Friday couldn’t come fast enough. But it was finally here. You’d been on a lot of dates before, so you didn’t understand why you were nervous.
He was gorgeous in his photos, but what if he was a catfish and he was ugly IRL? That was impossible. For a man that looked as ethereal as Jimin did, being ugly wasn’t in his vocabulary.
Your friends told you to meet them at the fair. So that’s where you told Jimin to meet you. You were lowkey panicking.
Snap out of it, this is a MAN. No need to be nervous around a man when your only life goal was to continue to contribute to the male loneliness epidemic.
You snapped out of it and stood by one of the fair tents waiting for him. You had intentionally dressed bummy today—you didn’t feel like putting in any effort to meet him, and the only thing you were doing tonight was convincing your friends that you had a boyfriend so they could leave you alone.
“You decided not to dress the part, I see?” You heard a smooth voice say from behind you.
You snapped your head around to see Jimin walking towards you, flashing a smile.
God, the reviews weren’t lying. This man was beautiful. He was the type of man that would make any gender fall in love with him. You kept your composure anyway. You had to remind yourself that this was just a temporary transaction until you were in the clear to be happily single.
You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t feel like it. I see you overdressed.” You shot back, looking down at his outfit.
“You noticed what I was wearing though, didn’t you?”
You rolled your eyes again. He was sassy as fuck. You HATED that.
“Well, obviously I would, since you’re standing in front of me.”
He chuckled, stepping closer to you. “Maybe I just wanted to look good for you.” He winked.
Ew. EW. You were not gonna let this man get you out of character. Wasn’t happening.
“Please. No need to try. I don’t like you.” You gave him a dry look.
“You don’t? Damn. At least you’re thinking about me.”
This man was cocky as fuck and it got on your nerves. He wasn’t even here for five whole minutes and you were already regretting every choice that brought you here.
“I’m thinking about how aggravating you are, really.” You scoffed.
“Still thinking about me.” He smirked at you.
You shivered in pure disgust. “Save your flirting for when my friends actually get here.”
Before he could fire back, you heard your name being yelled across the crowded fairgrounds. Oh thank fuck. They were here and you could hurry and get this nightmare over with so you could go back home and continue House of Dragons.
You turned and spotted your friends walking towards you. Jimin looked over at them, then at you.
“Are those your friends?”
“Yes, they’re the whole reason why your ass is here.”
“Right.”
“Don’t overdo the boyfriend thing. Don’t say anything weird, just act normal.”
He smiled, unbothered. “You’re bossy.”
Gag. You wanted to gag. The thought of this man flirting with you disgusted you to your core. Although it was technically in his job description, it sent shivers down your spine.
“Just act normal. I don’t trust you enough not to make this weird.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but your friends were already approaching. One of them looked between you two and gasped.
“Is this him? Your boyfriend?”
You forced a smile. “Yup.”
Jimin smiled and threw his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side before flashing a smile and introducing himself to your friends. Your friend looked at you, then back at him, then back at you.
“You didn’t tell me he was fucking gorgeous.”
“I didn’t think that detail was important.”
Jimin looked down at you, winking. “Come on, baby, that was important.”
You looked up at him with a death glare. But he just smiled.
“How long have you been dating?” your friend asked.
You began to speak, but Jimin cut you off, improvising a whole background story on the spot as your friends asked questions. He did it so smoothly, even you almost bought it.
After questioning Jimin, your friends began to disperse around the fair, dragging their boyfriends along and leaving you and Jimin trailing behind. Your brain completely clocked out.
Oh fuck.
You realized you hadn’t planned ahead. You didn’t plan any activities. You figured you’d just show him off to your friends to shut them up and then bail. That was the entire plan. You hadn’t actually thought about what would happen after they saw him.
Your friends started walking towards the food stands with their boyfriends, as you let out a heavy sigh and followed behind them. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Instead of being home and rubbing your feet together like the original plan called for, you were stuck with the man you were paying to pretend to be your boyfriend.
“You don’t seem very excited for our first date.” He teased, pulling you closer to his side.
“It’s not a date.” You hissed under your breath, glaring daggers at the passing couples carrying giant stuffed teddy bears they won at the game booth.
Ew. The amount of love that was in the air was repulsive. You were still just as ready to go home as you were before.
“We’re at a fair together, that sounds like a date to me.” He pointed out smoothly, dropping his chin down to look at your sour expression.
“Well, that’s because I’m paying you, smartass. I didn’t pay you to be Romeo and me Juliet.” You let out a heavy sigh, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.
He tightened his arm around your waist as you walked, abruptly stopping at a game booth with the giant stuffed animals. He smirked and looked down at you.
“Want me to win you one?”
“No. I don’t want it.” He shook his head, ignoring you.
“This is a date, isn’t it right for your boyfriend to win you a prize?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Temporary. You are my temporary boyfriend. Never forget that.”
He just flashed a smile again. “I’m gonna win you something anyway.” He said before releasing you and stepping up to the counter.
You groaned and followed behind him, watching him as he began playing. He was surprisingly good at this, but you expected it because that was his hustle. You just wanted to go home. You didn’t plan on being trapped here for more than an hour.
House of Dragons was more important.
You could care less about impressing your friends, but you wanted to because you were sick and tired of watching your friends and their boyfriends eat each other’s faces off in front of you. You wanted to throw up in their faces, honestly.
Love was disgusting, men were even worse. Your last relationship was a special kind of hell. He was bad at everything INCLUDING sex. And worst of all, he wasn’t even loyal. He fucked anything that walked. And you meant ANYTHING walking.
“Here.” Jimin’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
You blinked, looking up to see him approaching with a huge stuffed elephant. You glared at the elephant, then at him.
“I told you I didn’t want your crusty prize.”
He shoved the elephant in your arms anyway and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “It’s for you. So when you look at the stuffie, you can think of me.”
You never wanted more than to just kick him where the sun doesn’t shine more than you did right now.
“Or you can just save it for the next person naive enough to fall for you. That doesn’t seem like a bad idea,” you retorted sarcastically. You hated that he kept trying to make you feel queasy, and it made you cringe hard.
“I won it for you, so you keep it.” He wasn’t gonna let up. Defeated, you finally gave in.
“Fine. As soon as I get home, that’s going in the closet and it will never see the light of day again.” You flashed a fake smile.
He just shrugged. “As long as you took it, that was enough for me.” He slung his arm back around your waist, guiding you towards the Ferris wheel.
The Ferris wheel. You’d seen people get proposed to up there. You’d seen people have their first kisses there. To you, the Ferris wheel was cursed with love. And you hated it with a passion.
“No. Go by yourself.” You snapped, stopping in your tracks and glaring at him.
“Why? Are you scared of heights?”
You shook your head.
“No, not scared. I just don’t wanna go.”
You treated the Ferris wheel like it had the cooties all over every single inch of it. Which it did. In every corny romance movie you’d seen, almost every character fell in love at the top of a Ferris wheel. And you refused to let yourself be one of those characters.
“All of your friends are getting on, so why don’t we?”
You scoffed. “That’s because my friends are in relationships and they are disgustingly in love. WE,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, “are not in love. We are not in a relationship.”
He looked at you completely unfazed. “You’re paying me to be here. I might as well make it worth your while so you can get your money’s worth, huh?” He winked.
Every time he did that, you wanted to throw up so hard.
“I’m already regretting my life decisions and what led up to this exact moment right now, actually. So making it worth my while? Save that.”
He just laughed and continued to drag you along with him.
“Come on, baby, let’s give them a show at least before we leave.”
You never wanted to fucking drop-kick a man as much as you wanted to drop-kick Jimin right now. You specifically told him not to overdo the boyfriend thing, but here he was proceeding to overdo it anyway. Make it worth your while, your ass. This was nowhere near thrilling. Nor was this what you planned.
He continued to the long line at the Ferris wheel, getting in the queue. The line went fast. You zoned out during that time you were standing there, not realizing it was your turn to get on until it was too late.
Before you could bolt, he pulled his arm from your shoulders and grabbed your hand, pulling you up the stairs to get into the car. He sat you down next to him. You shot him a death glare and scooted as far into the corner of the car as you could, looking out the window.
You should’ve run. You could’ve avoided this altogether.
The Ferris wheel began turning, and the higher it climbed, the more you wanted to open the door and hurl yourself out.
“It’s not that bad,” Jimin said, laughing softly.
You rolled your eyes, not even glaring at him. You both sat in silence as the Ferris wheel quietly rotated around. You looked down through the glass to see your friends watching you from the ground below.
Suddenly, you felt a breath close behind your ear. In your peripheral vision, you saw Jimin’s head, his eyes locking onto yours. He leaned in close and before you could dodge away, you felt his lips against your cheek.
Your eyes widened.
“I told you we’d give them a show, didn’t I?”
You looked at him and saw him looking down at you with a smirk.
There was nothing in this world you wanted more than to kill him. But you forced yourself to remember he was just doing his job. No matter how much you despised every second of it, you had to bear it. You did pay him to do this, after all.
You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh. You flashed a fake smile at him.
“I think we’ve convinced them enough now, thanks.”
The Ferris wheel finally reached the bottom. The second the car stopped, you practically jumped out.
“Thank God,” you muttered, stepping onto the platform. The torture was finally over. You were finally ready to go home.
Jimin followed behind you.
“You really hated that?”
“Every single second of it, honestly.”
You spotted your friends waiting near the exit and immediately headed towards them, hoping and praying to the universe that they were ready to leave.
Instead, they immediately pointed toward the exit parking lot, but not to go home.
“We should all go bowling after this.”
Your fake smile dropped. You slowly turned towards Jimin. He was already looking at you with that stupid smile.
“Bowling?”
Your friend nodded. “There’s a place not too far from here.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but Jimin beat you to it.
“That sounds fun.”
He stood next to you, securely wrapping his arm around your waist. You clutched the giant elephant stuffie tight.
You slowly looked up at him.
This fucking man.
You had come here with one goal. To convince your friends you had a living, breathing boyfriend, go home, rub your feet together, and binge House of Dragons in peace. Somehow, you’d managed to accomplish the first part and completely fuck up everything else.
You looked down at the elephant. Then at Jimin.
You hated it here.
The bowling alley was packed when you walked in, the sound of pins crashing echoing through the building.
You already hated how this night was going, and you thought it couldn’t get any worse. But unfortunately, the universe loved to prove you wrong.
You thought your friends would just meet Jimin, see that you had a boyfriend, and get off your ass. Not ask to hang out with said boyfriend. You were annoyed as fuck. You were already exhausted and asking yourself why you agreed to this in the first place.
One of your friends called to get rental shoes, already heading to the counter. You sighed and followed behind them, still carrying the giant stuffed elephant Jimin had won for you.
You looked down at it.
You fucking hated that thing.
“You could admit that you like it. I promise I won’t be mad.”
You looked up at Jimin, who was walking beside you with a grin on his face.
“I don’t like it.”
“But you’re still carrying it.”
“That’s because you shoved it into my fucking arms.”
“And you didn’t think to just put it down anywhere?”
“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t exactly have a free hand to put it down.” You scoffed.
He hummed, clearly not believing you.
You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to your friends, who were already grabbing their bowling shoes. You grabbed your own pair of shoes and followed them towards your assigned lane.
You sat the giant stuffie on the leather couch and sat down.
“Are we doing couples teams?” Your friend asked.
You immediately stopped.
“No.” Everyone stopped and stared at you.
“No, as in… why the fuck would we do that?”
Your friend stared at you like the answer was obvious.
“Because you’re a couple?” Fuck, you almost forgot about your own lie.
You opened your mouth to snap back before remembering that, unfortunately, that was the entire reason Jimin was standing beside you to begin with.
“Right…”
You nodded, looking down at your bowling shoes on your feet. Jimin chuckled and sat down beside you on the couch.
“What’s wrong, baby? Don’t wanna be on a team with me?”
You shot him a side eye. You hated when he called you baby. It made your skin crawl.
“I’d rather die.”
Jimin laughed and shook his head.
“You really don’t like me, huh?”
“I thought that was pretty fucking obvious by now.”
“Fair enough.” He got up and grabbed a bowling ball, looking at you with that same stupid grin.
“Still doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you win.”
“I wasn’t planning on losing.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“What?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t take you for the competitive type.”
“I’m not.”
He looked at the score monitor, then back at you.
“Right.”
You rolled your eyes and watched him walk toward the lane. You didn’t care about bowling. You didn’t care about winning. And you definitely didn’t care about beating Jimin.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
You watched as he lined himself up before rolling the ball down the lane.
Strike.
You stared at the pins before looking back at him. Of course he got a fucking strike on his first try. This was bullshit.
Jimin turned around with the biggest smirk on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he grinned. “Just waiting to see if you can top that.”
You rolled your eyes and grabbed a bowling ball from the rack.
“Move.”
He laughed. “Your turn?”
“Obviously.”
“Good luck, baby.”
God, you hated when he called you that.
You walked toward the lane, gripping the ball a little tighter. You were going to beat him. Not because you cared. You just fucking hated losing. Especially to a MAN.
You lined yourself up again, staring at the pins. You took a breath and rolled the ball.
This time, you knocked down almost all of them.
“See?” you said, turning around. “I told you I knew how to bowl.”
Jimin looked at the pins, then back at you.
“You got lucky.”
“Lucky? I literally just watched you do it.”
“So you’re copying me now?”
“Oh my God.” You walked back over and sat down, already annoyed.
Your friend laughed. “Damn, look at the score.”
You sat there and glared at the monitor, regretting that you had even said anything. Because now you genuinely wanted to win this dumb-ass game, and you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it if you lost to him.
After a few more intense rounds, you looked up at the scoreboard.
Somehow, you were winning.
You looked at Jimin, then back at the scoreboard just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” he asked.
You pointed at the screen. “I’m winning.”
Jimin looked up at the scoreboard and laughed.
“You look way too happy about that.”
“Because I’m winning.”
“There’s still time.”
“Don’t fucking ruin this for me.”
He just laughed, looking from the scoreboard back to you with a slow, knowing smirk.
“What?” you snapped. “I beat you.”
He didn’t even say anything. He just raised an eyebrow and held your gaze, his face saying everything it needed to.
You hated him so much.
You opened your mouth to argue, but your friend suddenly walked over.
“We’re leaving.”
You looked at the clock on the wall and realized how late it had gotten.
“Finally.” You couldn’t wait to get home. You grabbed your things and stood up, but before you could leave, your friend looked between you and Jimin.
“We should all do this again.”
You froze.
“Again?”
“Yeah. That was fun.”
You looked at Jimin, hoping he’d say something. Anything that got you out of this.
Instead, he was smiling.
“I’m free whenever.”
You stared at him. Of course he fucking was.
Your friends started talking about what they should do next time, completely ignoring the fact that you were standing there trying to mentally evaporate from existence.
You just wanted to go home, get under your blanket, rub your feet together, and watch House of Dragons in peace.
Apparently, that was too much to ask for.
You looked down at the stupid stuffed elephant Jimin had won for you.
Then back up at Jimin.
This was gonna be the most agonizing week of your life.
WC: 3.1k
OWN IT
author’s note ♡ I hope you guys like it so far <3
want to be added to the taglist? send me an ask/message ♡
Not because you were tired of being single. No. You hated men with your whole being.
But you needed a boyfriend because your friends wouldn’t stop asking when you were finally going to introduce a boy to them, and you were tired of being the third wheel every time you went out with your friends and their boyfriends.
You were sick of the questions.
“So, are you seeing anyone?”
“When are you gonna get a boyfriend?”
God. You’d rather scrape your coochie across carpet and get rug burn.
It wasn’t like you had anything against relationships. Okay. Maybe that was a lie. You had plenty against relationships.
You sat back and watched as all your friends fell in love, get into relationships and become the most insufferable people on the planet.
And then there was you. Single and lonely. But you were okay with that. You were just over being a third wheel. Every outing with your friends turned into a couples activity, and you always sitting across someone’s boyfriend and watching as they giggled and laughed at each other jokes.
God it was insufferable. So when your best friend asked for what felt like the 100th time about your love life and if you had anyone, you finally snapped.
“Actually, yes I do.” The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up.
“Really?” She asked, her eyes wide. Fuck what did you get yourself into? You were already in too deep now and you couldn’t take back your words.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My boyfriend.” You immediately asked yourself how you were gonna get a boyfriend. You had no idea. But you were gonna make it work . Somehow.
“YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND? SINCE WHEN?”
You hated men with every fiber of your being. If they even breathed around you wrong you were already irritated. And you believed that men should die alone.
Which they should.
But unfortunately in this moment, you needed a man to rescue you. The one species you dreaded most on this earth.
You needed a fake boyfriend. Preferably one that was attractive enough to make your friends shutup and convincing enough to fool them too.
Should be easy. Men are easier than an easy bake oven.
At least that’s what you thought. Finding a man was the easiest thing ever. But finding one that you can tolerate for more than a minute? That was the true obstacle.
You quickly began your search, starting with Google and somehow stumbled across a Rent- A Boyfriend website. Curious enough, you clicked on it and made an account and began scrolling through to find what you needed.
Every one of the men for rent failed to meet up to any of the standards you had for yourself. And they were charging way too much for what they were actually worth based on their profile pics.
You weren’t paying 500 dollars for a man who took pictures in a dirty ass bathroom mirror. Fuck no. You were never gonna stoop that low. Even if you were desperate.
Kairo — 26
$300 / week — ★★★☆☆
“I felt like I was on a date with my guidance counselor from high school. I hated that lady.” — anonymous user
“Would rent again. Would NOT recommend letting him meet your family tho. — anonymous user
You stared at his profile picture. He was cute. But not $300-a-week cute.
Next.
Matteo — 28
$425 / week— ★★★★☆
His profile picture was him leaning against a black sports car with sunglasses on.
You immediately rolled your eyes. Of course.
You clicked the reviews anyway.
“He’s cute. That’s all.” — anonymous user
“Good guy. Horrible music taste. — anonymous user
“Respectful, but talks too much.” — anonymous user
You scrolled back up to his picture.
“Too generic.”
Next.
Soren — 25
$250 / week — ★★☆☆☆
You nearly skipped him based on his picture alone. He had taken it in a bathroom mirror. A dirty bathroom mirror.
You clicked the reviews just to confirm your suspicions.
“He showed up wearing the exact same outfit from his profile picture.” — anonymous user
“He spent the entire dinner talking about his ex.” — anonymous user
“Would rather be single.” — anonymous user
You snorted. Finally. A review you could agree with. No wonder why he was cheap.
Next.
Zaire — 30
$800 / week — ★★★★★
You stopped. Okay. He was attractive.
You clicked his reviews.
“Five stars. He had my mother convinced we were getting married.” — anonymous user
“Great service. Would recommend.” — anonymous user
You considered it for a few seconds. Then looked at the price.
“Eight hundred dollars?” You scoffed. Absolutely fucking not. You were desperate.
Not stupid. You kept scrolling.
Park Jimin — 27
$500/week | ★★★★★
“My grandmother still thinks we’re together. I stopped correcting her.” -anonymous user
“Used him to make my ex jealous. Safe to say it worked.” -anonymous user
“If you need someone to survive a family gathering, rent him.” -anonymous user
You stared at the screen. Okay. This one actually seemed competent.
Which was annoying. You clicked through his pictures.
Even more annoying, He was fucking gorgeous.
You looked at the price.
$500 a week.
You stared at it for a moment.
“..Fuck.” For 500 a week with a 5 star rating he was high key worth it. And he was the type of man that would make your friends shutup. He was exactly what you needed. You clicked on his profile.
Park Jimin. He was older than you expected. But you weren’t exactly in a position to be picky.
You scrolled through his profile, reading over his reviews one more time before your eyes landed on the button underneath his information.
BEFORE YOU RENT.
They were just the client terms. Basic shit that you didn’t care to know about. One rule caught your eye tho.
7. No Emotional Attachments
The purpose of this service is companionship and relationship simulation. Emotional attachment is strongly discouraged.
You stared at that one for a second before laughing.
“As if I’d get attached to a MAN.” You weren’t getting emotionally attached to some random man you were paying 500 dollars to pretend to like you.
Now that would be embarrassing. You scroll to the bottom then back up to his profile. Staring at the button on his profile.
MESSAGE
You stared at it.
This was actually happening. You were about to message a complete stranger and ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend.
Fuck it. You clicked it.
You: I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for like a week.
Jimin: Is that how you introduce yourself?
You: I don’t have time for introductions.
Jimin: Clearly.
You: Are you available or not?
Jimin: Maybe I am. It depends.
You: I haven’t met you yet and you’re already pissing me off.
Jimin: We’re off to a good start then.
You stared at your phone. You already didn’t like him.
You: I just need you for like a week so I can make my friends shut up about my love life. Then after that, I have no use for you anymore.
Jimin: So when do you need me?
You: Friday.
Jimin: This Friday?
You: Yes.
Jimin: What’s happening Friday?
You: Double date. Friends and their boyfriends.
Jimin: You told your friends you had a boyfriend?
You: Unfortunately, I did.
Jimin: And now you need one.
You: Yes.
Jimin: I see.
You: it sounds like you’re amused.
Jimin: I’m not.
You: I feel like you’re laughing at me.
Jimin: I’m smiling.
You: Same fucking thing.
Jimin: How long have we supposedly been together?
You: Two months.
Jimin: How did we meet?
You paused.
You: We… met through a friend.
Jimin: Which friend?
You: …
Jimin: You really didn’t think this through, did you?
You: I was under pressure. Just improvise.
Jimin: Improvise?
You: Yes. Improvise.
Jimin: You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend and you don’t even have a backstory prepared?
You: I just told you how we met.
Jimin: You said “through a friend.”
You: Exactly.
Jimin: Which friend?
You: I’ll think of one.
Jimin: When?
You: Before Friday.
Jimin: That’s reassuring.
You: Are you going to help me or not?
Jimin: I’m still deciding.
You: What is there to decide?
Jimin: Whether I want to spend a week pretending to date someone who clearly doesn’t like me.
You stared at the screen.
You: I don’t dislike you. That much at least.
Jimin: You told me I was pissing you off before we even agreed to anything.
You: That’s different.
Jimin: How?
You: I don’t know. Just… shut up.
Jimin: Alright. I’ll do it.
You immediately sat up.
You: Seriously?
Jimin: Yes. But we need to go over the terms first.
You: Terms?
Jimin: Dates. Payment. Boundaries. What your friends know. What they don’t know.
You: You have a whole list?
Jimin: I’m a professional.
You: didn’t know men that pretend to be fake boyfriends for a living were professionals but I digress.
Jimin: I’ll see you Friday, then.
You: youll actually help me?
Jimin: you’re the one who asked. Just try not to regret it before Friday.
You: right… can’t make any promises. I’ll run everything by you when we meet. My friends, the story, all of that shit.
Jimin: so..nothing is prepared.
You paused.
You: No… but I have a general concept.
Jimin: I see.
You: don’t start.
Jimin: Was just gonna say that isn’t a plan.
You: it’s a starting point tho.
Jimin: I’ll save what I have to say for Friday then.
You: Good.
You stared at the messages. Friday. You were actually gonna meet this man.
You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into. And you had a feeling you were gonna regret it. But you were already in deep shit.
You went back to his profile and stared at it. 500 a week. You looked through all his pictures. Yea. He was definitely worth the money.
You hated that you were even considering it. But what choice did you have? You needed a boyfriend. A fake one.
Just for now at least until your friends stopped being up your ass about getting one. Unfortunately, he seemed like the perfect one to get the job done. The closest thing to perfect.
Your eyes dropped to the bottom of the screen.
RENT
You hesitated. This was the most batshit crazy idea you’ve had this year alone. Aside from pressuring a man that hit on you to do meth, a drug you’ve never used in your life to get him to leave you alone. Or the time when you got drunk at the club and told a man you had herpes to scare him away.
Or that time a man slid in your DMs so you told him that you pegged men for a living and asked if he wanted to be next.
Unpatched method, really. Bring up some hardcore drug that they would likely say no to. Or try an STD. Works wonders.
You were actually about to pay 500 dollars a week to a stranger to pretend to be your boyfriend. You could still close the website. You could forget you ever saw his face or forget you ever found a MAN attractive. You could continue being single.
Your finger hovered over the button. “Fuck it.”
You clicked RENT.
author’s note ♡ - This was written in honor of me seeing BTS for the first time in concert. This one’s for the memories and the bit of delusion that comes with being a fan. All likes, comments, and reposts are greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed creating it! ♡
hi friends, can someone please please please recommend me some threesome fics involving jungkook, jimin and reader? i’m just a girl wanting to read a nice story with some good smut with her two biases :p
Park Jimin, known in the underworld’s most dangerous circles as a ruthless drug lord whose smile usually preceded a murder, was currently bleeding through his tailor-made Italian suit. His knuckles were raw, split to the bone, and three of his top most strong men lay motionless in the mud behind him. Four men from a rival gang had him cornered against a brick wall. The lead assassin was grinning, raising a barrel directly toward the space between Jimin’s eyes.
Jimin braced himself, his jaw locked, eyes burning through the shadows. He was ready to go down.
When suddenly the alley didn't just rattle; it exploded.
A silver 2012 Honda Civic came reversing at a terrifying thirty miles per hour straight into the alley mouth, obliterating a line of metal trash cans before violently slamming its rear bumper into the brick wall mere inches from the rival gunman.
The assassin plummeted sideways with a squeal, barely dodging a horrifying death-by-bumper.
"Fuck my driving!" a panicked, remarkably feminine voice growled from the driver’s side window, the engine sputtering violently as the exhaust backfired like a shotgun blast.
The remaining hitmen, utterly terrified and convinced this was a heavily armored, erratic tactical ambush by an unknown third party, panicked. "It's a trap! Fall back!" one yelled. Within seconds, the sound of scrambling boots echoed into the main street as the gunmen fled into the dark, leaving Jimin standing alone in his own dripping blood.
Jimin blinked through the sweat, leaning heavily against the brickwork, breathing through cracked ribs. He raised a hand to wipe his eyes, half-expecting a heavily armed swat team to exit the vehicle.
Instead, a figure leaped out of the driver's side wearing a oversized black hoodie, a neon pink ski mask put on entirely backward, and bright yellow dishwashing gloves.
Before Jimin’s brain could register the absurdity, the figure lunged forward. In one clumsy, surprisingly aggressive motion, a heavy black canvas sack was yanked roughly down over Jimin’s head, blinding him instantly.
"Hey—" Jimin rasped, his lethal kicking in, but before he could drive a blade into the intruder's stomach, a sneaker kicked him brutally right behind his left knee.
His weakened leg buckled. Jimin hit the wet pavement on both knees with a harsh groan, the pain flaring up his ribs like a wildfire. He flexed his fingers, preparing to snap the attacker's ankle, when the voice shrieked in an octave of pure, desperate panic:
"Don't... D-don't fucking move, you hear me?! Or else I swear to God I will throw your brand new PlayStation out the window! I know where you hide it!"
Jimin froze, his hands hovering an inch from his concealed hip holster.
A... PlayStation?
Underneath the coarse fabric of the sack, Jimin’s blood-soaked lips twitched. He was a man who controlled a multi-million-dollar network, operated out of fortified penthouses, and had a bounty on his head large enough to buy a small island. And he was currently being threatened with the execution of a gaming console.
Realizing this was either a bizarre hallucination brought on by blood loss or the most painfully incompetent mistake in human history, Jimin slowly lowered his hands. Whoever this complete idiot was, they had accidentally saved his life. Playing along was better than dying in a wet gutter while his internal organs hemorrhaged.
"What are..." Jimin grunted, forcing his deep, silk-smooth voice into a raspy, pained whisper to keep his lungs from collapsing.
"Shut up! No talking, hostage!" you hissed, practically hyperventilating.
You were far too blinded by adrenaline and the absolute terror of ruining your best friend’s elaborate birthday surprise to notice the actual horror around you. You didn't see the pool of dark blood nor the three motionless bodies slumped behind the dumpsters. Your vision was entirely locked on completing 'Operation Kidnap My Idiot Brother.'
"Up! Get up!" you huffed, grabbing him by his stained suit collar and hauling him toward the back seat of your trusty 2012 Civic.
Jimin let out a ragged wheeze as you shoved him into the cramped, fry-scented back seat. His sharp suit scraped against empty soda cans and old receipts. Before he could adjust his position, you grabbed a thick pack of heavy-duty industrial zip-ties from your pocket.
With aggressive, frantic pulling noises ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! you bound his wrists tightly behind his back.
"Ow," Jimin muttered under the sack, genuine mild annoyance creeping into his amusement as the plastic bit into his skin.
"Save it for the party—I mean, the dungeon!" you yelled, slamming the back door shut hard. You scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the car into drive and peeled out of the alley, leaving behind a crime scene, three dead mobsters, and a deeply confused street gang.
In the back seat, blinded by a sack and bound by zip-ties, Park Jimin rested his head against the sticky vinyl seat, listening to the frantic, off-key humming of his oblivious abductor over the roar of a dying muffler.
Well, the drug lord thought, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his ribcage, at least the heater works.
"You must have known, right?" you snapped, glaring into the crack-riddled rearview mirror at the unbothered, motionless shape in your backseat. "It was my driving, wasn't it? That’s how you knew it was me! But at least act surprised, Taehyung! Fight back! Struggle a little! Make my felony feel earned!"
You huffed loudly, aggressively shifting into third gear with a sound that made the poor 2012 Civic sound like it was passing a kidney stone.
"Just so you know, I told her this was a terrible idea," you rant continued, gesturing wildly with one yellow-gloved hand. "I said, 'Hey, maybe let’s just get him a cake like normal, sane human beings.' But no, she insisted! She loves you, Taehyung. God knows why, considering what an insufferable, stubborn ass you are."
In the backseat, blinded by the scratchy black canvas sack and surrounded by the lingering odor of stale French fries and laundry detergent, Park Jimin rested his head against the rattling doorframe. His ribs were screaming, his Italian suit was ruined, and he was actively hemorrhaging blood onto what felt like a questionable tweed seat cover. But he couldn't deny it; this was easily the most entertaining evening he’d had in years.
"And fucking speak! Don't go quiet on me now!" you yelled into the front seat. Reaching out, you slapped the dashboard, slamming the radio on to drown out the awkward silence. Early 2000s pop music exploded out of the blown-out speakers, buzzing with pure static.
"I'm keeping you tied up, by the way," you warned, pointing a finger blindly behind you. "When we get there, you better scream, you better look terrified, and you better act surprised! Or else I swear I will sell your new PlayStation. And you know I'm crazy enough to do it."
From the dark depths of the fabric sack, a low, velvet-smooth rasp cut through your threats.
"If you sell the PlayStation," Jimin murmured, his voice laced with a gravelly charm despite his bruised throat, "how will Taehyung ever forgive you?"
"Shut up! I’m serious, Taehyung!" you yelled over the deafening pop music, smacking the steering wheel in frustration as you hit a pothole. "I swear, you're taking this way too casually! You're supposed to be squirming! You're supposed to be begging for mercy! Instead, you're sitting there like someone who just got a slightly uncomfortable Uber ride!"
Jimin let out a breathless chuckle, wincing as the laughter pulled violently at his cracked ribs.
"Maybe I'm just admiring the tactical genius of my captor," Jimin purred, his lips curving into a sharp, lethal smirk beneath the canvas. "The yellow rubber gloves really pull the whole kidnapping act together."
"They are dishwashing gloves, you ungrateful idiot! They keep my fingerprints off your stupidly expensive jacket!" you retorted, cranking the volume knob even higher until the car practically vibrated. "Now stop talking, fix your posture, and get ready! We’re five minutes away from the house. If you ruin this party after I literally committed a kidnapping and nearly embedded my bumper into an alley wall, I will personally throw you into the river!"
Jimin leaned his head back against the headrest, tasting the metallic twang of blood in his mouth.
Five minutes, he thought, feeling the heavy, cold steel of the loaded 9mm tucked into his waistband, right beneath his ruined suit coat. His second-in-command was probably tearing Seoul apart right now, burning down rival syndicates brick by brick to find his body.
And yet, here he was. Bound by ten-cent zip-ties, kidnapped by a girl wearing dishwashing gloves, and being taken to a surprise birthday party for a guy named Taehyung.
"Whatever you say, boss," Jimin whispered softly, his deep voice swallowed by the blasting radio. "Lead the way."
The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles and the muffled sound of a birthday playlist humming from the living room speakers. You pulled hard on the canvas-draped captive, practically wrestling the heavy frame through the front doorway.
"Keep moving," you whispered harshly through your pink ski mask, dragging him by his blood-stained sleeve. "Don't ruin the—"
You froze mid-sentence.
Standing in the center of the warm, balloon-filled living room was your brother, Taehyung. He was wearing his favorite worn-out sweater, holding a half-empty glass of soda, and currently had his arms wrapped firmly around your best friend's waist. She was standing on her tiptoes, completely wrapped up in kissing him.
Between kisses, your best friend let out a soft sigh, giggling into his neck. "I'm so glad you came home early... she's taking forever with that stupid prank."
Taehyung chuckled, pressing another kiss to her lips. "I told you she was probably lost in a parking lot somewhere."
Your brain completely short-circuited.
You stood dead in your tracks, your dishwashing-gloved hands locked onto the sleeve of the man beside you. You stared at Taehyung. Then you stared at your best friend. Then you slowly looked at the blood-soaked man standing motionless beside you in a ruined, custom-tailored suit.
Taehyung was right there.
Taehyung was in the living room.
Who the fuck was in your house?!
Panic, sharp and blinding, shot straight through your veins. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Before either of them could turn around, you took advantage of their absolute absorption in each other. You clamped your hand over the mysterious stranger's mouth through the black canvas sack, yanked him backward with a surge of pure, terrified strength, and dragged him down the hallway into your bedroom.
You shoved him inside, threw your back against the door, and slammed it shut, twisting the lock with a desperate CLICK.
Breathing heavily, your eyes wide, you turned around to face the dark room.
The tall stranger stood near the foot of your bed, perfectly calm, his hands still zip-tied tightly behind his back. The heavy silence in your room was broken only by the quiet, ragged sound of his breathing and the faint, alarming dripping of fresh blood onto your flower-patterned rug.
Slowly, deliberately, the man lifted his bound hands slightly behind him, adjusted his balance, and tilted his head toward you under the dark canvas.
"So," a dangerously smooth, quiet voice rasped from beneath the hood, echoing through your small bedroom. "I take it I'm not Taehyung?"
Without waiting another second, you grabbed his broad shoulders and forced him backward, pushing him down until he hit the edge of your mattress with a heavy, muffled grunt.
"I am so sorry, I am so sorry, oh my God," you babbled, your hands trembling violently as you grabbed the coarse fabric of the sack and yanked it off his head.
The breath hitched in your throat.
The man sitting on your bed didn't look like any normal civilian. He had sharp, dangerously handsome features, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and dark, piercing eyes that immediately fixed onto yours with absolute composure. But what caught your attention was the dark, slick crimson smeared across his jaw, painting his split bottom lip.
"Oh my God, you’re bleeding?!" you gasped, backing up a step, your hands flying to your pink ski mask and yanking it off your heated face. "Did I do that?! How?! No way! I know I hit a bump, but did my car do this to you?!"
You hovered over him frantically, your yellow dishwashing gloves flapping around his face as you inspected his bruised cheekbone, mentally counting the cuts on his jaw like a manic ER nurse. Then your eyes trailed downward, falling on his custom, midnight-blue suit jacket, which was ripped to ribbons and soaked through with deep, ghastly red stains covering his chest and stomach.
"Wait... are those knife cuts?!" you shrieked, clutching your head. "What kind of car accident—"
"I think," Jimin interrupted softly, his voice a low purr that made the tiny hairs on your neck stand up, "we can start with you taking the zip ties off."
He offered you a faint, wry smirk, a soft chuckle escaping his chest before he winced, his dark eyes flickering with pain.
"Right! Yes! Zip ties! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you squeaked, frantically spinning around to scan your messy room. You shuffled through your desk, tossed aside notebooks, and dug through drawers like a lunatic. "Where are the scissors?!"
Jimin watched you with an amused expression. He let out a low sigh, casually rolled his shoulders, and pulled his wrists apart. With a sharp, sudden SNAP, the thick industrial plastic sheared completely in two, dropping to your bedroom floor like harmless string.
You froze mid-search, staring at the snapped plastic, then slowly raised your eyes to his large, veiny hands now resting casually on his knees.
"You... you just..." You swallowed hard, taking a terrified step backward against your closet door. The reality of the situation hit you like a bucket of ice water. You hadn't kidnapped your nerdy brother. "P-Please don't call the police. Please. I have a clean record, I swear it was a mistake—"
Jimin let out a harsh, strained groan, leaning forward as he clutched his ribs, his knuckles turning white. The bloody cuts across his torso were bleeding through his dress shirt, dripping onto your pastel bedsheets.
"Take care of my wounds," Jimin rasped, looking up through his dark bangs, his gaze locking onto yours with terrifying intensity, "and I won't."
"Deal!" you squeaked instantly.
Within thirty seconds, you pulled out your emergency first-aid kit, dumped a mountain of cotton balls onto the nightstand.
"First, take off the jacket," Jimin instructed quietly, his voice dangerously calm for a man whose blood was currently staining your duvet.
You cautiously stepped closer, peeling the expensive, ruined leather and wool from his broad shoulders, flinching every time he let out a tight breath. Following his precise, stern commands you began dabbing rubbing alcohol over his exposed chest.
"Hold still, this is going to sting," you muttered nervously, wincing on his behalf as you pressed a gauze pad into a deep slash across his ribs.
Jimin didn't even flinch. He just sat on your bed, watching your every panicked move through half-hooded eyes, a dark, dangerous smirk lingering at the edge of his lips as your hands shook against his skin.
Working with clinical precision, and a fair amount of frantic hyperventilating, you managed to clean, disinfect, and tightly bandage every slash, scrape, and bruise across his torso. His body was a canvas of older, faded silver lines and fresh, jagged cuts, making it painfully obvious that today wasn't his first time wrestling with death.
"You know..." you muttered softly, dabbing a final strip of medical tape over a nasty gash near his hip, keeping your eyes strictly fixed on his ribcage to avoid looking at his bare chest, "you seem to know exactly what I should do. You've been wounded a lot, I see."
Jimin let out a quiet, rumbling hum, his dark eyes following your shaking hands. Since his tailored clothes were thoroughly ruined and soaked in a mixture of street grime and blood, he had stripped down, tossing the filthy garments into a ball in the corner of your room.
Now, he was lying flat on your mattress, completely naked under the covers, resting his dark head against your soft pillows.
"I'm a drug lord," Jimin murmured casually, his voice velvety and completely devoid of fear. "Park Jimin."
You froze mid-wrap with the leftover gauze, your jaw dropping beneath your breath.
"And you are?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, watching your bewildered expression.
You pressed your lips together, staring at him in utter disbelief. "A... a what?"
"A drug lord," he repeated smoothly, as if he had just told you he worked in accounting.
CLICK.
The bedroom door handle jiggled and swung wide open before you could even move to block it.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing in here for so long? The party's—" Taehyung froze in the doorway, a paper plate with a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake suspended in his hand.
His eyes slowly traveled from you, standing frozen in dishwashing gloves holding bloody cotton balls, to your bed, where a strikingly handsome, intensely dangerous-looking stranger was lying completely naked under your duvet, staring back at him with icy composure.
Taehyung's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "Who... who the fuck is that?!"
Your brain panicked, immediately short-circuiting into survival mode.
"My date!" you blurted out, stepping between Taehyung and the bed, waving a glove dismissively. "It's complicated, Taehyung! He's... sensitive to light! Get out and go eat your cake!"
"Your date?!" Taehyung yelled, staring at the visible tatters of blood-stained clothes on the floor. "He looks like he just got thrown out of a moving helicopter!"
"Out! Out, out, out!" You practically tackled your brother back into the hallway, slamming the door shut in his face and locking it tight once more.
Leaning your forehead against the cool wood of the door, you let out a long, shuddering breath. From the bed, a soft, low chuckle resonated through the room.
"Your date, huh?" Jimin purred, his dark eyes sparkling with dangerous amusement under the dim lighting. "I didn't realize kidnapping came with a relationship status."
You slowly turned around, resting your spine against the locked door as you pressed your lips into a tight, stressed line.
Jimin was resting comfortably against your stack of decorative pillows, one arm propped lazily behind his dark, damp hair. Under your duvet, his broad, bare shoulders were on full display, perfectly framed by the clean white bandages you taped across his chest. He looked completely out of place among your floral bedroom decor.
"So..." you began, crossing your yellow-gloved arms over your chest, "when are you going to leave?"
Jimin’s lips curved into a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk. His dark, sharp eyes tracked you with unhurried interest.
"Leave?" he echoed softly, his voice a low, raspy purr that practically hummed through the small room. "With no clothes? Bleeding through your sheets? While my men are currently turning the city upside down looking for my body?"
He tilted his head, letting out a small, amused huff that winced into a subtle grimace as his sore ribs flexed.
"I think I’m going to stay right here for a bit," Jimin purred, shifting slightly under the covers. "Besides... your date wouldn't just walk out on you after you worked so hard to kidnap him, would he?"
You buried your face in your hands with a deep, suffering groan.
"I am going to throw myself out the window," you muttered into your hands, dropping them to glare at him. "Seriously, Mr. Drug Lord. My brother is right outside that door. My best friend is outside that door. If they find out I brought home an actual criminal instead of a birthday surprise, they’re going to put me in an asylum."
Jimin’s smirk only broadened, a glint of genuine entertainment dancing in his dark eyes. "Then I suggest you keep your voice down, sweetheart."
"Do not call me sweetheart," you hissed, taking a cautious step closer to the bed and pointing a yellow dishwashing glove at him accusingly. "You are a hostage! Well... a former hostage. An accidental hostage! Whatever you are, you’re supposed to be intimidated by me!"
Jimin let out a soft, breathless laugh, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the bruises across his ribs. He looked down at the bright yellow rubber finger hovering inches from his chest, then raised his gaze back to yours, his dark eyes brimming with dangerous charm.
"Intimidated?" he purred softly, his voice dropping into a velvety register that sent an unexpected chill down your spine. "By a girl in dishwashing gloves and a pink ski mask who threatens people with PlayStations? You saved my life tonight, kid."
"I was trying to kidnap my brother, not rescue a mob boss!" you whispered loudly, throwing your hands up in sheer exasperation.
Before you could argue any further, a soft, heavy vibration echoed from the corner of the room.
You both froze. The sound was coming from the pile of filthy, blood-soaked trousers Jimin had shed earlier.
Jimin’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant. The easygoing smirk melted away, replaced by an intensely sharp, cold focus that made your breath catch in your throat.
"My phone," Jimin said quietly, his tone calm, commanding, and absolute. "Hand it to me."
You swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the shift in the air. Cautiously, you walked over to the corner, picked up his heavy, slick leather pants using the very tip of your gloved fingers, and fished out a sleek, customized black smartphone. The screen was flashing with an unregistered, encrypted caller ID.
You handed it to him, taking a swift step back.
Jimin slid the phone screen open and brought it to his ear, his gaze remaining locked on you.
"Talk," he commanded into the receiver, his voice ice-cold.
A frantic, muffled voice burst through the speaker on the other end, so loud you could hear the panicked shouting from where you stood. "Boss?! Boss, is that you?! Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead! The alley was a warzone... rivals everywhere... we've been burning down their safehouses for the last two hours trying to track you—"
"I'm alive," Jimin interrupted smoothly, resting his head back against your pink pillow as if he were discussing the weather. "I'm in a secure location."
"Where are you?! We’ll send the entire fleet right now, five-minute ETA—"
Jimin paused, his dark, heavy gaze lingering on your wide, panicked eyes. You frantically shook your head, mouthing, 'NO MAFIA! NO MAFIA MEN IN MY DRIVEWAY!'
A subtle, amused twitch returned to the corner of Jimin's lips.
"Stand down for now," Jimin ordered into the phone, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "Send a clean vehicle and a fresh suit to the coordinates I text you in an hour. No heavy artillery, no motorcade. Just one driver."
"Boss? Are you sure? Who saved you?"
Jimin kept his eyes fixed right on you, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his face.
"Just a very dangerous operative," Jimin murmured softly into the mic. "Bring a new PlayStation, too."
He ended the call, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and crossed his arms behind his head, looking up at you with absolute delight as you stood there, utterly dumbfounded.
"You..." you stammered, pointing at him. "Did you just order a PlayStation?!"
"Consider it my payment for your medical services," Jimin purred, sinking deeper into your duvet. "Now... are you going to stand there looking terrified, or are you going to go get your 'date' a glass of water?"
You hurried into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind you with a sharp, decisive click. Slinking toward the kitchen like a fugitive, you grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, your mind running a mile a minute.
You turned around and nearly dropped the glass.
Taehyung and your best friend were standing right there, blocking the kitchen doorway with their arms crossed. Taehyung still held his half-eaten slice of cake, staring at you with a mix of utter confusion and intense concern.
"Alright, spit it out," Taehyung demanded, narrowing his eyes. "Who is the guy in your bed, why is he bleeding?"
Your best friend nodded in agreement, looking genuinely bewildered. "Yeah... the plan was for you to bring Taehyung here, not host a bleeding man in your bedroom."
You looked between the two of them, pressed your lips together, and let out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. There was no point in hiding it anymore.
"Okay. Do not scream," you whispered aggressively, taking a step closer and gesturing wildly with the glass of water. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad."
"What did you do?" Taehyung asked, his brow furrowing.
"I kidnapped the wrong man!" you hissed, keeping your voice low enough so it wouldn't carry back down the hall. "The alley was pitch black, okay?! I slammed into the wall, threw a sack over his head, zip-tied his hands, and shoved him into the Civic! I thought he was you, Taehyung!"
Your best friend gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. Taehyung just stared at you, blinked once, and then twice.
"You... you kidnapped a stranger?" Taehyung asked slowly, as if trying to comprehend the sheer scale of the mess. "A stranger who was bleeding?!"
"Yes! And he is not happy about it!" you panicked, wildly waving your gloved hand. "He has knife cuts! He has broken ribs! I literally had to stitch him up on my bed! And right now, he is sitting in there, wrapped in my duvet, threatening me!"
"Threatening you?!" Taehyung's posture immediately stiffened, his brotherly instincts kicking in as he took a step toward your room. "I'm calling the cops right now—"
"No! Are you insane?!" You lunged forward, grabbing Taehyung's arm with your dishwashing glove. "If he calls the police, or if we call the police, it won't be a funny little birthday joke! We're talking false imprisonment, and assault with a motor vehicle! If the cops get involved, it won't be a joke, and all three of us will get arrested!"
Taehyung froze, his hand hovering over his phone. Your best friend looked like she was on the verge of faint.
"So what are you saying?" she squeaked softly.
"I'm saying," you whispered, taking a deep breath and steadying the glass of water in your trembling hands, "that right now, he is my 'date.' We are going to treat him like royalty, feed him water, keep him happy, and pray to God his ride gets here before he decides to sue us."
Taehyung looked toward your bedroom door, then back at you, completely speechless.
"Just... go back to eating your cake and act normal!" you ordered, squeezing past them toward the hallway.
Carrying the glass of water like a sacred offering, you tiptoed back to your bedroom, unlocked the door, and slipped inside, carefully locking it behind you.
Jimin was still resting comfortably against your pillows, watching the door with that same unreadable, dark glint in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow as you approached the bed, extending the glass to him with both hands.
"Your water, Mr. Drug Lord," you muttered flatly. "Please don't send us to prison."
Jimin’s lips twitched into a amused smirk as he reached out, taking the glass from your trembling, gloved hands.
Jimin took a slow sip of the water, his dark eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass. The icy, dangerous aura he had projected during his phone call dissolved back into that unbothered, velvet charm.
"Prison?" he purred, setting the empty glass on your nightstand with a quiet clink. "And miss out on my host’s wonderful hospitality? I wouldn't dream of it."
Before you could respond, a low, rhythmic rumble echoed from the driveway outside your window. It wasn't the sputtering exhaust of your dying 2012 Civic. It was the deep, purring growl of a twin-turbo V8 engine, a sleek, pitch-black matte SUV idling quietly right in front of your house.
Jimin’s phone buzzed once on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He winced slightly, pressing a hand to his bandaged ribs, but stood up smoothly.
"That's my ride," he said softly.
He walked over to the corner where his men had left a freshly pressed, immaculate black suit bag right outside your window, dropped off silently by his second-in-command without a sound. Within two minutes, Jimin was fully dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and silk tie.
He turned toward you, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.
"You know," Jimin murmured, his voice dropping an octave, reaching out to gently touch the edge of your chin with his knuckles, "most people who kidnap me end up at the bottom of the river. But you stitched me up, gave me water, and threatened my life with a PlayStation."
"It was a very serious threat," you muttered, your heart pounding against your ribs.
Jimin let out a low, breathless chuckle. He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a sleek black card with a numbers and slipped it gently into the front pocket of your oversized hoodie.
"Call that number if you ever need anything," he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek.
He stepped toward your bedroom door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
Taehyung and your best friend were still standing in the hallway, practically frozen like deer in headlights. Taehyung raised his paper plate of cake like a pathetic shield as Jimin walked out.
Jimin paused, looking Taehyung up and down with an amused smirk. "Happy birthday, Taehyung. You have a very... aggressive sister."
With a polite nod, Park Jimin walked down the corridor, opened your front door, and stepped out into the night. Sitting on your front porch mat was a brand-new, unopened PlayStation 5 box, topped with a giant red bow.
Taehyung stared at the box, then looked at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Did... did a mob boss just buy me a birthday gift?!"
You slumped against the doorframe, letting out a long, exhausted breath, looking down at the sleek black card tucked into your pocket.
"Happy birthday, Taehyung" you muttered flatly. "Don't ever ask me for a surprise again."
If you like to support my journey please don't hesitate 🍰 Ko-fi.
notes: someone a million years ago sent the prompt of "nice guy that hates only you" among others, so here's that. i don't write much anymore so this feels weird and a bit nauseating, but enjoy.
@suga-kookiemonster well i guess you/IT!kook really did inspire me to write again!! thank you girlie! now i'll disappear for another 5 years.
xxx
sana's handbag is so big that when she slams it on the table to signal her arrival, your plate clatters noisily and your fork falls onto the floor. Thankfully you were nearly finished eating, but you still give her a cold stare.
half of your iced coffe is now in your lap.
"sorry," she winces cutely, sliding into the seat opposite you. "i came running from the station! have you been invited to the big party this weekend?"
"what?" it's difficult to listen to her with coffee seeping through your jeans and into your knickers. the napkins are paper and crumble upon contact with the moisture, making it look like your crotch has dandruff.
"at taehyung's place, a huge birthday party for his friend! everyone is gonna be there," she leans over the table, waving a packet of kleenex at you. "so, can you go? it's short notice but everyone's-"
"gonna be there?" you try not to be mean, but it just comes out that way. "you know i don't like doing things on the weekend, sana. they go by so quickly as it is, why would i do stuff to make it go even faster?"
"i don't know, maybe because you're twenty-nine and not seventy-nine? get a grip, it's one evening and you can leave early if you want," you swat her hand away as she reaches across for a piece of your pancake mid-sentence. "besides, when's the last time you socialised, met knew people, left your house for an extended period of time?"
"well, i have a job, so that's a daily excursion," you pull your plate very close to you, right at the edge of the table and out of her reach. then you slide her a menu and try not to sound clipped. "and i meet new people all the time. i literally met someone new this morning-"
"your dogs running up to strangers in the street for attention is not meeting new people," sana scans the menu, eyes glued to the laminated paper while she mutters. "if it wasn't for your dogs i'm not even sure i'd be friends with you."
"very funny," you say, chewing around a large and final bite of pancake. you do the maths quickly - you wouldn't have to wash your hair because it aligns with your wash routine, your moustache hairs were waxed yesterday, you had no plans for sunday, and your parents had the dogs this weekend. there were really no excuses, and there would probably be food, so after a minute or two you say, "i'll think about it."
"thank you, thank you!" sana beams, rounding the little table to hug you against your will. her bracelets and pointy rings dig into your skin so you complain a bit, but she holds on tight, so neither of you hear door of the cafe swing open beside you.
"hey sana," someone says behind her, "i was just walking by, i didn't know you hung out in this area?"
sana whirls round, arm still hooked around your neck so her ponytail whips you in the face. you can't see her expression, but you hear the almost undetectable murmur through her pretty, smiling mouth. "that's him! the birthday party guy!"
"jimin!" now she's gripping your shoulders like a tense parent at a teacher's meeting and you're not sure how much more manhandling you could take. "fancy seeing you here! are you excited for your birthday on saturday? i'm bringing along my friend here, ___!"
"hi," you raise a palm with a smile. "jimin, is it? i don't believe we've met."
jimin - who was seconds ago smiling at sana - is no longer smiling when he looks at you. in fact, you notice how he scans you up and down and pushes down the flicker of distaste over his face. he smooths it into something more polite before throwing out a flat, "hello."
there's a very awkward silence that sana has to break by rumaging in her obscenely massive bag for her purse. "jimin, why don't you let ___ know the address for saturday while i order, i'll be two seconds!"
now sana was gone, thirty seconds had passed, and no one had said anything. jimin looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, talking to you or in your vicinity at all, but you give him the benefit of the doubt because you are a good person deep down. maybe he was sick, maybe he stepped in shit on the way here, who knows.
"so," you sit on your hands and try to look relaxed. "turning thirty i assume? so many of those this year. i think i've been to taehyung's before so i think i have the address in my car's sat nav alrea-"
"please," he snaps, stern expression locking you into his gaze. "do not come to my birthday party."
"um," your mouth is hanging open. "what?"
"if you turn up i'll call the police." he says evenly. you wait for him to crack a smile, but he's still staring at you with complete seriousness and maybe also gritted teeth. you wait a minute or so for good measure, for him to say he's joking, anything. he doesn't.
"i'm sorry, what?" you are now, for some reason, standing up. he's only a bit taller than you but his presence is threatening. your adrenaline-fueled anger and exasperation do not register this.
"you should be sorry," he hisses, before his face magically transforms into a colgate advert of charming teeth and creased eyes when sana saunters back towards you both.
livid, you step forward to jerk him back to ask why the fuck he wants you arrested for no reason, but he is already encasing sana in a friendly hug and bidding his goodbyes.
"it's going to rain on saturday so make sure you bring a good jacket," he says, patting her shoulders. "we're ordering pizzas around eight so don't turn up too late, i know what you're like!"
"oh, jimin," sana giggles, wiggling her fingers at him and completely missing the way ignores you and heads out the order without even ordering a fucking glance your way. "isn't he such a gentleman, ___? i've only met him a couple times but he's just like those decent men you claim don't exist. i even thought on saturday, maybe you two could-"
"i'm gonna kill that fucking goblin," you say through gritted teeth, seething as you lunge for the door before sana can grab you.
