THE WAITER'S - CHAPTER 4: RIVALRY

THE WAITER'S - CHAPTER 4: RIVALRY

🍵 Is it too strong? 🍵

💕Pairing: Jimin x Reader x Jungkook

✏️Genre/au: Angst, Romance, Slice of life with some action, Smut

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Word count: 4169

⚠️Chapter warnings: possessiveness, jealousy, rivalry, provocations

<<<Chapter 3 | Main list | Chapter 5>>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~W~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wait inside the pitch dark common area of the bathroom getting near the door to listen to what's going on outside. Hearing the door of the next bathroom close, then the silence. You take it as your chance to get out, but as soon as you open the door you notice a silhouette standing against the frame of the broom closet with his arms crossed over his chest. The green emergency light above the door sets the mood for feeling caught red-handed.

Guilt is written on your face and the corner of Taehyung's lips moves up in a slight smirk, showing amusement of sorts, before he walks away. You are left shocked and worried by his attitude when you realise he hasn’t called you out for inappropriate public behaviour and he was there only to confirm a suspicion. The thought that Jimin might get to know what just happened unsettles you, even if you know you don't owe him anything.

However, there’s a certain fear that he might refuse to see you after finding out about this bathroom affair, due to how frowned upon this kind of behaviour is. Maybe, he follows the monogamous mindset that floods this society, where sleeping with two men is not even considered an option. That same attitude Jungkook has had in the bathroom, the one that says 'only mine, even if we are not together' kind of thing.

You know, or at least remember, how Jungkook used to be. When it comes to Jimin, you are blindfolded with lots of what-ifs tinkering in your head. He is a mystery, something you want to explore, a book you have read the summary of, but is yet to be open and maybe is that same curiosity that Jungkook has felt. Maybe, just the inevitable attraction is what has made Jungkook feel the need to show off like that.

You make your way back to the table before Jungkook and find out the room has been lit with candles, an impressive amount of them. It's incredibly romantic and you see the group taking pictures of each other, combined and alone. You are greeted effusively by Sofie, and her new generation phone with more lenses than you ever thought a phone needed, who offers to take a photoshoot of you, using those exact words. Your concern, however, isn't that she’ll be taking pictures of you but that you might still show signs of your transgressions.

She doesn’t point out anything as she comes closer to show you the results of her work, but you can tell something is up when she stands next to you and keeps the glance a little bit longer on you. They are good-good but you think it’s due to her talent, not to your own beauty since pictures in this kind of light can be pretty difficult.

Somehow, Jungkook has managed to get himself to look perfect once again, without a single sign of what has transpired, but when he is offered to be taken pictures of and he takes off his jacket, you feel like you might get your shirt just as damp as he had not many minutes before. He poses like a model, without any sort of shyness and you hear Namjoon and Seokjin teasing him as if they were somewhere in the background when Jungkook cracks out of character in that bunny smile he used to wear.

The corner of your own lips going up and threatening to show a smile as you look at him makes you snap back to reality and focus your attention on the purple orchid at your side, the only plant in the garden with such vibrant colour. Back in time they were popular amongst royalty and wealthy but nowadays they mean gratitude and respect, so you wonder if the fact that it doesn’t match the rest of the flowers is because it’s a gift. The thought is interrupted when Namjoon approaches you to suggest you sit down, like everyone is starting to do and you take the chance to thank him for the invitation.

“It wouldn’t make sense not to invite you, sweetheart. Even if these things are not your cup of tea,” he expresses, touching your arm affectionately as you walk away to your seat.

As if he had been waiting again, Jimin starts to bring in the carts for desserts and coffee, Eunbyeol has the courtesy to take them in order to pass them around and Jimin is about to head back in when the power returns. He smiles to himself and stays just a second enough for Namjoon to refer to him.

“Jimin waiter-nim, I would like to tell my appreciation to the chef before we leave. We loved it,” he speaks as the head of the table. The smile on Jimin widens and to you with all the whites and soft colours around, the lights and the candles, he looks like an angel. One could never guess the way he moved between the sheets, looking so sweet and dedicated in his apron.

“Wait for the desserts, Kim patron-nim, they are also of his making,” he says with candour in his voice and you feel warmness in your chest for how proud he is of his friend. Making sure no one has detected your momentarily infatuation, you see the same smile printed on Hoseok’s lips as he raises the written paper to make his choice and you don’t see the blonde angel leave.

He comes in later, in the middle of an adventure telling from Seokjin’s lips that has Namjoon blushing with shyness. Apparently, Namjoon had a terrible crush on Eunbyeol for a long time before he found the courage to approach her and when he did, he teared up when she accepted to go on a date with him. Eunbyeol knew about this but the other girls were bags of awws to that memory. He notes down the orders with his eyes exchanging glances with the person speaking to him, but you just can’t seem to focus on the menu, glancing over it constantly to see his pretty handwriting the words quickly escape you. When he looks at you expectantly it gets you by surprise and you have to clear up your throat to find your voice.

“I would like some honey bread, please.”

He nods and gives you a small smile, maybe lingering a second too long on the stare before flicking his pen and walking once more inside the main restaurant. Your hand went straight to your drink as soon as he turned around and you caught Jungkook giving you an expressionless glance, before he focused on the conversation that had araised.

This time you knew what they were talking about, you had been there, but you knew another side of it because you were making out with Jungkook right before it happened. He gives you a second glance and one of the corners of his lips curves momentarily up before shifting his focus again.

You remember your lips were locking with his in one of the rooms of his fraternity as the party boiled in the whole building. Summer was near and so was the end of the semester. People were especially eager to celebrate the end of the exams and the alcohol was running around excessively. Jungkook couldn’t hold himself any longer, throwing looks at you across the room like he was going to come over at any moment and kiss you in front of everyone. So you took the wise decision to move upstairs to use the bathroom and maybe stay away from the crowd, or so you said to Yuuki, who was with you that day.

You didn't even make it to the bathroom before being pulled into a bedroom where jk hovered over you, pressing your back against the wall, and closing the door with his feet. The rooms weren’t supposed to be intruded and by far everyone was following the norm but you just didn’t know where to hide for him to get his way and be calm for the rest of the party.

The sounds of muffled moans coming from the next room, however, confirmed that you weren’t the only ones to be sneaky and mischievous and as you got distracted, looking towards the wall where the sound came from, he attacked your neck.

“Missed you so much… Fucking hated these exams….” he muttered against your skin in between open mouthed nibbles.

You used your hands on his jaw to move him from the dangerous path his lips were tracing and his hands pulling you against his hard body accompanied. Your lips were hungry for each other and his tongue entered your mouth immediately, breaths faltering quickly. “Kookie, we gotta slow down–” you told him in between your lips before he kept it going.

“Don’t worry, I just want to feel you a little–” he interrupted himself, latching on you again, grabbing on the flesh of your hips. Then the crowd outside starts to get noisy and you hear people running in a panic through the corridor to the stairs, making you separate.

When you stoped hearing noise in the hallway, you both came out of the room and walked down the stairs separately. Yuuki shouted at you through the people and signaled to follow her. Like that, she got you away from the fraternity before the fire fighters arrived to the scene.

As it turned out, someone had the brilliant idea of throwing fireworks near a vandalised tree with roll paper in it, the explanations weren’t necessary but some of the guys had to speak with the authorities that night and apparently, Seokjin was one of them.

“I just thank my parents never knew that happened. They would have disowned me!” he says, exaggerating and provoking everyone to laugh with him.

The storytelling doesn’t end there but you stop participating for a second to check on Jimin, who's bringing desert and you see it; Jungkook looks defiantly at him, only for Jimin to ignore it completely, focused on doing his job diligently. However, when he leaves your plate, his forearm brushes the surface of your own purposely, before he looks towards Jungkook. That simple touch, a successful provocation because he huffs air through his nose and snarls before looking around the winter garden, as if trying to control himself.

Jimin gives you a smile when you look up to him after Jungkook’s reaction, having missed Jimin’s glare, and you reciprocate politely. At the chance, he offers you more whipped cream, while putting a hand on your back, indiscreetly and you accept it, without moving an inch, wanting even the slightest touch.

Then you sense tension and look towards Jungkook without moving your head. His dark eyes are set on where Jimin’s hand is resting before they move to meet yours and your skin raises in goosebumps. Still, you don’t move until Jimin’s hand leaves your back and you hear him offer Yuuki some whipped cream too, seeing him move from the corner of your eye but keeping your vision towards Jungkook, who you see use his tongue over his molars inside his mouth, showing to be upset, before he wipes his lips from the sweet puffy desert. Distracted spontaneously by Seokjin, he turns his head, as he is asked about how he feels in his new position. The smile he offers to his elder, is stained, never reaching his eyes.

“Lot’s of responsibilities but I love it and it gives me the income and freedom I need to settle down,” he tells him. ‘Settle down’ your brain doesn’t need a second thought to know what he means. There you almost gasp when you feel Sofie’s hand over your thigh and look at her before she leans to whisper in your ear.

“What’s with the waiter and Jungkook?”

You doubt for a second when she leans back but have a taste of your honey bread and make the wrong gesture when picking up your Omija tea so it falls straight on Sofie’s black and white striped trousers. You apologise immediately and drag her to the bathroom with the excuse to clean the stain before it settles, taking your stain pen and all. You do, however, make the pen work.

As soon as you have made sure the bathroom is empty, you go straight to the point, “Jimin, is the guy I slept with two weeks ago and I think Jungkook can smell something is up,” you tell her as you bend one knee to rub the pen against the first white stripe.

“The fuck??” she let’s out, moving backwards, making you pull her closer by the thigh to keep working with the magic pen. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she says, sounding more offended than nosey.

“You know me–” you say, looking up from your position.

“So you weren’t gonna tell me you and Jeon Jungkook had sex when the lights went off either.” Your eyes go wide and she smirks from her superior position. “You know me, I catch onto that shit,” she says. You suddenly stand.

“So you knew about Jimin,” you tell her.

“I knew you liked him because you have been quite obvious,” your eyes bulge again. “At least for me,” you then relax, squatting to keep sliding the pen over the stripes. “But I think nobody has noticed about the sex, although you both glow like damn lanterns.” She points out and you lower your head to cover your eyes with one hand in a frustrated gesture. You realise in that precise moment that your legs are not getting tired of your position because you are out of shape, you are not, but because that’s what having vigorous sex with him is, a constant reminder on your body. “So, what are you going to do now?”

“For the moment, I’m seeing Jimin tonight,” to that reply, Sofie’s jaw drops and then she wheezes with wide eyes, losing it.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

“What? It’s not like I have to compromise with any of them, right?”

“That’s right, you don’t. But, what about the too good you used before? What about leaving his house because of that?” she questions, while you go back to work on the stain. “Most important, what about the way Jungkook was looking at Jimin?”

“I’ll keep it casual, no feelings involved, and, what about that?” you respond as if you weren’t aware that ignoring feelings was simply not going to happen for you.

“He looked so–possessive,” she mentions in a lower tone, giving you a concerned look.

“I’m no one’s nothing, as I said. I don’t owe him exclusivity,” you expose, more for yourself than anything. The words said during sex, before he came, resonating in your head. ‘What you say during sex, isn’t supposed to be taken seriously, right?’ you tell yourself.

“Are you sure he knows that?” she questions. “I mean, not like you need to go tell him you’re seeing someone else, but has he said you were a thing or pointed it out?” The words sound again but you ignore them. “Like, the way he looked at Jimin–”

“Yeah,I know. I guess I’ll need to talk with him at some point,” you say sternly, weighing for a second how to even approach the subject, “Not today though,” you sigh, deciding to leave that for another moment, since you weren’t going to be alone with him any time soon.

“Was he good?” her question gets you off guard and she smirks cheekily at you. You smile at yourself and stand, rubbing your neck, feeling the tickling memory of his lips over your skin.

“He knows what he does to me,“ you admit, looking away into the mirror. Sofie is right, your skin looks brighter.

“Uuuhh–”

“It’s as if time has not passed for us. It’s comfortable, intense,” you think about his roughness, the way he has poured himself in the action. The words he’s needed you to say in order to reach his own release. He’s jealous. He was trying to show you he knows how to please you, what he can do to your body.

He definitely knows you’ve slept with Jimin. How? You can only guess. But if there’s one thing that Jeon Jungkook can’t stand, it's losing.

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🍵 Oupsieee! 🍵

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Let me know your thoughts and reblog if you liked it. There's other 7 more writen already, so stay tuned for the next one! See you in Tuesday 27th!

I want to thank once more, @moonleeai for the beta work 💜

vocal line zero oclock stages → for @userjungkook97

🤣🤣🤣🤣

The Divine Comedy is legit so funny because it really is just this self-insert, self-aggrandizing Bible fanfiction where Dante thought himself such a big deal that he wrote how he could walk out of hell unabated by meeting his favorite dead authors and historical figures because they thought he was so cool and constantly reminded him how good his poems were, and then years later it just became part of Christian theology even though it's basically the My Immortal of its time lmaooooo

red flag | pjm x reader

⚓ summary: jimin is ready to bail on the worst vacation of his life. he's been abandoned by his best friend and rejected by the most intriguing woman on this cruise. but then things turn around. or do they?

⚓ pairing: richboy!jimin x mystery!reader

⚓ genre: strangers to enemies to lovers to potential plaintiff and defendant & extra smutty smut

⚓ warnings: um, this is kind of unhinged? i think i broke the record i set in airplane, pt. 2 for dirty words. reader is a wild ride, jimin is delightfully oblivious to danger right in front of his face. clueless cruise ship employees. a seasick child. all of jimin's plans blow up in his face like the bugs bunny cartoons. jimin gets third-wheeled into the sun. i probably owe park jimin a hearfelt apology card after this. i'm sorry, i love you park jimin.

⚓ word count: 10K

⚓ notes: who posts a summer vacation cruise fic in january? someone who's very, very late to an important date 🤣 pretty please pretend everyone in this fic is wearing a winter coat. this is my contribution to the seven seas collab hosted by the wonderful @ressjeon and with the lovely @jjksblackgf @cremeandsuga @writtenwhalien @erotikkook @hisunshiine 💕

most importantly, this would not have been possible without the amazing @vyduan @miscelunaaa and @hobi-gif who all lent me their precious time, eyeballs and expertise. you guys are amazing 💕

Park Jimin is pissed.

This is the second time Hoseok has ghosted him in three days. Jung had been the one to rope him into this cruise in the first place and now he’s ditched him to start hooking up with one of the performers on board. So Hobi’s off getting laid while Jimin is stuck wandering this ship solo, reduced to fighting retirees for the best lounge chairs and dodging kids with runny noses at the buffet all by himself. 

The only thing saving their years-long friendship is the view. 

Jimin steps out onto the Lido deck and drinks in the postcard-perfect panorama of Saint Tropez. Row after row of charming pastel houses rise up from the hillside in the distance; the water that laps at the coastline is so blue it almost glows. All things considered, there are definitely shittier places to have a bad time.

But that doesn’t mean Jimin intends to let Hoseok off the hook anytime soon.

So he walks over to the railing to snap a picture with the French Riviera’s crown jewel as his backdrop. He checks his phone to see how it turned out, pleased with the way the sunlight sets off the golden tan he’s already acquired. The middle finger adds a nice touch, too.

He wastes no time in firing the picture off in a text.

jimin: ur a dick [ 3:03 PM ] 

Satisfied, Jimin pockets his phone and sets off in search of something to do.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Booze seems as good a solution as any to the boredom.

Jimin slides into an empty stool at the bar, orders a drink and proceeds to zone out to the live music for a while. He’s three drinks and one surprisingly techno rendition of Margaritaville deep by the time you show up, shouldering into the space beside him in a way that stops just short of rude.

“Grey Goose gimlet, please. On the rocks.”

Jimin turns his head at the sound of your voice and proceeds to give you a long look from behind his mirrored aviators. 

The reflective, high-shine lenses conceal the way his eyes travel the entire length of your body – from the bronzed length of your legs to the tops of your sun-kissed thighs to the soft skin that disappears into the bodice of your sundress.

“If you want a picture, just ask for one.”

Or maybe they don’t. 

Jimin coughs into his hand to cover the embarrassed laugh you startle from him. The alcohol hits him all at once, impairing his ability to come up with a plausible excuse for staring. Instead, he chokes out the first thing that pops into his watery brain.

“Sorry, I – thought I recognized you.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

You cut your eyes at him as you reach for the drink the bartender slides your way. “But you tried, I suppose. I’ll give it a “C” for effort.”

“That’s pretty harsh, don’t you think? It was “B” level work, at the very least.”

You ignore him – look right past him! – and shoot the bartender a sunny smile. The man is more than happy to return it with one of his own, and just as quick to accept the generous tip you extend in one perfectly-manicured hand. 

“Sorry,” you say at last, as though you’ve only just remembered Jimin’s been sitting there this entire time, speaking to you. “But I’m not in the business of rewarding mediocrity.”

Jimin leans back in his stool and chuckles under his breath, rankled by the airy way in which you’ve dressed him down but determined not to let it show. 

You hide a smirk behind your glass as you take a sip of your drink, which from what Jimin can tell is basically straight vodka with a hint of lime. He’s known you for all of thirty seconds and the cocktail seems fitting – strong and tart.

He should probably tuck the loss you’ve handed him into his shirt pocket and call it a night, but he’s intrigued. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to him all week.

“So I won’t get a pass for bad manners,” he reasons with a smile. “Fair enough. At least tell me your name so I’ll know who to apologize to.”

You laugh. A bright, happy laugh that lights up your entire face and like a sucker Jimin lets himself believe that he’s broken through, that he’s charmed you. 

“Sorry again,” you say once you collect yourself, turning to leave and throwing a glance at him over your shoulder. “But I’m not in the business of giving my name out to strangers, either.”

Jimin is so dumbfounded he doesn’t even have the presence of mind to fully appreciate your ass as you’re walking away. He just sits there, brows knit in confusion as you disappear into the crowd in the distance. 

“Sir?”

The bartender’s voice penetrates Jimin’s sluggish brain and he blinks.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted another drink,” the bartender explains, with more than a little hint of amusement on his face. Jimin reddens, wondering how much of the exchange this guy has managed to overhear. 

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll take another. Make this one a double.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Jimin is not an arrogant man, not really. But it’s safe to say he’s used to eliciting a certain kind of reaction from women – and it’s definitely not the reaction he managed to elicit from you. 

He’s spent the last few days analyzing the entire encounter, stewing over it, running down everything he said and did and imagining all the ways he could have said and done them differently.

He wants a do-over, dammit. 

That’s why he’s spent the last few days absentmindedly touring Cannes, scanning the crowds in the streets for any sign of your dark hair and bronzed skin. Doing a double-take when any woman with fantastic legs or a fitted sundress walks by. 

Where’s Waldo-ing for you, it turns out, is not a bad distraction. 

It sure as hell beats sitting through another brunch with Hoseok and his new paramour, watching them suck face right in front of his Eggs Benedict. Hobi looks like he’s barely eaten since taking up fucking as a full-time job. At this point, all it will take is one strong gust of wind to blow that man right off into the Mediterranean.

At any rate, Jimin is determined to find you — and after six days, he finally does. Not that he’s counting. 

The ship is bound for Portofino when he spots you lounging by the pool, looking every bit the part of an Italian socialite in your glamorous oversized straw hat and massive designer sunglasses. You’re so absorbed in the glossy magazine in your hands that you don’t notice Jimin’s approach until he’s standing right in front of your deck chair.

You look up, pretty mouth instantly pulling into a scowl.

“You again.”

“Me again,” Jimin confirms, grinning.

You set your magazine down with a huff and set to rummaging inside the large bag beside your chair. Jimin watches you produce a cell phone, which you point at him right away.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking pictures. Gathering evidence for Interpol. So they’ll know who to look for if my body ends up in pieces, in boxes, floating in the sea. Could you turn your face a bit to the left for me?”

Jimin chuckles under his breath but for some reason complies, giving you a clear shot of his profile.

“That’s… grim.”

“That’s life. Any distinguishing marks or tattoos?”

“A few,” Jimin demurs, eyeing the empty chair next to yours. “Is this seat taken?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before flopping down heavily onto it, stretching out his legs and folding his arms behind his head. You’re wearing a chic vintage swimsuit that Jimin would love to get a better look at, but when his eyes fall to the glistening tops of your tits he yanks them back like a child caught reaching for a hot stove. You won’t catch him slipping again.

“I can’t help but feel we got off on the wrong foot the other day,” he says with an easy smile. “I’d sure hate to leave things like that.”

“Did you know that statistically, the most dangerous place a woman can be is in the company of a man? More dangerous than car accidents, natural disasters, and heart disease. Full legal name and date of birth?”

You have the most disarming way of pretending you don’t even hear Jimin when he speaks. And if this were the first time he’d met you, he might be intimidated by the ploy.

But not today. Today he’s come ready to play.

“You don’t like me. You’ve made that very clear. What I can’t seem to work out is why. What do you find so offensive about a man you don’t even know?”

You remove your sunglasses slowly, dark eyes glinting as they connect with his.

“But I do know you,” you insist with a disquieting smile. “You’re the guy on a cruise wearing Chanel shorts and a Balenciaga t-shirt and Gucci loafers. You’re the guy who grew up with foreign nannies and went to a fancy boarding school and spent his summers at some five-star resort. You’re probably in finance now – mid-level management with an eye on the executive suite, naturally. Friday night happy hours at an overpriced bar and a standing golf date with the boss every Saturday. Did I miss anything?”

“I golf on Sundays, I’ll have you know.” Jimin corrects, miffed. 

That pretty mouth of yours curves into a self-satisfied smile as you reach for your magazine and start to leaf through the pages again. Jimin snatches it right out of your hands. 

“Are you always this forward?” he challenges.

“Are you always this hard-headed?” you snap, snatching the magazine right back. “Are you so used to women falling at your feet that you can’t fathom the existence of one who won’t?”

“There’s a difference between falling at someone’s feet and having the social skills of an angry housecat,” Jimin retorts, getting to his feet to tower over your deck chair. “I’m headed to the Game deck to play mini-putt and I was going to invite you. But I won’t now. Because you’re not very nice.”

“I’ll do my best to pick myself up and move on,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Now, scram. You’re standing in my sunlight and I pride myself on having an even tan.”

Jimin is not one to stay where he’s not wanted, so he does scram. But not before tearing the magazine from your hands just one last time. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Jimin is heated – and only partially on account of the hot tub. 

Never once has he been so thoroughly rejected – so wholly dismissed – by anyone in his entire life. It’s not like he expects to be adored by everyone who crosses his path, but people like him, dammit. 

Most people, anyway.

Something brushes against him under the water and Jimin jerks his leg back, glaring at Hoseok. Jung is too busy eating his girlfriend’s face to notice. One of his hands hasn’t surfaced in the last ten minutes and Jimin’s got at least one decent guess about where it is and what it’s doing. 

He coughs.

“Just a friendly reminder that there’s not enough chlorine in here to kill – ” he pauses to make a face, “ – bodily fluids.”

“What’s that, man?” Hoseok asks, briefly breaking suction long enough to turn his head. He’s panting like he’s just run a race.

“Never mind,” Jimin grumbles, climbing out of the hot tub. 

He doesn’t bother drying off before slipping his feet into his Gucci loafers, the very pair you clowned him for sporting just this afternoon. It’s a hell of a way to treat a $900 dollar pair of shoes, but he can’t stomach another minute of the PDA. It’ll be P-in-V before long and Jimin is not keen on getting a front-row seat. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he says, grabbing his phone and towel.

No one answers back. The lovers are already attached at the face again. Only this time both of Hoseok’s hands are nowhere to be seen.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

After two days of touring and eating his way through Portofino, the ship sets sail for Rome. 

Jimin is listless, restless; more than a little puffy from 48 straight hours of eating his bodyweight in handmade pasta. 

He stares at the activity schedule on his phone, scanning and eliminating each available option one by one. He hasn’t played ping-pong since he was ten years old. He’s got about forty years to go before he ages into the shuffleboard bracket. And he’d sooner throw himself off the side of this boat than ever be caught line dancing.

He’s about to give up on finding something to do when he spots you making your way across the deck. The neckline of your dress is low and the heels on your feet are high and as promised, the tan you wear from head to toe is very, very even.

This – he decides – will do.

So he follows you. Down the stairs that connect the Promenade deck to the Entertainment deck, across a particularly slippery section of the marble floor and around one poorly-placed potted plant he barely manages to clear while rounding a corner. He follows the sound of your clicking heels all the way down a brightly-lit hall until he watches you walk into the ship’s casino.

You settle down in front of a slot machine and flag down a passing cocktail server. 

Jimin’s never thought of himself as a masochist, not really. But here he is – after you’ve already repeatedly kicked him in the dick – bracing for impact just one more time.

“If you’re trying to make the case that you’re not a creep, you’re not doing yourself any favors,” you say, without so much as glancing his way. Jimin watches you feed a bill into the machine and pull the lever. The animated fruit on the screen spin and then stop, and you’re rewarded with a smattering of tokens. 

He slides into the seat in front of the machine next to yours and pulls out his wallet.

“I’m not a creep,” Jimin shrugs, sliding a bill into his own machine and pulling the lever. The digital display spins for a while before coming to a stop and declaring Game Over. “I’m just determined to make you like me, is all.”

You turn to him with a look of pity.

“Oh, honey. You don’t have any friends, do you? That’s why you’re always wandering around here like a lost child.” You feed another bill into your machine, pull the lever and Jimin watches more tokens spill into the tray below.

“Of course I have friends,” Jimin mutters, putting another bill into his machine. He pulls the lever and the display spins again, tiny animated fruit popping up on his screen one by one. 

Orange, banana, apple. Game Over.

The cocktail server comes by with a tray of cherry-colored shot glasses and proceeds to hand you one. You accept it with a dazzling smile.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly. “Would you mind bringing this man a drink as well?” You lean close to the server, voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. “He doesn’t have any friends.”

“I have friends,” Jimin insists, a little too loudly. He clears his throat, sheepish as he adds, “And I’ll take a Manhattan, thanks.”

The cocktail server looks bemused, gaze bouncing back and forth as though she’s trying to figure out what to make of the bizarre dynamic she’s just stumbled upon. She smiles carefully at Jimin before saying, “Certainly, sir,” and then stepping away.

“I have friends, you infuriating woman,” Jimin hisses, the moment she’s out of earshot. “And that’s rich coming from you, anyway. Where are all your friends, huh?”

“Right over there.” You wave a hand in the direction of a group of women standing at a nearby craps table. They’re a rowdy bunch – tipsy and boisterous, and it takes Jimin a second to realize the cocktail server who’s just stopped by is now handing each their own cherry-colored shot glass. You wait until everyone has their drinks then raise yours for a toast. All follow suit.

“Congratulations, darling!” you exclaim, drawing the eyes of nearly everyone in the room. “The most beautiful bride on the Mediterranean!”

The other women cheer and then you’re all moving in unison, tipping your chins up and throwing your drinks back. You drain the glass and then sink down into your seat, tongue swiping at the remnants of liquor on your lips. Jimin’s dick twitches in his pants.

“She’s getting married at the stop in Santorini,” you explain, smile going a bit dreamy at the prospect of a Greek wedding. But the expression sours as you turn back to him. “You’re not invited, of course.”

“I’m not?” Jimin feigns shock, clasping a hand over his chest. The server passes by once more and he plucks his cocktail off her tray, taking a long drink as you watch him, eyes narrowed. “I thought that’s what this whole charade of yours was all about. Buy me drinks, butter me up, beg me to be your plus-one.”

There’s something devious about the slow smile that comes over you.

“You’re funny,” you laugh, grabbing your clutch purse. “And I’m off to powder my nose.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

What’s left of the ice in Jimin’s drink is little more than a sad, watery mess now. He sits there for a while watching the pale brown liquid swirl around the bottom of his glass, hesitant to accept defeat. Again.

“Would you like another, sir?”

Jimin looks up at the sound of the cocktail server’s gentle inquiry.

“She’s not coming back, is she?”

“I don’t think so,” she admits, tone sympathetic like she’s talking to a kid with a skinned knee. “No, that is. I’m pretty sure she’s not.”

The tips of Jimin’s ears flame with embarrassment as he sets his glass down on the table next to his slot machine. 

“Then I’m all good on the drinks, thanks,” he says, making to leave. He’s only a few steps away from the cocktail server before she’s calling out to him again.

“Sir?”  

Jimin turns around.  “Yes?”

“Well, it’s just that – there’s the matter of your bill,” the server explains, flushing a bit as she hands Jimin a thin black book containing the check. 

“What bill?” he wonders out loud like a dope, eyes going wide when he cracks the book open and his eyes fall to the bold numbers printed at the bottom. “$300 dollars?!”

Give or minus a little, but it’s all there in black and white. Thirteen Red Snapper shots with tiny, mocking dollar signs printed next to each one to indicate the top shelf upcharge. And at the very bottom of the list, one laughably cheap Manhattan.

The server coughs. “Also, I should point out that gratuity is not included.”

Jimin sighs and pulls out his wallet.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Jimin returns to his room to find the door to his cabin wide open, a metal dining cart blocking the entrance. He frowns as he pushes it aside and squeezes through the narrow space he’s made.

Once inside, he finds a crew member standing over his bed, artfully arranging rose petals in the shape of a heart on his sheets. The man startles when Jimin clears his throat.

“Oh, so sorry, sir! I was just putting the finishing touches on the package you requested. I’ll be out of your way in just a moment.”

“I didn’t order a package,” Jimin growls, taking note of the champagne bottles chilling at his bedside and the platter of chocolate-covered strawberries on the nightstand. The receipt from the bar is still burning a hole in his pocket and a light goes off in his head.

“Did she send you?”

“Don’t think it was a lady?” The man pats the front pocket of his uniform vest before reaching into it to produce a small piece of paper. “Says right here – One True Love’s Kiss package with a chocolate strawberry add-on. Requested by Mr. Jung.”

Jimin grits his teeth. “Wrong cabin. The guy you’re looking for is next door.”

“Ah!” The man exclaims, squinting at the paper despite the reading glasses perched on his head. “You’re right, I read the number wrong. So sorry about that. I’ll be out of your way just as soon as I can get cleaned up here.”

Jimin stands there and watches the man painstakingly pluck each rose petal from the sheets and break down the standing bottle chiller. He’s just about to walk past with the chocolate strawberries when Jimin stops him.

“Those stay with me,” Jimin says, tugging the platter out of the man’s hands. The crew member’s eyes go wide with shock. He looks ready to protest, but Jimin cuts him off, jamming one of the strawberries into his mouth before the man can ask for the platter back. He speaks around the messy mouthful of chocolate. “Consider it a convenience fee.”

“Oh. Well. As you wish, sir.”  

The man leaves, albeit a bit flustered, and the moment his cart clears the threshold, Jimin slams the door shut. 

Then he sets off in search of his earplugs.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

“There’s a lot of tension in your shoulders,” the massage therapist notes, her freakishly strong hands kneading at a knot high on Jimin’s back. He hisses as the sore muscle stretches beneath her sturdy palms. “Feels like you’re carrying around a lot of stress.”

Jimin snorts into his chin rest, the black padding vibrating against his face. 

Stress is far too benign a term to describe what he’s feeling at this point. What he’s harboring now, three weeks into the cruise that never fucking ends, is skirting dangerously close to aggression. 

Every time he closes his eyes he sees your smirking, striking face; hears your dulcet, mocking laughter. 

He winces when the therapist presses an elbow into his lower back. She takes note of his sharp exhale in response. “Just relax as best you can,” she directs, refusing to let off the pressure. “A little pain now and a lot of relief later, I promise.”

Relief. What a novel concept. If you’d asked Jimin just a week ago what might bring him some relief, he’d probably say getting laid. Now, he thinks he’d get just as much sexual satisfaction from getting even.

When the therapist is finally done working him over, Jimin limps his way back to his room and heads straight for the shared hot tub on the deck between his and Hoseok’s cabins. He growls under his breath when he finds a pair of bright red bikini bottoms draped over the side.

He snatches the wet garment up, stretching the elastic wide as he points it towards Hoseok’s cabin door and launches it like a homemade slingshot.

It hits the glass with a satisfying thump.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

hoseok: come hang out on the game deck with us [ 7:03 PM ] 

Jimin rolls his eyes at the notification that flashes on his phone and tosses it onto the bed. He turns his attention back to the matter at hand; a thorough and critical assessment of his current ensemble. He likes what he sees reflected back in the room’s full length mirror. The Gucci belt plays well off his chinos, the collared Burberry shirt is cut slim just like he likes. 

But something is still missing.

Jimin crosses the room and cracks open the safe in his closet. Carefully, he fishes out his favorite Cartier bracelet, pausing for a moment to appreciate the way the gold sparkles in the light. He secures it around his wrist and steps back in front of the mirror to look at himself just one more time. There, now. Perfect.

But now he’s all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

Jimin grabs his phone off the bed and brings up Hoseok’s text, tonguing his cheek as he considers his next move. There’s no good reason to beg off, not really – Hobi already knows he’s got shit else to do. So Jimin might as well suck it up and go. Even if it means he’ll probably be stuck at some bar in an hour, watching those two go third base. He sighs and types out a reply.

jimin: yeah sure man meet you in 10 [ 7:09 PM ] 

⚓⚓⚓⚓

It actually takes Jimin twenty minutes to make his way up to the Game deck, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt for making Hoseok wait. He takes his time about touring the Sweet Night’s many offerings, weaving in and out of the crowds as he takes in all the ship’s bells and whistles.

There’s laser tag theaters, golf simulators, surfing machines – even a rock-climbing wall. But what really catches Jimin’s eye is a gleaming circular track that loops high above the ship. Metal gondolas suspended from the track spin around in circles, giving riders a stunning 360° view of the ocean. One look at that attraction and Jimin immediately has two thoughts. 

First: that it looks fun as hell. Second: that Hoseok will absolutely fucking hate it.

“We should do that next,” Jimin suggests casually, pointing to the sky as one of the gondolas passes by overhead. “Looks fun.” 

Behind him, Hoseok starts to choke on a mouthful of snack mix. Jimin chuckles under his breath as he bends his knees and then swings – lines clean, arms straight. His golf ball sails off the tee and hits the net with satisfying speed.

“I’m game,” Hobi’s girlfriend says, accepting the driver from Jimin with a smile. “I’ve been wanting to try it for ages. What do you say, babe?”

Jimin reaches for his beer and turns to Hoseok with a smirk. “Yeah. What do you say, babe?”

Hoseok shoots him a look that could peel paint.

“I know you’re only just getting to know Hoseok here, but he’s quite the thrill-seeker.” Jimin presses on, unfazed by Hoseok’s murderous glare. “Loves speed, loves heights. The faster, the higher, the better.”

Hoseok cranes his neck to watch as his girl takes her shot, the ball flying off the tee with impressive accuracy. “Nice shot, babe!” he calls out, dropping his voice to a whisper when he turns back to Jimin. “You are a terrible fucking person.”

Jimin grins.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

The SkyRide is far and away the most popular attraction on the Sweet Night.

The lines to board it wrap around three times over which means the wait to ride well exceeds an hour. Jimin passes the time by taunting an increasingly ashen Hoseok and fucking around on his phone. 

He’s enjoying himself – perhaps more than he has at any other time on this godforsaken cruise – when they finally reach the front of the line and the guy routing passengers throws a wrench in Jimin’s good time.

“You by yourself?” he calls out, in a voice far louder than necessary. The tips of Jimin’s ears heat.

“No,” he grumbles. “I’m with them.” 

He gestures vaguely in the direction of Hoseok, who’s been staving off a full-blown panic attack for the last ten minutes by wrapping himself around his girl like a starfish. She’s practically had to carry the man for the last 15 minutes. 

The guy shakes his head.

“Two to a gondola only. If you wanna ride, you’re gonna have to go with the rest of the single riders.” He points to a separate group of people waiting at the front – some old, some young. All waiting to be paired with a stranger. Jimin shudders.

“Can’t I just ride by myself?”

“Sir, do you see how long this line is?” the man fires back. “No one rides by themselves. You get a partner or you don’t get a ride.”

“Oh, that sucks bro,” Hoseok says, perking up at the prospect of an out. “But I’m willing to sacrifice and let you ride in my place.”

“Not a chance,” Jimin says quickly, unwilling to let Hobi wriggle out of this arrangement. “It’s going to be so romantic up there, Hoseok. No way I would ruin that moment for the two of you.” He turns to leave, but pauses to turn back and pat Hoseok’s cheek.

“See you up there, big guy!”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

“I don’t feel too good, mister.”

Jimin groans under his breath and shifts in his seat. The kid strapped in beside him can’t be more than 12 years old and he looks sticky, his unkempt hair matted to his head with sweat as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Closing your eyes is gonna make it worse,” Jimin grumbles. “You need to find a fixed point and stare at it.”

“I can’t. I’m gonna be sick.”

Jimin drags a hand down his face. “Keep doing the breathing thing I showed you. In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

“I’m trying,” the kid whines, huffing and puffing with all the vigor of a woman in labor. 

The kid is trying, Jimin will give him that. But he’s up against shitty odds. Everything on this goddamn boat is spinning — the gondola turns in its own slow circles while the track turns them in even slower, larger ones. Jimin figures he’s probably got three good minutes before this kid is puking up half-digested pieces of hot dogs and crinkle fries.

“We’ve got half the loop left,” Jimin says. “You make it off this ride without throwing up and I swear to God, I’ll give you a thousand dollars. You want a thousand dollars, right? That’ll buy a lot of baseball cards.”

The kid doesn’t answer, and it’s not because he realizes Jimin has lowballed the offer. It’s because he’s got both hands clasped over his mouth now. Jimin grimaces.

“Sixty more seconds, kid. That’s it. You can do it.”

The kid stares back at him, wide-eyed with panic, knuckles going white with effort. The gondolas start to decelerate and Jimin maintains eye contact with the kid, coaching him through it.

“We’re almost out of here. Thirty seconds and you’ll be back on solid ground. You with me?”

The kid keeps staring.

“You’re with me right?”

The kid keeps staring.

“Two thousand dollars,” Jimin insists, sensing how dire the situation has become. “That’ll buy you sneakers and hoodies and all the ice cream you want. Your kid sister will shit herself with envy.”

Mercifully, the gondolas slow to a complete stop and begin their descent. There’s just a few more feet and seconds between Jimin and freedom now. All he’s gotta do is get out of this metal cage the second it hits the ground. 

A short eternity later, it lands with a soft bounce. 

Jimin jerks his seatbelt off and immediately tries the door handle, which clicks but does not open. The hydraulic lock has not yet been deactivated, which means he’s trapped in this godforsaken gondola with this kid for just a minute longer. He makes the mistake of looking over at the boy, who still has his clammy little hands clasped over his mouth.

“We made it, kid.” Jimin reassures him, trying to door handle again to no avail. “All good. No more spin – ”

The kid detonates like a grenade.

He pukes so violently that vomit sprays out from between his fingers, liquid shooting out of his stupid little face like a putrid little geyser. Jimin barely has time to shield his eyes, let alone his shirt and pants. The kid keeps puking, heaving over and over until all of the contents of his stomach have been emptied directly onto Jimin’s shirt and chinos. Then he’s sniffling, tears threatening as Jimin stares at him in shock.

The hydraulic doors click. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Karma has never come so hard and so fast for Park Jimin. 

One moment he’s flying high — quite literally — enjoying a petty little swipe at his soon-to-be former best friend. And the very next, he’s sitting at a snack bar plucking chunks of bread off his dress shirt with napkins. 

Nothing could make this vacation suck more. Nothing.

“You must tell me what scent you’re wearing. I can’t pinpoint it. It’s giving… peanut butter and jelly?”

Well, nothing except for that. Jimin’s eyes snap up at the sound of your voice. 

“You,” he hisses. 

“Me,” you confirm with a sly smile. You give him a slow once over, mirth in your expression as you assess the state of his shirt and pants. 

“Can’t say I blame the kid,” you shrug, sunlight playing off your bronzed collarbones as you casually set fire to what’s left of Jimin’s dignity. “I feel the same way about Burberry prêt-à-porter. Very pedestrian.”

Jimin glares at you as he balls up the soggy napkins and tosses them in the trash. 

“You sure seem to know a lot about fashion for a woman who hates rich boys.”

You laugh and to Jimin’s ears, the sound is like ten thousand nails scraping down ten thousand chalkboards. He can’t do this with you right now. He hates everyone and everything.

“If you’re here to try and dunk on my misery, don’t bother,” he mutters. “I’m already having the shittiest vacation in history. Not even you could make it worse.”

You open your mouth to – protest? Accept the challenge? But Jimin holds up a hand to silence you.

“I’m done. Out. Off this ship and on the first flight home as soon as it docks at the next port. Find someone else to torture, you harpy.”

And with that, Jimin turns his back on you to leave. Something wet slides down his leg and into his sock and his stomach lurches. 

His shoes squeak the entire time he’s walking back to his room.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Jimin wipes a section of the mirror clear of steam and stares at his reflection.

His entire body is pink. Slashes of deeper pink and red streak across his arms and chest,  evidence of the almost violent head-to-toe scrub down he gave himself upon return to his room. His clothing – every last piece of it – now lies in the belly of the ship, thrown down a trash chute the very moment he was able to peel it off.

The ship is due to dock in Palermo in three days and Jimin has every intention of walking off this boat and never walking onto another. He’s got shit to do: logistics to look over, a flight to buy, a ride to the airport to arrange. He’s running down his mental checklist when a knock sounds at the door. 

Then another. And another. 

Jimin swears under his breath as he ties a towel around his hips and stalks off towards the door. He rips it open, fully prepared to tell Hoseok exactly where to go and how. 

But it’s you – holding a bottle of champagne.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What do you want?” he demands. “Here to push me into a locker? Steal my lunch money?”

“Sir, I am offended,” you say, clutching your chest. “I’m here to make nice. Apologize, even.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” you insist with an angelic smile. “I’m offering you an olive branch. So take it.” You thrust the bottle of champagne at Jimin and he snatches it out of your hands, glaring back.

“You owe me 300 bucks.”

“Do I?” you deflect, sweeping past him so fluidly that before Jimin realizes what’s going on, you’re already inside his room. You take a quick look around before dropping onto his couch like you own the joint. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Jimin grumbles, inexplicably allowing the door to close behind him without telling you to leave. He holds the champagne bottle in both hands as if at any moment, he’ll be forced to wield it as a weapon.

“I suppose I can’t blame you for being a little weary of me,” you confess. “I will admit that I have been terribly rude.”

“What’s behind the sudden change of heart? Lobotomy?”

“Funny,” you smirk, waving a hand at the champagne. “You have glasses for that or should I call for some?”

“No, you weirdo. I’m not drinking champagne with an insane woman who just forced herself into my cabin. I’m half-naked, you realize?”

Jimin’s not the only one who’s half-naked, but he omits that observation. The diaphanous halter dress you’re wearing bares your shoulders and those sumptuous legs of yours. Beneath the towel his dick stirs, just a little – cautiously – like it, too, cannot believe what it’s seeing.

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed,” you say coyly, leaning back on the couch and allowing your dress to ride up your thighs. “I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed when you said you were going to leave the cruise early. I thought we might have a bit of fun before you go.”

“Fun?” Jimin echoes dumbly. 

“Fun,” you repeat with a wink.

Jimin drags a hand down his face. Under any other circumstance, he wouldn’t think twice about accepting a proposition from a gorgeous half-dressed woman bearing alcohol. Maybe this is kismet – the universe’s way of setting things right when everything else on this cruise has gone so horrible wrong.

He looks down at the bottle of champagne in his hand. 

“One drink,” he concedes. “One.”

You smile. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Champagne, it turns out, packs quite a punch. Delivers a weird kind of buzz, too.

Jimin feels like he’s floating by the time the two of you finish the first bottle – so much so that it doesn’t faze him when you move gradually closer or when you call room service to charge two more bottles to the suite. The booze makes him warm and loose all over and when you lean over the table to top off his glass, he has to look. It simply cannot be helped.

And you catch him, of course, again. 

Only this time there is no indignation or cutting remark in return. His gaze slowly wanders up the curve of your neck until it finally lands on your face to find your mouth twisted playfully, one brow lifted high.

“You play poker?” you ask.

“A bit,” Jimin demurs. 

“Perfect. Do you have any cards?”

“Who packs a deck of cards to go on a cruise?”

You roll your eyes at him, reaching for the phone once again and ringing room service once again. It takes a steward three minutes flat to show up at Jimin’s door with a fresh deck of cards in hand. In that time, you’ve managed to pop open the second bottle, the carbonation fizzing over the top of the glass when your pour goes a little sloppy.

“Oops,” you exclaim coquettishly, dragging a fingertip through the liquid sliding down the side of the glass. You slip it into your mouth and make a big show of sucking the champagne clear off. Jimin is fully dressed now, thank God – but his freshly-pressed poplin pajama pants don’t offer any more protection than his towel did. 

“So we’ve got cards,” he starts, voice cracking. He clears his throat and starts again. “And I intend to get my 300 dollars back.”

“Oh, please,” you tease, eyes glittering with mischief. “We’re not playing for money. I only go high stakes. I’m talking strip poker here.”

Well, shit. Suddenly Jimin’s dick is not the only thing looking up. 

He’s the Annual Guy’s Camping Trip Poker Champion, four years running. It wouldn’t take him more than a couple of hands to get a good look at what you’ve got beneath that bodice, that skirt. A couple more after that to have you completely au naturel. 

The salacious thoughts have Jimin getting ahead of himself. He allows his eyes to wander down the curve of your neck, across the soft slope of your decolletage, into the valley of your breasts. 

“You gonna shuffle or you gonna stare?”

Jimin rips his gaze off your tits, fully expecting to have his metaphorical hand slapped. But there’s no outrage or irritation in your expression this time. Quite the opposite, in fact. It might be the champagne, but Jimin could almost swear you look pleased.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Jimin argues, shuffling the deck. You drink idly from the flute in your hand as you watch the fluid motion of his hands, seemingly impressed with his skill. “Just trying to buy you a bit more time before you have to take that pretty dress off. You’re probably going to catch a chill.”

You smile – lacquered pink lips pulling back to reveal perfect white teeth in a way that would be terrifying if Jimin wasn’t already a little tipsy. At this point, his brain is refusing to hear any of the naysaying and his dick isn’t helping matters, either. Both are telling Jimin to go for it. 

You turn over the third bottle of champagne to top off your flute and then his. 

“Go ahead then,” you say, cutting your eyes at him as you tip the glass back for a drink. “Deal.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Something is off. Way off.

Jimin’s been dealt good cards – great cards, even. Plenty of face cards and a few Aces and several high-ranking pairs. But for some reason, your cards are better. 

Four hands in and the only thing you’ve slipped out of is your high heels, whereas Jimin is down to nothing more than his boxers. He’s been divested of his shirt, his pants, even his jewelry so there’s nothing left to lose. This is it.

He licks his lips and deals the last card, turning it over on the table between you. 

10 of Clubs.

It’s the card he’s been waiting for because he’s already holding on to four clubs. That’s a straight, and a straight is a good hand – a great hand, even. But for some reason, your hand is even better. 

“Full house.”

Jimin watches in disbelief as you lay down another 10 and three 9s. Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” he says incredulously, staring at the cards as he lays down what is now an inferior, losing hand. “You sharked me. From the very beginning. You’ve got to be like – a professional player or something?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you say. “Maybe I’ll tell you my secret sometime. But for now,” you wave a hand in the direction of Jimin’s thin boxers,”I believe it’s time for those things to go.”

Jimin jerks up from the chair and glares down at you as he quickly shucks his boxers. His dick – that dick – springs up from beneath the elastic already at half-mast. 

You raise a brow. 

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Whatever material your dress is made of is a hell of a lot scratchier than it looks. 

Jimin knows this because you’re sitting in his lap now – legs draped over his – every tiny little move you make generating an uncomfortable friction. You seem to realize it too, eyes sparkling with mischief as you move your hips.

“You’re going to scrub my dick raw with that dress,” Jimin grumbles.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say airily, grinding down to put pressure on his engorged cock, just to make a point. “Kind of seems like you like it.”

He growls.

“That’s what I thought,” you say, satisfied. You lean in to him – toy with him – let the soft mounds of your breasts hover near his mouth. Jimin refuses to take the bait and looks up at you, eyes narrowed. 

“What’s your game?”

“What’s yours?” you return. “Not poker, clearly.”

His chuckle in response is a little hoarse, given the tits in his face and the wetness he can now feel seeping through your panties. Your lips graze the shell of his ear and he shudders.

“See, I think I already know what your game is,” you murmur, mouth traveling down the curve of his neck, tongue teasing the sensitive skin along the way. “I think you’re a sucker for punishment.” 

You sink your teeth into his shoulder and bite. Hard.

“Shit!” Jimin swears, recoiling so hard that he nearly throws you both off the chair. He claps a hand over the sore skin and scowls at you. “What the fuck was that for, you hellion?”’

“I thought you liked it a little rough,” you protest, doe-eyed with feigned innocence. You reach behind your head to untie the halter around your neck. It goes shapeless and then falls forward, freeing your gorgeous tits. “Don’t you?”

Jimin would tell you off, but his stiff dick gives him away. You’ve barely touched him and he’s already teetering on the edge, cock pulsing when you reach beneath your skirt to wrap your fingers around it. You give it a squeeze and Jimin breaks into a cold sweat.

“You pull out a whip and I’m throwing you out of here,” he warns.

You laugh, sliding your fingers through the moisture gathered at the tip of his cock before making a show of bringing them to your mouth and sucking them one by one. Jimin nearly blows his load right then and there. 

On second thought, maybe a whip doesn’t sound that bad.

“Oh, please. Those happy hour girls must be boring you to tears,” you say, taking one of Jimin’s hands and guiding it beneath your dress. You push the damp material of your panties aside and Jimin drags a tortured breath through his teeth when you press his fingers to your slit. “All those Lilly Pulitzer dresses and brunch dates and tiny dogs. I’d be a little pent up, too.”

Jimin might roll his eyes if they weren’t already rolling into the back of his head. You’re already so damned wet. He sinks one finger into you and then quickly adds a second, balls tightening when you move your hips to grind against the heel of his palm.

“I hope you have protection,” you say, nipping at the corner of his mouth.

Damn, Jimin hopes so, too. Because if he finds out Hobi’s stolen his stash for one of his marathon fuck sessions, Jimin will have to commit actual murder. He’ll strangle the man to death with his bare hands.

“I’ll find some,” he vows, groaning when you run your tongue against the seam of his lips.

You climb out of his lap and let your dress fall completely away, now standing before him in nothing but a pair of wet, flimsy panties. Jimin’s dick practically jumps out of his lap to join you.

“Go on then,” you say, turning your back to throw a saucy look over your shoulder on your way to his bed. “I’ll be waiting.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

It’s pretty wild how quickly one’s luck can change.

One minute, Jimin’s on the cruise from hell, walking around with some random kid’s vomit in his shoes and the next, he’s face-deep in the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen. That’s a hell of a redemption arc. 

“Harder,” you demand, hips bucking.

You’re sure as hell not shy about spelling out exactly what you want and Jimin is sure as hell going to give it to you. After all the shots you’ve taken at his his lifestyle and his personality and his fucking shoes, he’s damned well determined to be the best lay you’ve ever had. At this point, it’s a matter of personal pride.

“More,” you gasp, yanking his hair.

So he gives you more. He crooks two fingers inside you and tongues your clit until you’re squirming, thighs clamping around his head like a vise. Fuck, your thighs are strong. You must do a shit ton of Pilates.

“Don’t stop,” you say. “I’m gonna come.”

Jimin won’t stop because making you come is probably the only way he’s going to be able to breathe. He’d love to talk dirty to you right now – tell you all about how wet you are, how good you taste – but you’ve got him in a goddamn death grip, legs wrapped around his face like a bandage.

“That’s it, that’s it, that’s it,” you chant, tugging at his hair hard enough to make tears spring to the corners of his eyes. “I’m so close.”

If Jimin blacks out between your thighs, it will be a hell of a story for the paramedics. But you save him from any such embarrassing medical emergency by coming loudly – spectacularly – all over his face.

“Holy shit,” you sigh, basking in your post-peak glow while Jimin rolls over and waits to get his wind back. Those last few seconds were a little dicey. He might have been seeing stars at the end there.

You crawl down the bed to meet Jimin at the site of his collapse.

“I hope you’re not worn out already,” you tease, hitching a leg over his and taking his aching cock into one hand. “We’re just getting started here. Aren’t you up for it?”

Jimin’s cock is ready to go even if his lungs are not. It’s flushed, leaking, throbbing in your grip. And he hasn’t backed down from a single one of your challenges yet and certainly doesn’t intend to start now.

“Let’s go, sweetheart,” he wheezes. “Do your worst.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Your worst, it turns out, begins with an earnest attempt to suck Jimin’s soul out of his body through his dick. 

He barely survives the sixty seconds? Thirty minutes? you’re sucking him off, white-knuckling the sheets while you’re working him over with an intensity he’s never experienced before. You use every tool at your disposal – hands and teeth and tongue – and bring him to the brink in seconds, forcing Jimin to spend the duration of the Best Blowjob Ever™️ staring at the ceiling and counting backwards from 100.

But the mind-bending blowjob is, of course, just an appetizer. 

The main course is spread out before him now, hot and wet and ready. Jimin fumbles with the plastic packet in his hands when you walk your fingers down your belly and slide them into your cunt. Fuck, he’s had a lot of champagne. When did they start making these so hard to open?

“Need some help with that?” you taunt, not bothering to wait for an answer as you grab the condom right out of his hands. 

You open it with enviable speed and sheath his dick in a flash. Jimin – forever one step behind you – doesn’t even realize he’s lost control of the situation until he’s on his back and you’re lining his dick up with your wet entrance.

“Bossy, aren’t you?” Jimin grumbles, hissing when you drop your hips to sink the first inch.

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” you purr, burying him to the hilt and leaning forward to put your lips to his ear. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeing something you want and taking it.”

And Jimin is going to let you have it. Whatever it is. 

Your cunt is so snug and warm that he’d curl up and take a nap in it if he could. It’s so wet that it’s enough to make him forget that you’ve been torturing him for much of this cruise. And that you’re probably a little unstable.

“Goddamn,” he pants, catching one of your nipples in his mouth and tonguing it until it stiffens. “You feel so fucking good.”

“I know, right?” 

Jimin chuckles under his breath. You talk a lot of shit, but you’ve got the goods to back it up. The proof is in the pussy wrapped around him, milking him to within an inch of his life. Credit where credit is due, after all.

You start riding him faster, rougher, grinding into him as you suck bruises into his neck. Jimin picks up the pace to match your energy, sweat beading at his temples. “Harder,” you gasp, digging your nails into his arms. “Fuck me harder.”

Jimin follows directions. He jerks his slim hips up to meet each one of your thrusts down, pounding into you as hard as he can. And you love it – if the way you throw your head back and moan is any indication. Jimin gets to enjoy the sight of you going wild on his cock right up to the moment you reach down to steady yourself, planting your hands on his legs and digging your fingernails into his thighs.

“Shit,” he croaks, jerking hard enough to throw the entire rhythm off. But you stay at him like a champion bull rider, thighs pinning him in place as you bounce up and down and scrape angry red lines down his legs at the very same time.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you cry out, folding in on him. You press your mouth to his in a messy kiss, breaking it only to sink your teeth into his shoulder. The pain sends a jolt of sensation straight to Jimin’s cock, which is already fit to burst. He grits his teeth and fights back against the pressure building in his balls.

Jimin’s not sure if it will be his dick or his heart, but something’s going to give and soon. Out of desperation, he snakes a hand between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb, teasing it until you start to shake.

“Oh, shit I’m co – ”

Whatever you say next is drowned out by the rushing in Jimin’s ears as his poor, abused dick finally blows. His entire body convulses as pangs of sensation shoot up his shaft, dick pulsing inside you for what feels like an eternity before it twitches pitifully and then stills.

You collapse onto Jimin, cheeks flushed with exertion and smile fondly as you push the damp hair out of his face. Then you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, the gesture misleadingly tender. 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, rich boy,” you tease, running a fingertip over the indent you’ve left in his shoulder. “Ready to go again?”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

Jimin wakes up with a dry mouth and a sore dick.

You’re gone – which does not come as a surprise to him. At no point during the absolute thrashing he took last night did you ever strike him as a cuddler. But he does find it odd that not only have you vanished, but so has any trace of last night’s debauchery. 

No champagne bottles, no dirty glasses, no pack of cards. His room is pristine.

Jimin ponders that as he shuffles his way to the bathroom. On the way to piss, he passes by the mirror and does a double-take at his own reflection. You’ve left your marks all over him – from the reddish welt at the corner of his mouth to the bruises that form a line down his neck to the nail marks on his chest. He looks less like he got laid last night and more like he got laid out. He kind of feels that way, too.

But it’s nothing a few painkillers and a hot shower can’t fix.

So Jimin throws back a few Ibuprofen, sets the shower to scalding and steps in. He zones out under the steady spray of hot water, enjoying the way it beats down on his tender muscles. And by the time he cuts the faucet off and reaches for a towel, he feels almost normal. Almost.

He sets off in search of pants and a freshly-pressed shirt and considers his next move.

Before last night, he’d planned to make a run for it as soon as the ship docked within a swimmable distance of dry land. But now – well, now he’s had the most aggressive, most satisfying sex of his entire life. At this point, he’s willing to suck it up and stick it out here in order to get the chance to have that kind of sex again. It would be well worth paying for a few extra massage appointments.

Jimin opts for a Givenchy button-down with long sleeves. It’ll be a bitch in the heat, but it covers the litany of scratches you’ve left up and down his arms. It’s one thing to get a little kinky behind closed doors and quite another to draw stares from the little old ladies in the buffet line. Jimin likes to be noticed, sure, but that’s not the attention he’s trying to attract.

And he’ll need to be accessorized, of course. A strong piece of jewelry can make or break an ensemble and Park Jimin knows how to style a proper ensemble. Even if he’s not feeling his best, he can certainly look his best and dammit, that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

So he walks to his closet to open his safe. And then stands there for a while, just staring inside.

It’s empty.

Well nearly, save for his wallet and passport. The Cartier bracelets, the David Yurman necklaces, the Bulgari cufflinks, the Audemars Piguet watch, all gone. Jimin jams his hand inside to feel around it just to be sure – just so he’ll know for sure that his eyes aren’t deceiving him.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with seeing something you want and taking it.”

Your honeyed words from last night come back to him in that moment. The ones you’d said as you’d been fucking him. All the time knowing you’d had plans to fuck him again. Right now. Jimin stands in front of that empty safe until the shock becomes anger, and the anger gives way to white hot rage.

You fucking witch.

⚓⚓⚓⚓

The security guards seated in front of Jimin look like they got their uniforms mixed up in the wash.

The first man, a round fellow, looks like a balloon animal with the way he’s stuffed into his naval whites. The embroidered patch on his breast that bears the cruise ship’s logo is lifting around the edges, the threads threatening to give way. The man seated beside him is painfully thin but his uniform billows around his midsection like a scarecrow. The sleeves dangle low on his spaghetti arms.

Jimin hates them both.

“I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” the big man sighs. “There’s thousands of passengers on this ship. This lady could be anywhere.”

“We’re in the middle of the goddamned ocean here,” Jimin hisses. “She’s on this goddamned boat. This shouldn’t be this hard.”

“Well, the information you’ve given us isn’t exactly useful,” the thin man chimes in, looking over his handwritten notes with a raised brow. “Dark hair, tan skin, great legs. You want me to put out a bulletin for a passenger with great legs?”

“I want you to find her,” Jimin scowls. “What about the wedding party I told you about? The Santorini bride? That’s who she’s here with.”

The big man clears his throat. “About that. I spoke to the people in that party. And they do remember seeing you with a lady at the casino, but they told me they’d never met her before. She was just a stranger who bought them some drinks.”

But of course they have no idea who you are. You are a con, this whole thing has been a con and Jimin played right into your hands from the very beginning. You fucking witch.

“I bought them some drinks,” Jimin corrects, not bothering to elaborate when the men exchange a look of confusion. “But that’s not the fucking point. I need you to find her. And if you can’t, then I want your bosses to find her. And if they can’t, I want goddamned Interpol to find her.”

“No offense sir,” the thin man says, rankled by Jimin’s temper. “But I’m sure Interpol has much more important matters to attend to. They don’t have time to chase down – ” he pauses to look at his notes, “Bulgoni earrings.”

“Bulgari.” Jimin slams a hand down on the table, apoplectic at this point. “Bulgari cufflinks. Custom made, you caveman.” He jumps out of his chair and gives both men a look withering enough to peel paint. “Get on the phone and get me someone who recognizes fine jewelry and knows how to do their job. Now.”

⚓⚓⚓⚓

THREE MONTHS LATER

Jimin leaves the department store, gift box swinging with a comforting weight inside the store’s fancy logo bag. This purchase marks the end of a dark chapter, the diamond bracelet inside the final piece to complete his collection. Again.

You never did turn up. 

It eats at Jimin, the thought of you out there somewhere, batting your eyelashes at some new sucker who has no idea he’s about to be robbed blind. Against all reason, he looks for you at bars, restaurants, sporting events — anywhere there is a crowd. He’ll never stop hoping for the chance to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck. 

His phone dings with a notification and he pulls it out of his pocket with his free hand, eyes narrowing as he reads the text. 

hoseok: hey man, you ski, right? i’ve got a line on this amazing winter lodge in the alps. what do you say to a week on the slopes? Don’t worry about getting back to me right away, we have two months to book [6:03 PM ]

Jimin isn’t worried about getting back to Hoseok right away. Not at all. He already knows his answer.

jimin: fuck you [ 6:04 PM ] 

thank you so much for reading my unhinged story! if you liked it, a reblog is much appreciated -- and if you want to talk about it, you can find me here 💕

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saw this on twitter rn, if you ever feel discouraged about writing fanfiction, read this again

PSA Regarding Hateful Anons

Tumblr recently made it a requirement for you to be logged in to send asks anonymously. If you receive a hateful ask, don’t publish it - report it to Tumblr. It can be traced back to the user that sent it and with enough reports that person’s account will be suspended.

Share to raise awareness but also to make the clowns who think this behaviour is acceptable think twice before acting brave behind the guise of invisibility.