah stared into those haunting green eyes. Neither one seemed to notice they had arrived so no one moved to get out. She tried to read his mind only to get nothing but psychic static. His stupid suppressant charm. Finally, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Then let’s get through tonight and just never see each other again since it makes you so anxious.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “I never said,” but she was already out of the car. He cursed and followed after her. Sam and Kit had already gone inside. The event was being held at a warehouse. Guess you couldn’t really rent out a hotel or something for a black market auction.

Mariah did have the decency to wait for him at the door. “Mariah,I didn’t.” She put a emerald tipper finger to his lips. “Not now. Max.” She smiled sweetly at him and linked arms.

Once inside, no one would believe that they were anywhere put royal ballroom. Walls had been added and dropped in silver and white silk that shimmered in the light from dozens of chandeliers. Servers in black vests and crips white shirts floated from person to person carrying trays full of drinks and food. At the end of the room, far to close to the entrance to the back of the football field sized steel building, was a stage covered in glass cases filled with priceless artifacts.

“Someone is extremely pompous,” Dean snarked.

“Ms. Spencer, there you are.”

Mariah turned. “Oh Lorenzo, there you are.” Dean followed her gaze to a tall golden skinned man with hair like ink and eyes like ice. Eyes that roved all over Mariah’s body, lingering on her curves far to long for Dean’s peace of mind. Why do I care?

Mariah let go of Dean’s arm and held her hand out to the man. And of course he kissed it. But now he wasn’t letting go. “I am thrilled that you made it.” His voice was smooth and turned Dean’s stomach.

Mariah smiled at him. “Of course. I told you we would be here.” She tried to delicately take her hand away but his grip was firm. She knew the real reason Lorenzo Rossi allowed her invite to his auction. Flirting was one of her best skills and it usually never bothered her to have targets look at her. But this man’s touch had her whole body feel like her skin was crawling to escape his touch.

“We?” Lorenzo asked.

Dean put his arm around her waist and tugged her into his side. “Sweetheart, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

Relieved to have her hand free, Mariah lean more closely into his side. “Of course. Mr. Rossi this is Maxwell.”

Lorenzo’s eyes cut to Dean and then to the hand on Mariah’s waist. “Yes. Your boss, am I correct.”

“Well that’s mostly for work dealings.”

What was he doing? The two of them were never meant to be more than business associates. If she was his girlfriend it would make it harder for her to be a distraction.

Lorenzo blinked. “Ah! My apologies. I was aware the two of you were a couple.”

Dean squeezed her. No enough to be painful but enough to get his message across. Stay quiet. “Can’t let everyone know you mix business and pleasure.” Dean chuckled and Lorenzo joined in, although his laugh seemed strained and annoyed.

Mariah had had enough. It was alright for her to sexually exploit herself but she wouldn’t let this Winchester use her as arm candy. “If you excuse me gentlemen, I’d like to get a drink.”

Dean once again tightened his hold but let it go. “Alright sweetheart. Don’t go to far.”

Mariah spoke through clenched teeth. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Darling.”

Dean watched her walk off. Smirked. He’d seen the fire in her eyes turn the rich brown to hot amber. She didn’t like not being in charge. To bad sweetheart.

“I can see you have exquisite in all things, not just artifacts.”

Dean turned and caught Lorenzo staring after Mariah too. Dean felt a knot form in his gut. He had told his brother that he wasn’t attracted to Mariah and he meant it, but that didn’t mean he would allow some shady asshole to gawk at her. Hell, the poor girl had been assaulted the last time he’d seen her. Twice!

Dean’s voice was dark when he spoke. “Thank you. Although Ms. Spencer will always be my greatest treasure.”

The man’s ice blue eyes flashed then narrowed. “Well she is one of a kind.” He sipped his drink. “Be careful not to lose her.” He walked off before Dean could respond. Arrogant prick.

Dean searched the crowd. His brother was no where to be found. Most likely already trying to get the jar with Kit. He tried to spot the voluptuous brunette but her small height has him straining his eyes through the crowd of people. Finally he caught a glimpse of emerald silk.

She was now on the stage with several other guests gazing at the items behind the glass. He recognized the figure beside her as Kit. That was strange. Her and Sam has wanted to stay out of public eye as much as possible. Standing in the middle of the stage was not helping.

He weaves in and out and finally made it to the stage. The jar didn’t seem to be on display yet, which was the only explanation for Kit’s presents. “Am I interrupting?”

He meant it as a joke. But the flash of panic in both their eyes caught his attention. “What’s wrong?” He asked

“Nothing you need to worry about, hot stuff,” Kit replied. She sauntered off before he could question her. His eyes focused back on his “date”.

“Something you want to share?” he asked dryly.

“It really is nothing,” assured Mariah.

“You know for someone who wants trust, you act very untrustworthy.”

Those brown eyes flashed gold again. “I’ve given you plenty examples of why you should trust me. You just only see the few bad ones.”

The sound of a microphone turning on cut off his response. “Ladies and gentlemen! The auction will now begin.”

Dean took a long look at Mariah. Held out his hand. “Show time sweetheart.”

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