#jimin x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bytemee · 15 days ago

Text

OPERA HOUSE — yu jimin.

♫ playing… opera house by cigarettes after sex

synopsis. you moved to seoul for school, with barely enough money to cover your rent, a language you were still learning clumsy and slow, and your little sister back home constantly asking you to look out for her favorite idols, as if they’d just show up next to you at a crosswalk. you weren’t here to chase anything. not fame, not love, not even a dream, really but just something to make it through. but she found you anyway, and in her mind, without meaning to, she started building something quiet and vast just for you — like an opera house tucked deep in a place no one else could reach, a place no one else would ever know how to find, and she still doesn’t understand why or how or what it was supposed to mean, only that she was meant to love you, and even now, even after everything, she still does.

pairing. idol!karina x collegestudent!fem!reader

genre. romance, slow burn, angst / hurt-comfort, emotional drama.

disclaimer(s). unresolved trauma, ANGST bruh, fluffy too heh, kissing, L translated korean (not a lot dont fear), lot of timeskips, karina wants that cookie so bad dude...and let me know if there's more! ummmm im gonna post this pt1 then go watch netflix.. idk why tumblrs making me split this </3

word count. 15.9k

main masterlist. part two. part three.

you don't mind seoul's cold. it isn't like the cold of chicago, harsh and unforgiving, not even in the summer months; seoul's winter is different—like a brisk walk along a busy street. it bites a little, sure—stings your fingers and makes your ears go numb when you forget your beanie, but you hardly notice it as much anymore.

you tighten your hoodie around your neck as you cut across the courtyard, ignoring the wind that pushes through your sleeves. it's late, almost evening, but there's still a current of students moving in and out of the library, some of them calling out to friends as they walk by. you nod at the security guard on your way out, tugging your hood up and placing a hand over it before the wind can rip it off again like it did this morning.

seoul always felt like something you were running toward.

you could've studied in the states. stayed close to home. slept in your own bed and driven twenty minutes to campus and saved yourself the burnout that came with moving across the world. but you didn't want that—not really. you didn't want to feel like you were just waiting around for something bigger to happen. you wanted the bigger thing. you wanted movement, change, and growth, and you wanted to learn somewhere that didn't already know you and didn't already expect things from you—somewhere with a pulse that would beat against you the same way.

you're studying to be an actress, though you still wince a little when you say that out loud. it sounds like a pipe dream, even if you're already here doing it. your classmates speak fluent korean, dance between monologues like it's instinct, and some of them already have managers, signed with real agencies, while you spend the last hour of every friday trying to make a business call to your parents to sound like something less than an absolute fucking mess.

your parents were quiet when you first told them you were studying fine arts. like the news wasn't sinking in, or maybe like they didn't hear you right. even so, they didn't ask you to stay, but they didn't exactly celebrate the news either. your mom packed your bags with tears she pretended not to have, and your dad drove you to the airport and shook your hand outside of customs and wished you well.

he didn't tell you he loved you or even say goodbye. just: "good luck."

maybe he doesn't think you'll make it.

your sister, on the other hand, cried at your farewell, bawled the whole drive from your house to the airport, and wrapped herself around your arm until your father pulled her away at security, but it's her you call most nights, a fourteen-hour time difference making it impossible to keep a steady relationship with anyone except the internet. she always asks you how things are, how school is, how work is, and when are you coming back home.

sometimes you can't even answer her. you miss her, too, sometimes more than the rest. but you know if you told her the truth, she wouldn't understand. you aren't the type to complain or to break, but when you tell her things are fine, you're lying through your teeth, and it's the worst kind of feeling, a loneliness that eats its way into the back of your head, where all your doubts hide in wait, like vipers, ready to bite.

still, you don't give them much opportunity these days. there isn't room to feed your demons with doubt. not anymore, not after all the progress you've made, not after finally getting somewhere and finding your stride, a voice, a little courage, enough to look past the ache.

you press your tongue to your teeth and look down at your phone, checking the banking app again. the tuition charge is still pending. it's always a little brutal seeing that much money disappear in one click, but it's the cost of trying—of proving to yourself that you're serious about this.

you duck into the gs25 on the corner, blowing into your hands to warm them up. the heater blasts in your face the second you walk in, and you groan a little, shoving your frozen fingers in your hoodie. you head to the atm near the back, card in, code, bank menu, tuition tab. you pause when the numbers come up.

still feels like a punch.

you hover for a second, then press confirm. the screen blinks, and your balance shrinks right afterwards. you pull the receipt, fold it once, and slide it into your wallet without looking.you should feel proud, but mostly you just feel tired.

as you step back into the cold, the air hits harder now that your body's adjusted to the heat. you rub your arms, swiftly making your way towards the subway. it's only a couple of minutes' walk from here. thankfully.

your phone buzzes in your pocket.

[incoming call: livi 👩‍👧]

you smile as you answer.

"yo," you say, shifting your bag higher onto your shoulder as you walk toward the subway station.

"oh my god, finally! i've been waiting for you to wake up." your younger sister's voice comes through the line, and your grin widens. "guess what? aespa just announced their fansigns, and the first one is in seoul in two weeks. you have to go and send me pictures. i can only imagine how cute they are in person—the posters are not doing them justice. seriously, you have to get me selfies of them, or i won't believe they exist—"

you snort, weaving through the crowd. "you're acting like they're cryptids or something."they are," livi insists. "gorgeous, talented cryptids. especially karina."

you shake your head. "you want me to go just for karina?"

"duh. who else? wait, no—actually, get some of winter too. and ningning. oh! and giselle, obviously!"

"so... the whole group?"

"obviously," she huffs. you shake your head, only half-listening as she rambles about the group's latest comeback. you don't hate k-pop or anything, but it's never really been your thing. livi, on the other hand, is obsessed. you've lost count of how many times she's forced you to watch aespa performances, the interviews, and fancams. though it normally slips out your brain five minutes later.

"livi, i literally just dropped a tuition payment. unless you want me to go broke for a fan sign, it's not happening."

she groans. "you act like you don't have a job."

"having a job doesn't mean i magically have money," you deadpan.

livi scoffs. "yeah, but you're like... responsible and stuff. you always figure it out."

you smile a little at the compliment. livi may be a pain sometimes, but you love her to death. she has her moments, and while she can be annoying, it means a lot that she thinks you have your shit together.

well. most of the time.

you step onto the subway, leaning against the pole as the doors slide shut. "i don't think i qualify as a fan, liv."

"doesn't matter. you'd be there for me."

you roll your eyes. "we'll see."

livi gasps. "wait. that wasn't a no. that wasn't a no!"

the train jerks forward, and you tighten your grip on the pole. "bye, livi."

"wait—"

she's most likely not going to let this go. she never does. but as much as you try to push it out of your mind, the idea lingers. it might be fun, honestly. you could use the break, and it's been a while since you've done something spontaneous.

but then there's the cost. the thought makes you groan.

there's no way in hell you can afford it.

you pull out your phone again, checking the time—nearly six. the day's almost done. soon enough, you'll be back at your apartment, getting a good dinner and maybe catching up on some homework before bed.

a quiet evening, like always. maybe after dinner, you'll stop by the convenience store down the street. the one with the cute cat that's as fat as a balloon. the train screeches to a halt at your stop, snapping you out of your thoughts. you step off, weaving through the crowds as you exit into the street. the sky's beginning to darken, the sunset painting the horizon in orange and pink. you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fried dumplings and hotteok. the smells waft from the food stands nearby, making your stomach grumble.

your phone buzzes, and you check it as you walk, the screen lighting up with a text.

"i'm home! i need to practice makeup on you for class. you down?"

you grin and reply, "promise not to make me look like a zombie this time."

it only takes a minute for the response to pop up.

"i'll take that as a yes. see you soon :)"

sora's your roommate, your best friend, basically your entire lifeline here in korea. she's a year older than you and studies special effects makeup, so her hobby often turns into her practice space, and you're usually the unsuspecting victim. you've had your fair share of gory looks, from grotesque scars to completely turned faces, but it's worth it. she's the most passionate person you know, and her hard work is starting to pay off.

you step through the door to the apartment building, making your way toward the elevator. it's a short ride to the seventh floor, and the doors slide open, revealing the hallway.

you unlock the door, dropping your keys on the counter and setting your bag down. sora's already sitting on the floor, her makeup kit spread out like an artist's palette. she grins when she sees you. "you're right on time. sit down and let me work my magic."

her boyfriend, jae, pops his head into the room just as you sit on the floor. he smiles when he sees you.

"hey, y/n. you're here."

"she's my test subject," sora explains.

"ah. that's unfortunate."

you roll your eyes at jae's teasing, but a grin tugs at the corners of your lips. "it's not that bad," you say, crossing your legs and sitting on the floor as sora starts pulling out her various makeup tools.

sora scoffs, clearly unbothered by jae's jab. "you're lucky to be the test subject. i've mastered the art of making people look beautifully gory. it's a gift."

jae laughs. "you mean you've mastered the art of making y/n look like she's from a zombie apocalypse movie?"

you can't help but laugh at the memory of the last look she did. you've ended up covered in fake blood, with scars and cuts and a mangled hand, courtesy of sora's skills. it'd been impressive, even if it'd taken hours to remove.

sora waves her brush in the air. "don't insult my talent, jae. this is why i have to practice." he holds his hands up in surrender. "my bad."

she smiles, waving him off. "it's fine, but y/n is my muse, not yours. now, shoo."

jae shakes his head, giving her a kiss before turning to leave. "have fun. try not to get makeup all over the floor this time, please."

she flips him off as the door closes behind him, and you giggle. sora and jae are perfect for each other. they've been dating since the beginning of the year, and they've been nothing but good to each other. you're glad sora's found someone who treats her well. she deserves the world. "okay, y/n," she says, grabbing a tube of foundation. "close your eyes."

you close your eyes, trying not to flinch when the brush touches your skin. she works in silence for a few minutes, only speaking to ask you to tilt your head or to dab more makeup. finally, the brushes stop, and you open your eyes.

"done?"

"not yet," sora says. "this one's gonna take a while."

you groan. "sora..."

"it's worth it!"

you sigh, closing your eyes again. you're starting to get hungry. like really hungry to the point you think you'll have to start squeezing in your stomach to silence your growling. it doesn't help that you can smell the kimchi sora cooked earlier.

"so," sora begins, and you can practically hear the smile in her voice. "did you think any more about the fan sign?"

"livi already called to tell you about it?"

"yes. she wants me to convince you to go, so here i am, convincing you."

you crack open one eye, squinting at her. "how did she even get your number?"

sora grins. "she's sneaky. anyway, i'm not taking sides, but she made a good argument. you could use a break. you've been working so hard lately."

"less talking, more makeup! i'm starving."

sora hums quietly as she smooths another layer of makeup across your cheek, her thumb bracing your jaw with a light, practiced touch. her brows knit in concentration, her teeth pinching the inside of her cheek. "you know livi won't drop the fan sign thing, right? she'll keep bringing it up."

"unfortunately," you say. "i'll think about it."

"you know, i heard that aespa is pretty chill with their fans."

"mm-hmm."

"i bet if you just asked nicely, they'd let you take pictures."

"sure."

"maybe even selfies."

"whatever."

sora chuckles, grabbing a sponge and dabbing some foundation under your eyes. there's no getting through to you, so she quits while she's ahead. you're not sure if you're grateful or annoyed at her stubbornness, but you appreciate her for trying to convince you. her brushstrokes slow down, more focused. she's nearing the end. you hope. you shift a little to get more comfortable, your back starting to ache from sitting on the hard floor, and sora taps your shoulder. "stay still. almost done."

she falls silent again, still humming under her breath while she concentrates. her brows furrow slightly as she leans forward, carefully applying some fake blood to your lip. and with nothing to distract you, your brain drifts back to the thought of going to the fan sign. it might be nice to do something like that, to have some fun for once. you don't know many people here, and you don't have much time to go out, so a chance like this wouldn't come again anytime soon. and if you did go, livi would be happy. you would be doing her a favor. maybe you should go.

just as you're about to open your mouth and say something—maybe not a full yes, but something—sora pulls back and claps her hands. "done!"

you blink your eyes open. she's grinning, proud, already reaching over to grab the mirror. when she hands it to you, you brace for impact.

you hold it up, expecting disaster—and yeah, it's dramatic. a huge gash runs from your cheekbone to your jaw, layered with bruises and dried blood, fake of course, but it looks real. your eye is swollen, blackened by makeup, and your bottom lip is split, bloody, like someone took a hammer to it.

"wow," you breathe. "sora..."

she beams, looking smug. "amazing, right?"

you turn your head to look in the mirror at different angles. the effect is striking, even though you're only looking at your face. "way to ruin my pretty face." you genuinely look like a final girl after crawling out of a burning building.

"oh, please, your face was already ruined." she snatches the mirror away. "and i didn't ruin anything. i improved it."

"yeah, yeah, whatever. you're a genius."

sora stands up, brushing off her legs. "of course i am. i'm gonna go clean up. you wanna watch a movie tonight?"

just then, your stomach growls. very loudly, very rudely, causing you to wince at the sound. "i need food. like now."

sora waves you off. "go. you're ruining my art with your hanger."

you drag yourself off the floor, stretching your back with a quiet groan. "you want anything?"

she shakes her head. "i'm good. i'll be here. don't take too long, or else you'll miss the good part."

you slip on your slides by the door, grab your hoodie from the back of the chair, and pat your pockets for your keys. sora yells something about getting banana milk if it's on sale, but you're already halfway out the door. as soon as you step out of the dorm building, you shove your hands in your pockets, your stomach grumbling. you haven't eaten since this morning, and your appetite has caught up to you. maybe you'll get some dumplings, or some yakgwa, or maybe both.

you hit the elevator button and bounce on your heels a little while you wait. living on the seventh floor sounded like a good idea when you moved in. now it just means longer elevator rides and worse wi-fi. the doors open with a mechanical groan, and you step in alone, tugging your hoodie up over your head.

it's colder than it was this evening. you take the side exit of the building and cut across the back lot. there are always a few plastic bags fluttering around the pavement and leftover delivery boxes stacked by the trash bins. you ignore them. are you a bad person for that? probably. but you have priorities right now, and garbage isn't one of them.

the convenience store's only about a block away, right next to that rundown laundromat with the blinking sign. it's familiar by now—you've been in and out of it a hundred times since moving in. the same bored part-timer is probably behind the counter, barely awake. you push open the door, a chime ringing overhead as you step inside.

the fluorescent lights glow overhead, making your hungry headache worse. you rub your eyes, going straight for the drinks first because it gives you time to think. you reach for a banana milk, then pause, considering strawberry instead. your hand hovers between the two like it's a life-or-death decision.

and that's when someone walks straight into you.

hard.

you stumble a little, head snapping up. "ah—죄송합니다," you say quickly, bowing your head almost out of habit. sorry, an automatic response, a knee-jerk reaction, though you feel more startled than apologetic. you expect the other person to respond, apologize maybe, or brush it off.

they don't.

in fact, she's frozen, almost startled, eyes wide under the shadow of a cap pulled low. you stare at each other for a solid three seconds. for a second, you think maybe she's finally gonna say something when her lips part, but she stays quiet, frozen where they are. maybe you should say something, but you're about 90% sure if you did, it would be a stuttered, useless mess because wow... she's... pretty. like distractingly pretty. clear skin, delicate features, and a beauty mark resting right beneath her bottom lip. and she smells nice. is that weird to notice? you should say something. you should say anything.

she doesn't make a move. doesn't blink or even breathe, like you're an animal, or maybe a ghost, and either way, you're starting to freak out a little, like the panic you feel when a spider scurries up your arm and there's nothing you can do about it. her gaze lingers. her brows pull together a little, and she lifts a hand like she might touch your arm.

"are you okay?" she asks in korean, quiet but immediate.

and then you remember what's on your own face—sora's dramatic special effects makeup. bruises, dried blood, swollen lip. she probably thinks you just crawled here from a street fight.you shake your head lightly. "yeah, yeah. i'm okay. just makeup—my roommate's an sfx student," you explain, gesturing vaguely at your face. "for class."

she pauses, and for a split second, something passes over her face—a shadow of emotion, relief maybe? you don't have time to place it before she relaxes. "sorry, i thought—" she stops abruptly, shaking her head. "i'm glad you're not hurt."

you offer her a reassuring smile, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck. "yeah, no. don't worry. i'm totally fine."

her lips pressed together in a polite, subdued smile. it's an expression you know well—the kind strangers wear to be friendly but reserved. you bow again, smaller this time. "sorry for making you worried," you say once more, polite but calm, and then you step past her.

you make a beeline straight for the snack aisle, gripping your banana milk a little too tight. your face feels hot, and you're pretty sure it's not just the fake bruises baking under the store lights. your heart's doing something stupid and heavy in your chest, and you tell yourself it's just adrenaline or hunger or social anxiety or literally anything other than what it probably is.you reach for the shrimp chips without looking, knock over a bag of seaweed snacks in the process, curse under your breath, fix it, and pretend like none of that happened.

you don't glance back once. you don't want to know if she's looking at you, and you definitely don't want to know if you made a fool of yourself. but god, if you did have the balls to look back, you would've seen her staring at you from the other side of the aisle, lips pressed together, gaze fixed on your retreating figure with her eyes narrowed slightly.

karina doesn't move for a second. still standing in front of the drinks, hand halfway to the handle, but she's not grabbing anything. not thinking about anything she came in for, either. she's just standing there like an idiot, staring at the fridge door, still trying to process what the hell just happened.

it was nothing, right? a girl with makeup on her face and a banana milk in her hand. just a bump, a few words. but something about it's sitting weird in her chest, the way you looked at her dead in the eye and didn't even flinch. not a spark of recognition, not even the usual fake smile people give when they realize who she is and start pretending they're calm. none of that. you looked at her like she was just another person in your way. and maybe that's what caught her off guard first.

which is insane. actually insane. because she should be used to people recognizing her, reacting to her, lighting up at the sight of her. she's not arrogant about it—at least she tries not to be—but she's used to a certain kind of energy when she walks into a room. an extra level of attention. it's been that way since the moment she got scouted.

and now, that energy isn't coming, and she doesn't know what to do about that, only that something's off about the whole situation.

karina finally pulls open the door to the fridge. the cool air hits her face, and she grabs a few bottles. people care what she thinks. all the time. all day. every day. and you... didn't. and now she's standing in a convenience store with a dumb drink in her hand, thinking about a girl with fake bruises and a tired voice and an accent that wobbled just once before you steadied it.

she presses her lips together.

goddamnit. who are you?

and why can't she stop wondering?

⭑𓂃

you don't even want to be here.

well, you know you said you'd think about it, and you had convinced yourself you would, but that's when you were running off of an empty stomach and adrenaline. you've had time to think since then. plenty of it.

the lights are too bright, the room is too loud, and every second that passes reminds you that you're surrounded by people who care way more about this than you do. girls with professionally printed banners and hearts drawn on their cheeks, screaming and bouncing on the balls of their feet like this is christmas morning. you shift uncomfortably in your seat, clutching your hands together like it's a shield, like holding them tighter will keep you from being exposed for the fraud you are—because that's what this feels like, right? like you're a fake. like you stole a seat from someone who would've cried over this moment. the guilt doesn't help your nerves, and sora keeps poking you in the ribs every time you start to slouch, like she's determined to make you look alive.

"so," sora whispers, leaning closer, her voice nearly drowned out by the screams around you. "are you glad you came?"

"i'm not here for them," you mumble, and she elbows you hard enough to make you wince. you rub your side with a scowl, glaring at her, but she ignores your pout.

she rolls her eyes. "don't be like that."

"like what? i'm not here for them. i'm here to make livi happy and be the world's best big sister, i am."

sora snorts. "uh-huh."

"what?"

she shrugs. "nothing."

you squint at her suspiciously. "what are you getting at?"

"nothing! i just think you're a big softie."

"i'm not a softie," you insist.

"yeah, you are. a big one."

"i'm not!"

sora nudges you with her shoulder. "you so are."

you groan. "sora..."

she waves you off, grinning. "whatever. don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

you roll your eyes, but you can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

when the girls finally walk out, it feels surreal—not because you're starstruck, but because the noise in the room swells like a wave that knocks the breath out of you. you lift your phone instinctively, hitting record just to give livi something to scream about, even though your hand's already cramping from how tightly you're gripping it. you vaguely register their faces as they take their seats—winter, giselle, ningning, and karina. the names come to you from livi's constant fangirling, not from memory, and you're already dropping your jaw when you put two and two together.

wait...

you blink once.

twice.

you suck in a breath, eyes going wide as your brain scrambles to dig through a memory—no, not a memory, a moment. that night. the convenience store. the hoodie, the sweats, the cap pulled low. the girl who smelled like she walked straight out of a designer bottle. the one who reached for your face.

the one with the beauty mark under her lip.

your jaw drops slightly.

"no fucking way..." you whisper.

you slap your palm over your face, dragging it down like you're trying to scrub the thought out of your skull. you groan. quiet, but guttural. it truly sounds like something between a laugh and a breakdown.

you've been walking around thinking about that convenience store girl like she was some random, mysterious stranger with model energy and main character lighting—and it was karina. karina, karina. the idol your sister has been obsessed with since quarantine. the one whose face is on mugs, albums, and at least three posters in your sister's bedroom.

"oh my god," you mutter, sinking lower in your seat.

sora glances over. "what?"

you keep your hand over your face. "nothing."

she snorts. "you're being weird."

"i'm having an episode."

"well, can you finish your episode later?" she says under her breath.

you shoot her a glare from between your fingers. she flashes you a smile and pats your shoulder. "don't be so dramatic."

you scoff. "coming from you? that's rich."

she elbows you hard enough to make you yelp. that's like...the sixth time today. it's a new record, honestly.

you're still halfway through mentally spiraling when the staff starts calling people up by number, one by one, leading them to the table like lambs to the slaughter or, well, in this case, squealing fans to their idols. the energy in the room is weirdly reverent, like everyone's holding their breath all at once. sora leans into you again, jabbing your thigh with two fingers. "that's you. get your ass up."

you stand when your number is called, following the usher toward the table. a few staff remind you not to take photos up close, to move along once you're done, and to keep personal gifts boxed. you nod along, barely processing.

the first member is ningning.

she greets you with a smile so bright you almost forget to breathe. she's warm and playful, complimenting your smile while scribbling something down in the album. you manage to mutter out a thank-you and try not to sound like a robot. her smile widens. she winks, and you almost trip over yourself as you hurry to the next member.

giselle's next. she takes one look at your name tag and switches to english like it's second nature. "where are you from?" she asks, sharp-eyed and grinning like she already knows. you tell her. she nods, thoughtful, and then—without warning—goes, "cute accent." your jaw ticks. you don't know how to respond to that, so you do what you do best: ignore the compliment entirely and look down at the table. she finishes her signature and hands your album back with a sly smile and a pat on your hand, like she's in on some joke. you are not in on it.

winter is... sweet. scarily so.

she greets you with the kind of warmth that makes you feel like you're doing something wrong just by being indifferent. her voice is gentle, her tone light, and when she hands your album back, she wishes you luck in school. you blink at her, taken off guard. she's the only one who didn't flirt. for that, you're almost grateful.

then you move to the last chair.

karina.

she looks up when you approach. her eyes land on yours, and her head tilts a little to one side, just for a second. her lips pull down in a slight frown. recognition? or are you just overthinking things? her face smooths into a polite smile. "hi," she says.

you blink. "hey."

she reaches for your album, already pulling the cap off her pen, but you hold it out just a little longer. "do you mind writing something sweet for my sister? she's the one who dragged me here. well, not literally. she's overseas. i'm just the proxy." you smile. it feels weird. too friendly. like you're showing teeth when you don't need to.

that gets a little smile out of her. it's shy, like she's trying to hide it, but it's there. "what's her name?"

"livi. l-i-v-i."

"is she younger?"

"mhm."

karina nods and turns to your album. as soon as the pen hits the paper, you read every word as soon as it's put down because you're curious, sue you. it's a pretty basic message: dear livi, thank you for always supporting us. please continue to do well. she draws a little heart at the end. then she pauses for a moment, tapping the pen against the album, and her smile takes a different shape. smaller, sly, almost amused.

she adds one more thing.

i'll see you soon. :)

she hands your album back, and when your eyes meet, hers flash with something almost daring, almost too smug, too self-assured.

it's almost challenging.

"you came just for her?"

you nod." she begged. i said no like ten times, but... "you shrug. "i caved."

there's a soft laugh under her breath. "she must be important to you."

you pause, then nod again. "she is."

karina hums. "are you visiting korea, then?"

"no. i'm studying here."

her head tilts just slightly. "oh? what major?"

"fine arts. acting." you say before you can overthink it. "or trying to, at least."

"really?" her eyebrows rise. "have you been here long?"

"two years. going onto my third."

"ah. how do you like it so far?"

"kinda hectic. but mostly okay," you say, then add, "the food's good."

"well, yeah." she chuckles. "that's a given."

"right."

a small silence falls. you shuffle, trying not to make the awkwardness too obvious, and she does the same, tugging lightly at the collar of her shirt. is this going to go on much longer? you should probably wrap things up and bow or something and run the hell away before the fans behind you start glaring.

but before you can, karina speaks again. "have we met before?"

you could lie. say no and move on. literally anything, really.

she pauses again, still watching you like she's waiting for something to click into place. then she leans in slightly, her voice low enough to stay between just the two of you.

"...we did meet."

you blink, already halfway stepping back. "what?"

karina's smile turns quiet, the corners of her lips twitching like she's trying not to grin too much. "the convenience store. you were staring at banana milk... and you had the sfx makeup." your stomach drops straight to your shoes. you blink once, twice, then press your lips together, a sheepish huff escaping.

"heh. yeah." you rub the back of your neck. "didn't think you'd... remember that."

"i do," she says, gently amused. "you looked scared of me."

"i thought i got in your way."

"you did."

you glance up. her eyes are warm and playful, nowhere near mean. you laugh under your breath. "sorry about that," you say.

and you mean it.

before she can respond, a staff member gently clears their throat behind you.

karina glances past your shoulder, her expression shifting slightly. you both hear the subtle shuffle of the line moving. you know this is your cue to go.

the moment's about to snap.

karina leans back, her hand still hovering over your album, and quietly asks, "one sec?" it's not really a request. not really to you, but it is to the staff.

they hesitate. just for a breath.

but then someone from the team murmurs, "we have to keep the line moving."

karina's lips pout out. she wants to argue. but she doesn't. she knows better. you do too.

she turns back to you, softer now. "sorry."

you shake your head. "no, no—thanks again."

you head back to your seat with your album and furrowed eyebrows basically imprinted on your face. sora grabs your wrist before you sit, tugging you down beside her.

"why do you look constipated?"

you shake your head, still a little dazed.

"don't. just don't."

she leans in, voice low. "what'd she say to you?"

you don't answer right away. you're too busy watching karina from across the room. she's smiling again, but not in your direction—someone's waving a sign with her name on it, and she's bowing politely. like nothing happened. like your conversation was just another minute in her day.

maybe it was.

maybe you're just an idiot.

"nothing," you say finally, settling back in your chair. "she was nice."

sora rolls her eyes. "yeah. they're all nice."

you bite your lip. "...so what'd they say to you?"

she snorts. "ning called me cute."

"seriously?"

"mm-hmm. you think i'm lying? she actually wrote, 'you're very pretty.' do you see the heart? look."

she shoves the album in your face. there is, indeed, a heart drawn. you roll your eyes. "see," she continues, tapping the page, "it's not that hard."

"whatever."

the event isn't over—not even close. the mc comes out next, mic in hand, and starts hyping the crowd for some q&a. you try your best to look attentive, but your thoughts are stuck in rewind. playing that one-minute exchange with karina back and forth in your head like a cassette tape with a jammed eject button.

you try not to look at her.

fail.

she laughs at something winter says. you glance away.

"god," you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. you knew how people felt about idols and fans—even sora was starting to ramble about how sweet karina was, how cool giselle's hair was, and how winter had such a charming voice—but the thing is, you didn't really see the appeal. like, yes, sure, she's a celebrity and beautiful and talented, but she was just a person. and honestly, you were perfectly okay with forgetting all about your stupid little encounter and maybe chalking the whole thing up to a weird dream.

except that you didn't.

you can't.

the girls are in their element now. there's a casualness to them up here that wasn't present during the signing. ningning's cracking jokes, winter keeps mouthing things to giselle off-mic, and karina's practically sitting on the edge of her seat, ready to answer whatever the heck gets thrown at her.

but every now and then, her gaze flicks up.

you're not sure if she's looking at you. you kind of hope she's not.

the q&a moves on to little games—charades, a drawing contest, and impersonations. it's fun, or it would be, if not for the fact that you feel like an impostor. livi would've loved to be here. she'd be front row, center, with her arms in the air, waving her banner around and screaming along to the music.

she would've fit right in.

"are you bored?" sora asks, nudging your foot under the table.

you tear your gaze away from the stage, trying not to feel guilty. you probably look like you're scowling, though, because sora frowns, tilting her head.

"everything okay?"

you nod a little too quickly. "yeah."

sora bites the inside of her cheek, and you can already tell she's fighting the urge to call you on your bullshit, so you flash her a grin, leaning your head on her shoulder and making a show of closing your eyes.

"wish i could teleport livi into my shoes."

that makes her laugh. "that'd be cute. she'd probably cry, huh?"

"big tears," you agree, playing it up and mimicking a dramatic sob. she rolls her eyes, shoving you off, but the concern has eased a little.

"idiot," she mutters.

"love you too," you sing.

eventually, the event winds down. the girls say their final messages, all filtered through smiles and gratitude and well-rehearsed goodbyes. everyone claps. you do too, mechanically.sora slaps your leg. "you survived."

"barely."

she grins and tugs her jacket on. "let's go. i'm starving."

you're just about to step through the main exit when someone calls out behind you.

"excuse me—miss?"

you both turn.

a staff member walks over briskly, holding something small and plain in one hand. an envelope. white. sealed.

you frown.

"this was left for you," they say, discreetly. "from karina-ssi."

sora makes a sound that is almost definitely a gasp, but you barely hear it through the rush in your ears.

"oh—thank you," you say, your voice more composed than you feel. your fingers close around the envelope carefully, like it might vanish.

the staff member nods once, then disappears back into the crowd.sora is staring. hard.

she blinks, her mouth falling open, but before she can get the words out, you beat her to the punch.

"i know, okay," you hiss.

she shuts her mouth. then she grins.

"huh. maybe this wasn't so bad, was it?"

you roll your eyes and walk outside.

⭑𓂃

karina has never had trouble with words.

they come easy. she can smile, can dance, and can hold a room with the click of a pen or the wave of a hand. she can say what people want to hear. make the right noise at the right moment.

she doesn't remember being shy or nervous, either. that was the first thing they beat out of her in training. if you're shy, no one will pay attention to you.

no one will remember you.

so no. karina is not shy, and she does not stumble.

or, well, she usually doesn't.

you make her stumble.

not visibly. she doesn't think. she's trained too long and hard to let something like that slip through. but in her head? in her brain, there's a little voice, the size of a seed, that tells her she should have said more. asked another question, maybe, or told you to have a nice night, or just waved. something. anything.

anything more than the polite goodbye that felt too cold, even by her standards.

karina doesn't have many regrets, and she's never second-guessed herself before, not like this, but it's too late now. karina doesn't realize she's zoning out until the van takes a bump a little too hard and her knee hits the seat in front of her.

"still thinking about her?" winter asks from the other side, her voice casual and bored-sounding but definitely not not nosy.

karina's slow to respond. "no."

"liar."

karina exhales through her nose and leans her head back against the seat. "not like that." winter scrolls on her phone, not even looking at her. "like what, then?"

she doesn't answer right away. it's not like she's been dwelling on it—she's just tired. her back's sore from sitting at the table too long, her hand's cramping from all the autographs, and her face still feels tight from hours of smiling.

but none of those reasons feel right, either, so instead, karina goes with the only thing that comes close to an excuse:

"she was different," karina says, and she hates that she sounds cliché even to herself.

winter hums." how so, exactly?

she glances over, meeting her gaze, and winter is giving her that knowing look. like she gets it, which she might, if karina has read the signals correctly, so karina chooses her next words carefully.

"we met before," she says. "in a convenience store, by accident. she didn't recognize me."

winter's brows lift.

"seriously?"

"yes," she replies, rubbing the bridge of her nose, already feeling a headache coming. "i was going to ignore it, but then i saw her at the fan sign, and she told me she was only there for her sister. she didn't care about any of us—but like in a good way!" karina pauses. shakes her head. this is ridiculous.

she laughs, though it's soft and a little self-deprecating.

"she was polite. distant."

and sweet. and cute, and a little bit awkward.

and... a lot of things karina isn't supposed to notice about a fan.

"hm. is that a good or bad thing?"

karina hesitates, glancing over. "it's... noteworthy."

winter doesn't move, doesn't blink, and for a second, karina's worried she's going to laugh, or worse, tease her, and honestly, karina isn't sure she'd have a witty response to any of that. but winter doesn't do any of that. she just says,

"that's rare."

then she looks back at her phone, tapping her screen casually, as if she didn't just throw the world's best non-judgmental shade.

the silence is back. it feels heavy now.

"are you upset?"

"no, no," she says quickly. "it's interesting. not the same. kinda nice."

karina leans back against the seat, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. it is nice. even if it's strange and unexpected. it's nice not being recognized, being looked at like she's an actual human, not a fantasy, not an object.

but it also means that, unlike with most people, karina can't be charming or confident. she can't rely on the usual script, the flirty smiles, or teasing remarks.

which means that her usual repertoire isn't going to work, not unless she can find the right words, the right place, and the right moment.

which is a problem.

a big one.

"what are you gonna do about it?"

"i have no idea."

⭑𓂃

by the time you get back to your apartment, the sun has almost gone down. the sky is streaked orange and pink, and the wind has a bite.

you push open the door, groaning quietly as you kick off your shoes and step inside. your shoulders sag a little. the couch has never looked better.

sora tosses her purse on the counter, stretching her arms up high enough to crack her spine. then she glances over, holding out her palm.

"so. you gonna give it to me, or...?"

you raise an eyebrow. "give what?"

she scoffs. "don't play dumb. hand it over. let me see."

your cheeks go warm. "sora—"

"oh my god, are you actually embarrassed? i'm not livi. this doesn't count. give. me."

"sora!"

she makes a grabby motion, reaching for it, but you dance around the kitchen island, clutching the envelope against your chest.

"seriously?"

"what are we, five?"

sora rolls her eyes. "as if you weren't dying to read it yourself."

"fine. maybe i am. happy?"

"ecstatic." she leans her elbows against the counter, propping her chin on her hand. "what'd you two even talk about? did you hit it off?"

you roll your eyes.

"you are reading too much into this," you tell her. "all i did was say hi. i barely said anything."

"so what?" sora waves a hand. "if karina wants to write a love letter, then that's her prerogative. all you have to do is read it. i mean, technically, you could just toss the whole thing if you're really not interested, but i'd think that would be pretty shitty of you. even i wouldn't do that."you press your lips together, trying not to smile, and she points a finger.

"don't you dare."

"i didn't say anything," you say.

"mh-hmm. whatever."

"you're the one who's obsessed."

"am not."

"sure. just a teeny-weeny little bit?" you pinch your thumb and forefinger. "just a tad?"

"nope."

"not a smidgeon?"

"zip."

you roll your eyes. she reaches across the counter and lightly swats the envelope from your grip, tugging it close and peeling it open with a careful touch.

you stare.

she raises an eyebrow. "i thought you didn't care to see it."

you don't answer.

her grin widens, smug, as she pulls two crisp matte black concert tickets from the envelope, along with two backstage passes and a signed postcard.

you freeze.

sora freezes, too.

"wait," she says slowly. "wait, wait—what the fuck?"

you say nothing because your brain? it's currently short-circuiting. you're still standing in the kitchen, still watching her fingers slide over the glossy pass, still trying to comprehend the words printed across the top in clean gold lettering: backstage access—seoul dome—vip entry.

sora flips the tickets over.

her jaw drops. "she signed this. she actually signed this. like, with a message. like—like for you."

you finally find your voice. "it's not for me."

"you know what i mean!" she squints at the neat handwriting. "it literally says, 'livi, please continue to support us!' i hope to see you there. love, karina. she even drew a heart. and look—she added something else."

you step closer, looking over her shoulder.

at the bottom of the card, in a smaller, slightly different pen stroke, almost like it was added at the last second, it reads:

"p.s. tell your sister thanks again. :) see you soon."

your breath catches.

you pull your phone out of your back pocket and tap on livi's contact before you can think twice.she picks up on the second ring. "finally! how was it? was it cool? were they nice? tell me everything right now—"

"i got you something," you interrupt.

livi's voice goes up an octave. "you did?! what is it??"

you glance at sora, who's now laying all the stuff out on the kitchen table like she's cataloguing evidence for a trial. "uh," you say. "just... stay calm, okay?"

"no promises."

"okay." you angle the camera and hold up the album first. "she signed it. for you. it's all here."livi shrieks.

you wince and hold the phone away from your ear as she screams, laughs, and screams again."are you serious?! like, actually? oh my god!" she gasps, then falls dramatically silent. "did she—did she say anything about me?!"

you hesitate. then sigh. "yeah."

"oh my god—what did she say?!"

"she asked your name. said, you must be important to me."

"so she knows i exist now? i’m gonna start bawling.”

sora mimes gagging, but you ignore her.

you shuffle awkwardly, phone still held loosely in your right hand. "and, uh... she gave me something else. i think—well, here."

you turn the camera around again, showing her the tickets.

livi is quiet. for once.

"no."

you say nothing.

"no way."

still nothing.

"those aren't backstage passes—"

you nod.

livi screams again, this time so loud that sora jumps and grabs a couch pillow like she's being attacked. "okay, okay!" you laugh. "keep your voice down!"

"are you joking?! are you messing with me right now?!"

"nope. they're real."

"holy shit."

sora tilts her head. "wait, are you even allowed to say 'shit' in front of your sister?"

"she's said worse," you mutter.

livi is still spiraling. "oh my god, oh my god. this is insane. i'm flying over there tonight. i don't care what mom says. you have to take me."

"i will," you say, softer this time. "i promise."

"i think i'm gonna cry," livi sniffles. "like... actually."

"don't, or i might."

sora fake cries from the kitchen, "oh my god, they're bonding!"

you laugh. for real this time.

and maybe—for the first time since stepping into that building—you're kind of glad you went. even if you're still not totally sure what this means.

or what karina wants.

but one thing's for sure.

you owe her big time.

⭑𓂃

livi basically begged you to call your dad as soon as possible, so that's what you did. you told him the good news, and he sounded skeptical at first—you couldn't blame him. between your work schedule and whatever classes you were still pretending to keep up with, the timing felt impossible. but somehow, after a few calls back and forth, a lot of sighing, and livi begging in the background, it all fell into place. he agreed to book her flight, and you promised to take a couple of days off and be responsible for everything else: pickup, food, and getting her back to the airport in one piece.

so tuesday morning you're standing just past the arrival gate, shoulders hunched into your hoodie, hood up, earbuds in, and holding a white piece of printer paper with one word scrawled in sharpie:

"livi 😎"

the smiley face has sunglasses. sora drew it before she left for her group project meeting, claiming it would make you stand out better. which it does, you guess. or at least you hope it does. the last thing you need is to be the reason your sister to get lost in korea.

you check the arrival board for the fifth time.

still on time.

you try not to look awkward, but you definitely do. at least, you feel like it. there are too many people here. you keep accidentally making eye contact with strangers every three seconds. you tug at your sleeves and bounce a little, rocking back on your heels.

it's been months since you last saw your sister. video calls don't count. you've sent her photos, shown her your place, and told her stories—but nothing really captures it. and for the first time since moving here, you kind of want someone to see it. to see you.

to understand what it's been like.

the doors slide open.

you spot her instantly.

her hair's longer. she's wearing your old hoodie—one that went missing two years ago—and the matching bracelet you made each other back in your senior year of high school. it was just a thin, black rope and a single charm each. hers had a tiny sunflower, yours a plain silver heart. you didn't wear yours often anymore, but you started again the day her flight was confirmed. she texted you three times just to say she was packing hers, like you'd forget.

livi begins squinting around like she's forgotten how to navigate earth, dragging a suitcase that looks heavier than her entire body.

you wave the stupid sign.

her eyes lock onto yours, and—

"oh my god!"

she bolts.

she doesn't run gracefully. it's more like a charged stampede, her bag bouncing wildly behind her. a few people jump out of the way. you're barely able to brace yourself before she's crashing into you full-force, arms flung around your neck, knocking your hood off in the process.you stumble backward, catching yourself at the last second.

your sister hugs you like she hasn't seen you in years. she squeezes you tight, sobbing and laughing at the same time, and her bony fingers are digging into your skin. you wheeze.

"jesus."

"missed you," livi mumbles into your shirt, then adds, "you're super thin. how'd that happen?"

"you're crushing me," you hiss.

"not my fault you're bony," she says, and finally lets go. her face is blotchy. her eyeliner is smeared. but she's beaming.

you laugh softly and reach out. you pinch her cheeks. hard. she yelps.

"stop!"

"what's with the ugly crying?" you tease, then reach for her suitcase. she's about to protest, but you lift it without breaking a sweat, and she's too flustered to stop you.

"i'm not ugly-crying!" she snaps.

"mh-hm."

"shut up," she huffs. "i missed you. can't a girl be excited?"

"of course," you say, then pull her to your side, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "glad you're here, nerd."

when you arrive home, it's obvious the apartment has been scrubbed clean. the windows are cracked open a little, letting in some late afternoon breeze, and the scent of your air freshener lingers in the living room, probably courtesy of sora. it smells like cinnamon and apples and that weird fake fresh snow smell from your christmas candle.

livi drops her bag at the entrance and toe-kicks off her sneakers like she owns the place."nice," she says, turning in a slow circle. "way better than i thought it'd be."

you grin, tossing your keys onto the counter. "yeah, well. i try."

she beelines straight for your fridge. "do you have banana milk?"

"no."

"liar. you told me you drink one every morning before class."

you sigh and point to the bottom shelf. she lets out a dramatic gasp and pulls out a bottle like she's found treasure.

"god, i love this country," she says reverently.

you snort and flop down on the couch while she explores like a toddler in a new daycare. her suitcase is still by the door, but she's already asking a hundred questions per second. how's the concert venue? is karina as tall as she looks? what's she like in real life? are you nervous?

you groan and bury your face in a pillow.

you end up spending most of the day in a comfortable blur.

first stop is food. livi insists on trying "real" korean corn dogs after seeing them on tiktok, and the two of you spend nearly twenty minutes walking through hongdae while she argues with google maps and you try not to laugh. when you finally find the stand, she squeals and orders three different kinds. she eats all of them. you're both sticky-fingered and full by the time you find a bench, your drink lids popping slightly from the heat.

afterward, she wants to hit a few stores. she tries on bucket hats and oversized sweaters, makes you take pictures of her outside a claw machine arcade, and demands to stop at every convenience store you pass so she can compare prices. at one point, she spots a photobooth and insists you go in with her. the two of you cram into the booth, shoulders pressed together, and she picks the most chaotic frame options possible: sparkles, bunny ears, and flowers. she presses her cheek against yours. your lips pull into a grimace, but when the camera flashes, you both crack up.

you spend the rest of the day walking and talking. about her school and her friends back home. about how mom secretly asks about you, but won't admit it out loud, and about how dad keeps checking the weather in korea as if it's going to affect him as much as it does you. your eyes widen a fraction at that, but she waves a hand like she didn't just drop a bomb and tells you that he misses you and loves you, and yeah, he can be an asshole sometimes, but he's working on it.

that's all she has to say.

that's all you need.

that night, you fall asleep to the sound of her brushing her teeth in the next room, the soft clink of a glass being set down on the counter. you wake once to her phone buzzing and hear her whispering something to a friend back home, giggling into her blanket.

and then, morning.

bright and early, jittery with energy.

because it's today.

the concert.

your apartment is quiet again, save for the soft shuffle of livi getting ready. the concert's not until later, but she's already dressed in her best outfit, hair curled at the ends, bracelets stacked halfway up both wrists. she keeps checking her bag like she's afraid she'll forget something important—like she's going to prom, not a concert.

you yawn and pour a cup of coffee.

it takes livi five attempts and two threats of bodily harm to get her mascara done, and she nearly cries when she realizes it's not as perfect as she'd like, but you tell her it's fine and that the people who know her best won't even notice. she flips you off, and the moment she's ready, you grab your keys and wallet and make a run for the front door.

on the way there, livi goes on and on about the things she's heard: the choreo, the lights, the backup dancers, and the songs.

you're half-listening. mostly because it's a nice distraction, but also because livi is an encyclopedia of everything idol-related and will not shut up about it. you let her go and only offer small affirmative responses every few seconds because, hey, at least you're trying, right?

when you arrive at the venue, the soundcheck crowd is already being organized. fans flash wristbands and check phones, some in excited clusters, others quietly holding signs. livi bounces in line, practically vibrating. you smile and pretend not to be worried.

your seats for the concert and soundcheck aren't in the nosebleeds. you're not even in the regular pit. you're seated in a roped-off area with maybe thirty or forty people around you, close enough to see the mic tape on the stage floor and the way the lights bounce off the girls' in-ear monitors. livi is practically bouncing in her seat, whisper-shouting every few seconds.

"i can't believe i'm here."

"mh-hm."

she gives you an irritated look, and you just pat her on the knee, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

you barely have time to think before they're casually stepping onto the stage in sweats and oversized shirts, waving at the crowd with practiced, easy grins. livi clutches your arm the second she spots them. "oh my god."

they greet everyone and then settle into place, testing microphones and checking mics, and winter's already laughing into her mic. ningning steps forward first. giselle follows, waving toward the middle row, bouncing on her heels. karina lingers behind them, grinning politely and waving like an idol is supposed to, and livi gasps quietly, her fingers squeezing tighter.

"언니, 그 마이크 너무 커!" ningning says, pulling her in-ear halfway out and wincing exaggeratedly.

"무서웠어, 진짜," winter laughs, nodding in agreement.

livi leans in toward you immediately. "what did she say?"

you smile," ningning said the mic's too loud. winter said it scared her."

"ahhh!" livi coos. "god, they're adorable."

onstage, the girls are still warming up. they hum a few notes, take sips from matching tumblers, and trade off small comments. a few fans in front yell compliments—your hearing isn't good enough to catch everything, but you hear someone call winter "pretty like a doll," and someone else ask karina what she ate today.

"아침에... 음... 계란후라이? 아, 그리고 토스트." karina answers lightly, half-laughing as she speaks.

livi tugs your sleeve again. "what'd she say?"

"she said she had eggs and toast."

livi smiles a little, almost to herself.

the actual concert is something else entirely. soundcheck was nothing compared to the main event, the flashing lights, the booming music, and the bass making your entire chest hum. you've never seen livi this hyped before. she dances next to you before the next song even starts, bouncing on her toes and shouting lyrics back at the girls, and her grin is so bright you swear the entire room might just shine brighter than the spotlights.

it's wild, how quickly you get swept up in it too. you don't know every word, but livi does—belting them out, her voice cracking in parts, eyes wide with something close to awe. you feel it too, the way the girls command the stage, the way the beat fills you up and makes you feel alive. you can see why the fans love this, why the energy is addicting.

after the last note plays and the girls bow and the crowd screams and screams and screams, the girls make their final bows and slip offstage.

you feel a tug in your chest.

that was fast.

"i can't believe i did this," livi whispers as soon as the crowd begins to clear. "we have backstage passes. oh my god."

you shake your head a little. "breathe, nerd."

"i can't."

"well, try," you tell her, bumping her shoulder gently. she looks so nervous that you want to reach out and hug her again. instead, you ruffle her hair and add, "let's go, huh? you'll be fine. they'll love you."

and, well, they do.

livi's basically bouncing on her toes as the members ask her questions—where does she live? how long has she been a fan? what's her favorite song? and so on, and so on.she's starstruck, and you're honestly not much better, but the girls are all nice. ningning pulls livi into a quick hug after talking about her favorite food, and winter keeps grinning to herself, mumbling how cute she is. livi can barely speak. you swear her legs are gonna give out.

you're a bit out of the way of the group, watching happily, when someone approaches you.

"hi."

you turn.

karina grins, the same one from the fan sign, only less stiff and a lot more real. there's a dimple in her cheek that i didn't notice before.

"did you enjoy the show?" her voice was soft and slightly raspy from the show.

you smile, nodding. "yeah, thank you again for this. seriously. you didn't have to, and, uh... thanks for being nice to livi and everything. it meant a lot to her. it meant a lot to me too. this was probably the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her. for me."

you're rambling, but she listens the whole time.

"it was a pleasure. your sister's sweet."

"she really is," you reply. then you add, "so were you. back at the fan meet, and, you know..." karina gives you a look that could almost be considered shy.

"it was nothing."

"was not." you stare at her for a moment before you remember the item you brought from home. you rummage around in your jacket pocket. she's looking at you a bit curiously, then tilts her head, smiling.

"here," you say, and holding out the custom-made bracelet, you had made it an hour before you left for the airport to get livi. of course you didn't tell anyone you made said bracelet because they would tease you to no end.

"you gave us tickets," you add quietly, "and i know it wasn't a lot or anything, but i made something, and, uh, yeah. livi and i have similar ones. so, um..."

you stop yourself. you're definitely blushing. you can't tell, though.

her eyes widen a fraction. she looks like she wants to speak, but you keep going."s-sorry. i didn't mean to ramble—"

"no! no. it's okay. thank you."

there's a beat.

karina bites her lip.

"can you put it on for me?"

"what? oh, right—yeah." karina gently offers you her wrist, a stupid grin on her face as if she was waiting to see you squirm.

you swallow and open the bracelet, brushing your thumb over her skin as you fasten the clasp. she doesn't look away, nor does she joke or even move.

when you finish, she glances down at it. then up at you.

"cute," she murmurs.

you stare.

and there it is.

that fucking grin.

it takes a second to sink in, but when it does, you immediately pull your hand back.

she laughs.

it's the first genuine, unfiltered laugh you've heard. not the idol laugh or the polite, pr kind, but the kind that makes her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunch up a little and her lips tilt at the corners and her shoulders shake.

you blink, surprised.

she covers her mouth with her hand.

"sorry, sorry. that was—mean."

you shake your head.

she exhales slowly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "anyway, sorry. uh—thank you. for this." she gestures at the bracelet.

"of course," you reply. "it was nothing, really."

"don't lie to me. you were clearly embarrassed," she teases.

"okay. a little," you admit, and her eyes twinkle a little.

"that's okay."

you hum and stuff your hands back into your pockets, trying not to fidget, and karina's gaze flickers past you for a split second. you glance back and follow her line of sight.

livi's talking animatedly, still bouncing on her toes and looking like she's trying not to cry. ningning's got a protective arm around her shoulder.

karina clears her throat, and you glance back.

she's biting the inside of her cheek.

"you're a good sibling."

you look at her, and for a second, you want to say something more. something about how surreal this is. how strange it feels to be known, even just a little bit, by someone like her.but then a staff member gently taps her shoulder.

time's almost up.

karina gives you one last look—something thoughtful, maybe even reluctant—then leans back with a soft smile.

"i'm glad you came."

⭑𓂃

you know when people say, "last night was a movie!" or "last night felt like a dream!" well, your night felt like a fever dream, and you almost forgot it happened, but the universe had an odd way of reminding you of things.

you woke up late, half-dead, and starving. your brain was screaming, breakfast!. so, being half-awake, slouched at the kitchen counter in yesterday's hoodie, staring at nothing in particular, and the only thing keeping you up being the bowl of cereal in your hand, was the highlight of the morning.

jae's sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling on his phone, while sora's curled up next to him with a blanket over her shoulders. livi's perched on the armrest beside them, editing photos from the night before. every few seconds, she lets out a little laugh or gasps like she just remembered something, and she shoves her phone toward sora, who coos over the blurry selfies and half-lit stage shots like they're priceless artifacts.

"you caught ningning in 4k," sora mutters, zooming in on one particularly chaotic group pic. "how is this not already posted?"

"i'm curating the dump," livi says seriously. "you can't just drop everything at once. there's an art to this. i posted about seven photos yesterday and tagged them over a million times. that should give me at least a week before i have to post again so that i can hype up the next one without losing followers, or—are you guys even listening to me, or is this another lecture session?"

"both," jae and sora say simultaneously.

you weren't really listening either. you were running on four hours of sleep and a heavy post-concert haze. the adrenaline wore off around 2 a.m., but your brain hasn't shut up since.

your phone buzzes on the counter. you glance down out of habit, ready to ignore whatever it is, but then your hand freezes.

a notification from instagram. (which is an app you barely use.) that should've been the first sign.

katarinabluu: hey. it's me lol

you blink.and then you blink again, harder this time, like maybe your brain's filling in the blank with delusions. you lean closer, squinting a little.

no.

not delusions.

you rub your eyes.

same thing.

"yo." jae's voice cuts through the silence. "you good?"

your spoon clinks again. you haven't moved. you're staring at your phone like it just started levitating.

"what's wrong?" sora sits up slightly. "you look like you saw a ghost."

livi squints from her spot. "did someone die?"

you lift your gaze slowly, like you're still not sure if this is real.

"...karina just texted me."

dead silence.

jae leans forward. "karina, like—karina karina? aespa? karina-unnie-who-gave-you-backstage-access-to-their-show-and-probably-also-had-a-crush-on-you-unnie?"

you glare.

"yes. that one.

"livi's eyes go wide. "no. no way. you're lying."

"i'm not lying," you mutter, showing them the phone. sora's the first one up, snatching the phone. she reads the message, reads it again, and then slaps a hand over her mouth to stop herself from screaming. her eyes are huge.

"what did you say to her last night?"

"i—nothing! i just gave her the bracelet and said, thanks!"

"bro, you did what?" jae is suddenly up, grabbing your phone right out of sora's hand, and now all three of them are staring at your screen.

ivi furrows her eyebrows. "why didn't you tell me you made her a bracelet???!"

you flush.

"i don't know."

"when did you have time?!"

"she gave us backstage passes. i just wanted to thank her or something."

jae grins. he has a gleam in his eyes. you don't trust that. "you made her a custom bracelet."

"yes. i just said that.

"on your own time."

"so what?" you snap. "that's normal! lots of people make customized stuff! it was just a simple black rope and a metal plate. no big deal."

jae and sora share a look, grinning like the little demons they are. "sounds romantic."

"very," jae adds.

you scoff. "okay. this isn't happening. can someone get ahold of themselves and explain to me how and why does karina know my instagram?"

ivi rolls her eyes and grabs the phone for herself now. "were you listening to anything i was saying? i tagged you! in my dump!"

you thin out your lips. "remind me?"

livi groans. "seriously? fine, whatever, look!" she flips the phone around and holds up a photo. you take a second, recognizing the stage and the lights. the caption:

thank you @yn for being the best big sister in the entire world!!! thanks, aespa, for everything. ♡'

underneath the photo, a handful of likes, mostly from aespa's fan accounts. a few comments, most of which are variations of 'she's cute' or 'im jealous.'

then a reply, also from a fan account.'omg, is this the big sister that karina was talking about on bubble?!'

"what the hell is a bubble?"

livi looks at you, then back at the comment, "she mentioned you on bubble?" then she begins freaking out herself.

"I'M JUST NOW HEARING ABOUT THIS?????"

"livi!!!"

"oh! right. here!" livi's already clicking into the app, and the rest of the group piles around her shoulder as soon as she does. "it's like instagram but for idols. they talk about stuff or answer questions from fans, and they have, like, their own private chats that fans can see. everyone knows that. did you even go online after we got home?"

you say nothing, because, no.

of course you didn't.

⭑𓂃

karina didn't expect to think about you again.

not this much, at least.she thought maybe she'd remember the bracelet for a day or two, maybe scroll past a photo of you and your sister and smile, but she didn't expect to be here—half-listening to her manager run through the rest of the day's schedule while she absentmindedly rubs her thumb over the place where the bracelet sits on her wrist.

"jimin," her manager calls.

she blinks. "yeah?"

"the stylist's waiting. ten minutes."

"got it."

she slips her phone into the pocket of her hoodie and follows behind, sunglasses on, face bare, hair tied back lazily because glam isn't for another hour. her body's moving through the motions, greeting staff, bowing politely, letting herself get ushered from room to room—but her mind's stuck somewhere else. that backstage hallway. your voice. your eyes. the way you said thank you without sounding like you wanted anything.

and the way her heart fluttered in that completely inconvenient, undeniable way when your fingers brushed her skin to clip the bracelet on.

she shakes it off. focus.

the schedule stretches. interviews. rehearsals. some brief chaos over a missing shoe. she changes outfits three times. there's a moment where giselle spills green tea on a white couch and no one breathes for ten seconds.

by the time they finally get a break, karina's sitting on the floor of a small waiting room, legs stretched out, makeup still fresh, staring at her phone. she told herself she wouldn't check. that she'd give it a day. maybe two.

but now it's been over 12 hours.

maybe she's asleep, she thinks.

or you didn't see it. or maybe you didn't know it was her. okay...that one was a little less believable.

she pulls up your chat anyway. just to see.

the message is still there. just a simple:

hey. it's me lol

and underneath it—

seen.

10:17 am.

her stomach sinks a little.

oh.

she doesn't know why that hits the way it does. she's not embarrassed, exactly. just... unsure. her ego doesn't usually flinch at things like this. she's not used to being the one who gets left on read, or even the one to text first.

but she did, this time.

and you saw it. and you didn't say anything.

she shuts off her phone quickly and tosses it onto the empty seat next to her. tries not to let her face change. she tries not to let this stupid feeling drag her down.

karina leans her head back against the wall.

it's fine. it's not a big deal. you're just a fan. she's just being... overly curious. that's all.

this isn't anything, she tells herself, and somehow, that doesn't make it better.

"unnie."

she glances up. ningning's looking down at her, eyebrows furrowed. "hm?"

ningning tilts her head, scrutinizing.

"what's wrong."

"nothing. why?"

"you have a frowny face."

"so do you," karina teases.

"it's a worried face," ningning says, dropping into the seat next to her. she glances sideways at her. "you were checking your phone a lot."

karina shrugs. "we all were."

"no, i mean..." ningning sighs. "unh... never mind. are you tired? it was a busy day."

"i'm okay. i slept last night."

"you did." ningning nods a few too many times, like she's trying to reassure herself. then she asks, almost cautiously, "are you sure? if there's something going on—"

"no," karina interrupts gently. "it's not important. we're busy right now, right?"

ningning presses her lips together, clearly not buying the excuse, but she doesn't push either. just stares. and waits.

and then karina can't help herself."there is," she blurts, "one thing. that's, um—kind of bugging me. i think."

ningning perks up immediately."okay!" she exclaims and pats the seat beside her. "let's talk."

⭑𓂃

it’d been a few days since the concert.

livi had flown back yesterday—teary but mostly tired, already planning her next trip over text before she even boarded her flight. the apartment felt a little too quiet now without her endless commentary in the background, without the familiar weight of her draped across the couch complaining about jet lag and stealing your snacks.

you’d thrown yourself back into work pretty quickly, not because you were particularly passionate about being a server at the only chinese-korean fusion restaurant in the area, but more so to avoid your thoughts. which were a lot lately, and a little overwhelming, if you were being honest.

your coworker taylor had been retelling a story for the past ten minutes about how their landlord was in love with them. again.

“i swear this time it’s real,” taylor said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “he smiled at me like. like… very romantic.”

you raised an eyebrow. “and you liked that?”

“no, what—well… hmm.”

you snorted, leaning over the table to grab the salt before wiping that down as well. “maybe he’s just trying to avoid raising your rent.”

“honestly, hot.”

it wasn’t an exciting shift. you spent most of it bouncing back and forth between tables and restocking supplies, and when a family with an obnoxious kid started whining for extra appetizers, taylor sent you a sympathetic look. you stuck out your tongue and took the order, and after an hour and a half of doing everything from getting refills to babysitting said kid, it was nearing time to clock out.

by the end of your shift, you were a sweaty, disheveled mess. your apron was untied. you were pretty sure you had rice stuck to the side of your arm, and you could feel your ponytail coming undone, strands sticking to the back of your neck. you sighed, fumbling with the keys while balancing two grocery bags and your backpack and finally, after three unsuccessful attempts, unlocked the front door.

it was 6:15, and you were exhausted.

your apartment smelled like home again. sora was at the dining table, her laptop open and several textbooks stacked around her like she was attempting to summon a demon via apa formatting. she barely glanced up when you walked in.

“did you get tofu?” she asked.

“top of the bag.”

“bless you. jae’s in the kitchen already.”

you kicked off your shoes and wandered in to find jae slicing up bell peppers, the sleeves of his hoodie pushed to his elbows. there was a pot already simmering on the stove, something tomato-based, and the smell made your stomach growl.

“i thought you were gonna wait for me,” you said, setting the rest of the groceries down.

“i was starving. you’re late.”

“it’s literally 6:42.”

“late.”

you rolled your eyes and washed your hands, stepping in to help. you both moved easily around each other, not really needing to talk, just vibing to whatever random playlist was echoing softly from the bluetooth speaker in the corner. it was domestic in a low-stakes, low-pressure way.

“did livi text you?” jae asked eventually, tossing tofu cubes into the pan.

“yeah. said the plane sucked. she cried watching kung fu panda.”

“as she should.”

there was a beat of silence as you stirred the pot, watching steam rise.

“so…” jae said, voice casual but a little too casual. “what have you and karina been texting about?”

you blinked. “what?”

“you gave her a bracelet,” he sing-songed, smirking. “then she couldn’t help but text you afterwards! so, spill. what do the messages say? anything spicy yet? should we be concerned?"

“shut up—oh my god—”

“no, but seriously,” he said, laughing as he ducked a halfhearted slap from you. "how are the messages, huh?"

you opened your mouth to tell him to drop it, but then—

“oh my god.”

you froze. mid-stir.

“what?” jae asked, confused.

you turned to him slowly, wide-eyed, like you’d just remembered something catastrophic.

“i never responded to her dm.”

jae dropped the spatula.

“wait, what?!”

“okay, to be fair,” you said, fumbling to wipe your hands and grab your phone. “you guys were passing around my phone like a joint, and i had a million things on my mind.”

“you forgot to reply to karina of aespa?”

“i was busy—fuck, fuck, shit. how long has it been? livi’s going to kill me.”

“you’re worried about livi and not the fucking idol you gave a custom handmade bracelet to and ignored afterwards? we need to do some crisis management here, y/n, and it needs to happen fast. this could damage her ego or even her fragile heart if we don't act soon—you can't just ignore people like this; it's not cute!"

you ignored him, frantically unlocking your phone and scrolling through your instagram messages, dread settling in your stomach.

there it was.

hey. it’s me lol

seen.

four. days. ago.

you stared at it in horror. jae came around to look over your shoulder.

“she probably thinks you ghosted her.”

“i didn’t—”

“you did. accidentally, but still. you left the most sought-after idol in the country on read.”

you groaned and dropped your forehead onto the counter. “do i even reply now? it’s been days. she probably thinks i’m some weird clout chaser who got cold feet.”

“she gave you her wrist.”

“why are you making this worse?”

jae snorted and patted your back. “you’re gonna have to send the best comeback message of your life.”

you stayed there, face down against the kitchen tile, trying to figure out how the hell you were supposed to text her now without sounding like a weirdo.

okay. you needed some time to think about this. or a whole year. maybe two. just enough time for her to forget the incident entirely, or the fact that you were alive, and move on with her life.

yeah, that would work.

"oh, hey. if you don't want to respond, can i use your dms to get her to follow me on insta? do you know how cool my instagram would look? followed by ka—“

you shoved him so hard he hit the fridge.

by the time you went to bed, the message from karina was burning a hole in your thoughts. minutes. should you be cool? friendly? funny? or just say something straightforward?

maybe i should just say hi back.

you typed:

hey! sorry i was busy—work’s been crazy.

then deleted it.

too boring.

what if she thinks you’re lame?

you typed again:

hey, karina! didn’t mean to ghost you, i swear.

and deleted that too.

no, no. too desperate.

“this is too hard," you whispered to yourself. "why does this have to be complicated?"

after ten minutes, you were no closer to having a normal, coherent thought than you had been before. all you had was:

hi.

...and then nothing, because that was just embarrassing. you rubbed a hand over your face, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

one tap. that was all you needed to do. one stupid tap, and it would be over.

you hesitated, chewing on your lower lip. then, "fucking coward," you hissed, and finally pressed send.

you let out a long exhale and watched the screen light up with the notification.

your heart skipped.

"i hate this," you told yourself, and promptly chucked your phone across the room.

⭑𓂃

it was early when your alarm blared.

you cracked your eyes open, already grumpy. your phone was somewhere, but you didn't really have the energy to care. your body was telling you to roll back over and go to sleep. you were about to listen when a different kind of sound roused you awake.

someone's knocking.

"hold on."

you shoved your blanket away and rubbed your face with both hands before dragging yourself upright. the floor was cold, your hair was sticking up in a thousand different directions, and you had no idea where your socks had run off to, but you'd gotten worse wake up calls before.

you cracked open the door, and there was sora—arms crossed, eyebrows raised, looking way too alive this hour.

“you’re late,” she said, flatly.

“for what?” you muttered, yawning and scratching at the nape of your neck.

“class.”

you blinked. “…what time is it?”

“ten thirty.”

you stared at her for a full beat. “i’m gonna die.”

she followed you in as you scrambled for your charger, phone, clean-ish hoodie—whatever you could grab while trying to brush your teeth at the same time. somewhere under a hoodie pile, you found your phone and plugged it in. it didn’t turn on right away. probably dead since yesterday.

“why didn’t you wake me up?” you said, mouth half-full of toothpaste.

“you told me not to. you said, and i quote, i'm an adult, and i'm perfectly capable of getting to class on time."

you spat into the sink. "that's not what i sounded like."

"it's exactly what you sounded like."

by the time you made it out the door with a banana in one hand and your backpack half-zipped, your phone finally buzzed to life.

two messages. again, from instagram.

katarinabluu:

i don’t exactly know why i sent that first text. i think i was just curious. or maybe i just liked that you weren't awkward around us? like you knew we were idols and everything, but you didn't treat us differently, you just treated us like people.

katarinabluu:

but now that we’re here—i broke the bracelet. well, not all of it. just the charm. it snapped during dance practice, and now it’s gone. and i feel kind of awful because i actually really liked it.

you stared at the screen, the banana forgotten in your hand.

she was texting you about the bracelet.

which, admittedly, was a good thing. a positive. you didn't ignore her and piss her off, and she didn't stop talking to you because you were a shitty human being who left people on read, and that was great.

but, shit.

the bracelet.

it was a simple, uncomplicated gift—something that came together quickly, mostly because you were procrastinating on the midterm essay you should have finished two nights before the concert. you hadn't really been thinking of anything more than, "hey, thanks. nice seeing you." but the look on karina's face when she saw it had made your chest feel oddly tight, and it was the first thing that popped into your head.

"dude." sora nudged you gently. "are you leaving, or are you going to spend all morning staring at your phone and have to walk to campus instead of taking the bus?"

"shit—wait." you jogged after her, and, yeah. she was right. you didn't have time for a meltdown.

at least not until later.

so, for the rest of the day, you didn't let yourself check the chat again, too scared to see the little number 2 hovering by your message. instead, you shoved your phone deep in your pocket and focused on your classes, even if your thoughts kept drifting.

was karina waiting for you to reply? what was she doing right now? would she be busy until evening? or did she have free time between schedules and practices and shoots, and maybe she wanted to talk more than she was letting on?

or, god forbid, did she hate you for forgetting and leave her hanging, and now you're on some sort of blacklist for messing up her mental stability, and the company was probably looking for someone else to replace you, and karina will never have a connection with another fan, and now it's all your fault.

okay. if this whole situation is on your mind mid-lecture, you should probably just respond, right?

you: oh… i still have extra charms. i didn’t mean for it to be that fragile, sorry.

you: i can fix it for you if you want?

you watched the screen anxiously for a few minutes, then tried to remind yourself to not look desperate. this wasn’t a big deal. you were doing this because you felt bad. because this whole thing was ruining your head.

your phone buzzed again.

katarinabluu: really?

katarinabluu: i’m free tonight. unless that’s too soon.

katarinabluu: meeting up wouldn’t be odd, no? we’ve met twice already.

you blinked.

then read the texts again.

twice already.

you leaned forward and hid your face in your hands, taking a long, slow inhale. thought about your shift. you had work. 4 to close.

you:

i’ll be working tonight actually.

a few minutes passed. then:

katarinabluu:

where do you work? i can stop by.

"oh, jesus christ," you muttered.

you pressed a hand over your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow warm. "is this happening? am i losing my mind? do i need to call livi?"

although, you still give her your hours and the address to your job. there’s no way she’d actually come. she’s an idol, and your restaurant is very public.

yeah.

no way.

"i'm going crazy," you murmured.

"what was that?" your friend, vivian, asked.

"nothing. sorry."

she gave you a look but didn't pry.

⭑𓂃

work dragged. it always does.

taylor was late. of course. but she also brought extra cookies so you didn't complain. much.

it had been hours since karina’s last message. there was no way she was gonna show. so, why are you still scanning every face that comes in the door?

stop it. you were just jittery. tired, a bit. still half-asleep, maybe.

just. stop it.

by the end of your shift, it was almost closing time, and karina was definitely not gonna show. most of the tables were empty now. you were restocking napkins behind the counter, trying not to glance up too much, when you heard the bell chime.

"seriously? we close in ten…” taylor murmurs, walking to the kitchen to leave you with the new customer.

your brain didn’t register it at first.

the girl had a baseball cap on that read “i don’t work here,” with a wired headphone in her right ear along with a pair of glasses. she looked like a college student—a very, very cute one, with a familiar grin.

oh. it took a second, but as soon as you put it together, you told your brain to shut up and never think again.

and then she looked up.

the hat didn’t hide much when you were this close. not the cheekbones. not the way her eyes flicked around like she was half-amused by how low-key she wasn’t being.

your heart stuttered once.

“hi,” she said.

her voice was softer than you remembered. a bit scratchy, like maybe she'd just been sleeping or singing. or both.

“hey.”

she smiled, just a little. “sorry i’m late.”

you caught yourself staring. then quickly stepped to the side to grab a menu, even though you already knew what was left in the kitchen.

“um. do you—are you actually eating?”

“unless that’s weird.”

“it’s not,” you said, glancing around. “it’s just we’re closing in a few, so the pickings are pretty slim.”

karina tilted her head. “hmm…”

you let out a small laugh at her confused face, which immediately caused her to laugh a little as well, letting the glasses drop down the bridge of her nose a little. you motioned for her to follow you to one of the corner booths—one that wasn’t too close to the windows or too out in the open. she slid in, still tucking herself into her hoodie like she wasn’t the center of attention every other day.

you handed her a menu, even though she didn’t look at it.

“chef’s choice?” you offered.

she shrugged. “only if that includes dessert.”

you blinked. then nodded. “i can do that.”

it was weird. the whole reason she was here was because of the bracelet, but neither of you had yet to bring it up. and, god, was it weird.

but not awkward.

you came back with a tray. noodles, rice, dumplings, and something sweet on the side you found in the back fridge from earlier—a leftover slice of strawberry shortcake. you didn’t know if she liked strawberries. you just hoped she didn’t hate them.

“sorry, this is kind of the best i could do,” you muttered, setting it down in front of her.

karina blinked, lifting her head from her phone. she looked at the plate, then up at you. “it smells amazing.”

she didn't have chopsticks, but you did. you set two sets next to her plate.

"thank you," she said, and her mouth quirked a little. "this is probably the first thing i've had all day that doesn't have nutritional value."

you tried to hold in a laugh. "so, does that mean it's a step up from kale juice or a step down?"

"probably both."

you grinned. she tucked the earbud away, sliding her phone back in her pocket before picking up the chopsticks.

"um, do you have the bracelet?”

karina raised an eyebrow.

"with you," you explained, a little embarrassed.

she hesitated. then pulled the bracelet from her pocket. "here," she said.

you slid into the seat across from her, taking out the new charm from your pocket before getting started.

neither of you said anything for a second. the clink of her chopsticks against the bowl filled the air.

your hands were working slowly. she came all this way—in a hat and glasses, hours after your shift started—just to say hi and eat decent food and watch you fumble with plastic beads like you were twelve.

you could feel her looking at you now.

you glanced up.

she was chewing, chopsticks paused midair, head tilted slightly.

“what?” you asked.

karina blinked, then smiled around her bite. “you’re very serious.”

“i’m trying to fix something you broke.”

“you didn’t have to say it like that.”

you shrugged. “just saying.”

she laughed a little under her breath. her eyes flicked up, and they crinkled in a way you hadn't noticed before, soft at the corners.

“is it true i’m the only one who has a bracelet like this now?”

"yeah," you said.

she hummed. that makes her happy.

a few seconds passed. then:

“i remember you said you wanted to be an actress," she asked suddenly.

“yeah.” you looked down at the bracelet. "that's right.”

“yeah,” she said. “you couldn’t do that in chicago?”

you furrowed your brows, glancing at her. how the hell did she know you were from chicago?

karina seemed to notice, because she added, quietly, almost hesitantly, "your sister."

"right. yeah." you flushed. “well, uh, yeah… but i just thought i'd be better off somewhere else."

"i can understand that," she said. then her expression shifted. something more thoughtful.

"do you miss it? chicago?"

"no," you answered, without really thinking. then you backtracked a bit, shaking your head. "i mean—maybe sometimes. just certain parts."

"like what?"

you frowned, considering the question. "obviously my sister. and um… my friend's pizza place. the weird, ugly statue near my house. the dog park is across the street. that kind of thing."

karina leaned forward, propping her elbow on the table and resting her cheek against her hand. she was grinning now. "we have dogs too, you know."

you scoffed. "dude. this is not comparable."

"really?"

"yes, really."

"because we have a lot of parks. a lot."

you opened your mouth to retort, then stopped yourself.

okay. maybe not a complete loss.

"well," you said, giving in a little. "maybe."

there was a lull in the conversation.

then she looked at you again, her head tilted a fraction, the corner of her mouth curved.

"can i tell you something?"

you didn't dare break eye contact.

"yeah," you breathed, feeling something shift a little, maybe a beat, but not uncomfortably, no. it was… the opposite. like the air between the two of you changed a little, softened.

"you remind me of my older sister," karina admitted. her voice was softer. almost nostalgic. "well, you and livi’s dynamic just reminded me a lot of ours growing up."

you looked down, a little embarrassed, but smiling.

"that's—thank you.”

karina studied you for another second, still a little smile. you were used to being under her gaze now. it felt less heavy and more gentle, like you could just exist in that space, in the open, and nothing bad would come from it.

she picked at the dumplings while you tied the last knot, trying not to seem too focused on the way her eyes scanned the room every few minutes—always alert, like she was waiting for someone to recognize her, or maybe hoping someone didn’t.

you tightened the bracelet.

“there,” you said quietly. “it should hold better now. no more broken charms."

she held out her wrist just like she did the first time. and this time you didn’t hesitate to clasp the bracelet around her wrist, fingers lingering just a second too long.

you swallowed.

“thank you,” she said.

you nodded once.

and then she said, like it was a secret, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "if anyone asks, i'll say i fixed it myself."

you gaped.

"how dare you?!"

karina burst into laughter, leaning back in the booth and covering her mouth. "i'm joking!"

"my work is art, and you're insulting me, and here i was, making the whole damn thing again."

"please." she snorted. "it was two beads."

"art," you insisted.

her shoulders shook with silent giggles. she pressed her lips together, the rest of the laugh trapped inside.

she took another bite of the shortcake, then paused halfway through, raising an eyebrow at you.

“want some?”

you shook your head immediately. “i’m good.”

karina tilted her head, her expression amused. “why?”

“this is your meal.”

“so?”

you gave her a look, but she was already scooping up another bite and holding it toward you like a dare.

“i don’t like eating while someone just watches me,” she said. “it’s weird.”

“i watch people eat all day,” you muttered.

she raised her eyebrows. “is that supposed to make me feel better?”

you didn’t answer. just stared her down for a second, stubborn. she didn’t drop the expression, either.

you exhaled—long and reluctant—then leaned forward and took the bite.

she looked triumphant, like she’d just won something. you rolled your eyes and sank back, chewing slowly. it wasn't bad. not at all, but the flavor was a bit too sweet for you and a little overwhelming.

“you like strawberries?”

you shrugged, looking down. “sure.”

karina chewed another small bite. you kept your eyes on the table, or on the half-finished bracelet, or on anything but her mouth.

the silence settled again, but not uncomfortably. you fiddled with the corner of the table, glancing up when you felt her watching.

eventually, her voice broke through again.

"are you always this closed off?” she asked.

you blinked, startled. “what?”

she shrugged one shoulder. her gaze flicked to you.

then, quieter,

“i’m just wondering. like… are you always like this? calm, quiet, kind of mysterious? or is it just ‘cause it’s me?”

you snorted, lips quirking up. “i don’t think i’m mysterious.”

“you’re mysterious,” she said, no hesitation.

you shook your head. “i just don’t talk to people that much.”

“that’s kind of mysterious.”

“that’s just introversion.”

“same thing.”

you gave her a look, but she only smiled, her face so unbearably soft in the dim lights of the restaurant.

she didn’t ask about what music you liked or if you’d been to any concerts or what you thought of aespa. she didn’t mention her work. she didn’t try to steer the conversation to anything bigger than what was sitting right here in front of her.

it was weird. and kind of nice.

and then—just as you were starting to forget where you were—the swinging door from the back creaked open.

taylor poked her head out. “y/n. you’re closing, right?”

you nodded.

“cool. we’re heading out. lock up when you’re done. lights off. you know the drill.”

they disappeared before you could respond. you turned back to karina.

she was already standing.

you stood too, uncertain. “you don’t have to rush—”

“no, i should go,” she said, adjusting her cap and sliding the plate and utensils towards the edge. the familiar edge of awareness returned to her eyes, scanning the corners of the room, the windows, and the door. “before someone recognizes me and we end up in a dispatch article or something.”

you opened your mouth, then closed it.

she paused halfway to the door. “if i were to text you, would you leave me on seen again?”

you threw your head back slightly, muttering a curse under your breath.

she laughed quietly.

“that was an accident! and i was going to reply, i promise."

"it's okay. i believe you."

you frowned.

"seriously. it's fine."

"you don't sound like it's fine," you mumbled.

she slid her phone out of her pocket and unlocked the screen.

"i'll be a lot more pissed off if you don't give me your number."

"right," you said, and flushed. you glanced around the restaurant quickly, making sure no one was looking before giving her your number.

"saved," karina said, locking her screen, satisfied.

she hesitated.

and then, unexpectedly, her smile shifted a bit. it got a little smaller. more genuine, somehow.

"thank you."

you let out a small chuckle, shrugging. "you're welcome. really."

karina grinned. she had a playful look, a spark of mischief in her eyes, like there was a joke you hadn't heard yet.

"see you later," she said, and slipped out the front door.

it was quiet again, almost deafening.

you waited.

waited some more.

then,

"holy shit."

main masterlist. part two. part three.

446 notes · View notes

bytemeee · 17 days ago

Text

NICE TO MEET YOU — yu jimin.

─── ⋆⋅ synopsis. what starts as a painfully average fan account with delusional tweets, way too many edits, and the occasional 2am spiral about your favorite streamer — somehow turns into public beef when another stan decides they hate you specifically. they’re vague tweeting like it’s a sport. watching your interactions like it’s their job. you can’t sneeze without them quote tweeting it.

then it gets worse. your tweets start hitting the algorithm like crack. you’re going viral for saying dumb shit. suddenly karina’s username is in your notifications.

once is a coincidence. twice is insane. three times? be serious.

and that one stan that swore you were annoying? suspiciously MIA every time karina interacts with you.

(wait… why do they type the exact same way?)

lines get messy. dms get opened. and now you might be accidentally be in a situationship with the one person you were never supposed to get noticed by: karina herself.

┆ ⤿ 💌 ⌗ pairing. streamer!yu jimin x fem!reader

── ⋆⋅ genre. smau, streamer au, strangers to lovers, slow burn (kinda…), fluff, angst (?), comedy, and etc.

── ⋆⋅ featuring. karina, ningning, and giselle from aespa, yunjin (le sserafim), keeho (p1harmony), jaehyun (nct), bibi (soloist), and more.

── ⋆⋅ warnings. swearing, kms/kys jokes, suggestive jokes/themes, cast is so small bc im lazy… readers downbad then they kinda lock in, karinas lowk down bad too, this is not a portrayal of how anyone in this story behaves; it’s all for fun!

── ⋆⋅ status. coming soon.

── ⋆⋅ authors note. sigh. i might add more people to the casting later on but that’s just…. soooo much work. #bytedontabandonthissmautoo 🤣🤣!! comment to join the taglist !!

profiles.

nings elite employees | j*bless’s | the extras

chapters.

001 — hey lol

002 — fandom beef

003 — face reveal

004 — oh ma gawd

005 — should i get a buzz cut?

006 — you’re so babygirl

more to come…

taglist ! (open) — nothing yet!

403 notes · View notes

jungkoode · 3 months ago

Text

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | PROLOGUE

"debts unpaid"

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index | wc: 3.5k

↦author's note : Soooo here we fucking go. I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you're gonna read below hahaha. "But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest" AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I'm okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it's like… I write something else and my brain goes 'yay thanks'. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music. Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He's cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She's determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N's because she's handling different situations (you'll see in later chapters). And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line. And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it. AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story. Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass. But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves. So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead. Ready? Light's about to turn green.

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

next | index

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @jkrailme @graydolan12

566 notes · View notes

minbon · 3 months ago

Text

🐥PJM Fics 🐥

Sharing here the few ChimChim fics I've read. Soooo, if you have some pjm fic suggestions, please let me know... so I can read some more hehe. 😙

••••°••

Coming Home - @kingofbodyrolls

childhood bestfriends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff, trauma healing, slice of life ☆

The Winter Collection - @kingofbodyrolls

enemies to lovers, smut, crack, fluff ☆this collection is a fave of mine ☆

Last Night in Magic Shop - @kingofbodyrolls

vampire!au, strangers to lovers, smut, bit angsty and fluffy

39,5° C (Fever) - @kingofbodyrolls

established relationship, smut, fluff

Heartburn - @jiminrings

Need a reason to cry? Here's some HEAVY ANGST for you. ☆

End of the world - @hoseoksluna

bestfriend!jimin, fluffy fluff ☆

If only it was you - @oddinary4bts

arranged marriage (but not with Jimin), angst, smut

The Ten Days of Ex-Mas (Part 1) (Part 2) - @kpopfanfictrash

Second chances!au, smut ☆

Breaking Point - @ririkookiemonster

Rommates, smut

Ho-ho-Home - @jjungkookislife

Childhood friends to stangers to lovers, angst, smut ☆

Feel your touch - @jimilter

camboy!Jimin, angst, smut, fluff

The Shape of Your Body - @here2bbtstrash

smut, fluff, kinda slowburn ☆

100 km/hour - @chateautae

SMUT

Cybersex - @sugaimhome

camboy!jimin, friends to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

Roomie - @jessikahathaway

Roommates, romance, smut

Apricot - @vminity21

College!au, bestfriends, fluff, smut, slight angst

°°°°•°°

Happy reading !!! ♡

♡♡♡♡💜♡♡

#bts #bangtan #방탄소년단 #bts jimin #park jimin #bangtan fics rec #bangtan fic recs #jimin fic #jimin imagine #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin x you #must read

416 notes · View notes

alessiamalfoyzabini · 3 months ago

Text

Moondir

→ warnings | +18, angst, slavery, smut, non-con/dub-con, coercion, revenge violence, blood, psychological trauma, emotional and physical abuse, forced pregnancy, supernatural themes, abuse of power, torture, humiliation, murder, discrimination, hatred, explicit language, obsession, OT7! - this is not for minors! → a/n | I recommend reading this story only to an adult audience familiar with this genre! This story is about how violence begets more violence and how twisted love can take hold of the most unthinkable person. Remember that Moondir is just a story and not a representation of my real values and thoughts, if you do not like the genre or even one of the warnings makes you uncomfortable, DO NOT READ.

→ pairing | moondir!OT7 x human!Reader

⤷ Introduction:

The Moondir, born of the Moon Goddess' love for a wolf, were persecuted and enslaved by humans for merely existing. Moondirian women have been captured and killed in the most heinous ways, men have instead been forced to do dangerous work in place of the humans themselves, and after more than a century, this has virtually brought their race to the brink of extinction. A group of Moondirian rebels have succeeded in their quest to regain their freedom, and not without the use of the crudest violence. Their females are now gone, and it will be human women who will help them repopulate the world.

Taglist is open: @katherine-kookie - @btsuga-d - @pantara - @angelicsmilesworld - @lennieharper - @takemeaway5402 - @jiminismine4ever - @m00njinnie - @ke1k029 - @velvet-stardust2002 - @darkuni63 - @douknowbts - @aiiselle90210 - @fewercascade - @mageprincess7 - @get-that-brain-working - @whipwhoops - @dragons-flare - @seokjins-luigi - @pjmsneverland - @jimincrystal - @ajkwww - @ungodlyjoon - @hecateslittlewitchling - @namjoonsbuspass - @xicanacorpse - @btssimplove - @antisocial-mochi267 - @reallygenerouskoala - @dabishou - @themwordsblog - @deluluisme - @justanarchiveforfics - @blackberrywonie - @the-holy-hobi - @justlikecrazy - @herareila - @furioustrashlover - @mar-lo-pap - @dachshunddame - @pantaral81 - @withmuchluv-tannie - @calmyourtitts7 - @plushjeno - @rafesbunniebby - @rms-expensive-girl - @polnaraffsrack - @rg2108 - @paramedicnerd004 - @jungshaking - @ane102 - @moonstarw ➤ Story | 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 ➤ Moondir Playlist |

Salvatore - Lana Del Rey Animals - Maroon 5 House of Cards - BTS Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey Can't Help Falling in Love - version by Tommee Profitt feat. brooke Love in the Dark - Adele

→ characters profile |

Full name: Min Yoongi Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 32 Actual Age: 136 Eye Color: Black Hair Color: Black Height: 6'1" Position/ Rank: Captain - Alpha Element: Fire Mating Status: Unmated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject is extremely dangerous and combative; he killed his roommate after only one night spent at the center and was consequently placed in solitary confinement. I recommend his immediate culling.

Full name: Park Jimin Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 29 Actual Age: 130 Eye Color: Amber Hair Color: Brown Height: 6'1" Position/ Rank: Lieutenant - Beta Element: Air Mating Status: Mated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject refuses food and shows no intention of speaking; however, he occasionally appears to be conversing with himself. At present, I am unable to make an accurate diagnosis; I will continue to keep him under observation.

Full name: Kim Seokjin Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 32 Actual Age: 137 Eye Color: Blue Hair Color: Black Height: 6'2" Position/ Rank: Healer - Beta Element: Water Mating Status: Unmated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject presents a strong physical and mental structure, but a temperament inclined toward kindness despite the torture he has endured; we are dealing with an excellent exemplar. The subject is irretrievable; he suddenly went mad when he was let loose in the camp and killed a guard in an attempt to escape. Culling.

Full name: Jung Hoseok Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 31 Actual Age: 134 Eye Color: Green Hair Color: Brown Height: 6'2" Position/ Rank: Sergeant - Beta Element: Water Mating Status: Unmated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject presents a curious case of dual personality, on the one hand we have a Moondir man, on the other hand someone who believes himself to be a human being. I want to isolate the first personality so that we have an absolutely cooperative Moondirian.

Full name: Kim Taehyung Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 29 Actual Age: 130 Eye Color: Amber Hair Color: Black Height: 6'2" Position/ Rank: Hunter - Delta Element: Earth Mating Status: Unmated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject is a sadist. He bit off a guard's ear and chewed it off laughing, before slitting the guard's throat with a claw and thus ending his gruesome work, I don't know how useful such a guy can be.

Full name: Jeon Jungkook Species: Moondir - Half-blood Apparent Age: 27 Actual Age: 129 Eye Color: Lilac Hair Color: Brown Height: 6'3" Position/ Rank: Hunter - Alpha Element: Fire Mating Status: Unmated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject is still a cub, shows immature character traits typical of a Moondirian who is not yet an adult and does not listen at all to what I or the guards ask him to do, preferring rather to scratch the surface of the walls and growl at us. To be kept under observation.

Full name: Kim Namjoon Species: Moondir Apparent Age: 30 Actual Age: 134 Eye Color: Dark Blue Hair Color: Black Height: 6'3" Position/ Rank: Hunter - Delta Element: Earth Mating Status: Mated

previous psychiatrist's notes | The subject asks a lot of questions, seems genuinely intrigued by the human race, and shows an unusual calmness - perhaps we are looking at a exemplar perfectly capable of communicating with us and obeying us without much fuss. second note | The subject asked me what we humans taste like. Extreme caution advised.

© | I do not allow the republication or editing of these stories by third parties; all rights belong to me. Anyone guilty of the crime of plagiarism will be reported and blocked. The same goes for those who take parts of my stories without my explicit consent.

422 notes · View notes

mmegwrld · 4 months ago

Text

⏾⋆｡𖦹 SWEETEST PIE + park jimin

park jimin is the tough boy next door who’s always looked out for you. after a violent night brings hidden feelings to light, your sweet friendship turns into something much deeper.

word count : 3.2k

genre : FLUFFFYYYYY, a little angst if you squint

warnings : bad boy! jimin x baker’s daughter!reader, this is not inspired by sweetest pie by meg and dua 😭 i was totally listening to the sweetener album and ordinary things by ariana grande! jimin already likes the reader, fights!! blood mentioned, kissing! guy touches the reader in a way she doesn’t like!!

a/n : i lowkey REALLLYYYY LIKE THIS ONE HELP… but im going to hawaii for a couple of days so im not gonna be uploading much :-(

masterlist

you have known park jimin since the second grade. back when he had crooked teeth, skinned knees and a knack for into trouble for talking too much in the back of the class. he used to share his fruit snacks with you at lunch and glared at anybody who made fun of you on the playground.

you were seven and shy, clutching onto your mom’s hand like the world might swallow you whole if you let go. it was the first day of second grade and all the kids seemed to know each other.

your mom knelt beside you, brushing your hair out of your face softly. “sweetheart,” she said gently.

“do you remember miss park? from the neighborhood?” she asked. you nodded slowly. miss park has always had kind eyes, a warm smile, always smelt like peppermint.

“well, her son jimin is in your class. and i just talked to his mother— she said he’d be happy to show you around.” you look up, seeing a boy with messy dark hair and a bandaid on his cheek peeked around the classroom door.

“jimin,” his mom called from behind him. “come meet your new friend,” she pushes him out. he blinked at you, looked at his mom, then to you again. and with the kind of confidence only seven-year-old boys could get away with, he marched up and held out a half-eaten fruit snack.

“wanna share?” he asked. you took it without thinking, nodding. “cool,” he grinned. “i’ll show you where the swings are.”

growing up together felt so natural. predictable even. like seasons changing or the way the bakery always smelled like vanilla and cinnamon by 7am. but somewhere between childhood and college, something shifted.

maybe it was the way he’d grown into his sharp jaw and rough edges, or how his silence started meaning more than his words. maybe it was the way he looked at you now—longer, softer—when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

the bell above the bakery door jingles softly, too soft for the closing hour. you look up, already knowing who it is. jimin doesn’t say a word. just walked in with his hoodie up, jaw clenched, and knuckles bloody. he always came here after fights, like it was some sort of safe place.

your smile flickers, barely there, “rough night?” you ask. he slides into the stool at the counter with a low breath, “something like that.” you didn’t press him. you never did.

instead, you turn to grab the first aid. it had partially become his by now. as you dab at his busted knuckles with gentle fingers, the silence was heavy. he flinched once, but not from the pain. from how softly you’re touching him.

“you’re gonna scar.”

“doesn’t matter,” he replies.

“it does to me,” you say, not looking up.

jimin looks at you, really looks. your lashes low, lips pressed into a small line, focused on only patching him up. it made his stomach ache— his heart ache.

you always knew that jimin and his mother struggled, with his dad gone. his mom practically fell apart. they struggled with everything, especially money.

it was your mom how had told you about it. she’d come back with grocery bags and a furrow in her brow. she mentioned how she ran into jimin‘s mom in the cereal aisle.

“she looked tired,” your mom says, voice softer. “said things have been tight lately… jimin’s been skipping meals to save money. did you know that?”

you hadn’t. but the second you did, it stuck with you like something lodged in your chest.

he’d never say it himself. jimin wasn’t the type. he’d show up with bloodied hands and an empty stomach and pretend everything was fine. but you knew him too well for that. you always had.

so the next morning, you made extra.

two breakfast sandwiches—warm, eggy, and wrapped in parchment—plus a cinnamon roll with too much icing and a iced white coffee just how he liked it.

when you spot him outside the bakery, sitting on the back step with his hood up, your heart pinches. he looked smaller somehow, even with his broad frame hunched over his knees.

“you’re here early,” you said, nudging the door open with your hip, hands full. he didn’t look at you. just mumbles, “didn’t sleep.” you hand him the bag and the coffee without a word.

“what’s this?” he asks, like it wasn’t obvious “breakfast,” you said. “and sugar. you need both.”

he blinks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “you didn’t have to—” “i know,” you cut him off quickly. “but i wanted to.. my mom is dropping off your moms food.”

his jaw works, like he was fighting something in his throat. “you heard from my mom.”

you don’t lie. “yeah.”

he was quiet for a moment, staring at the bag in his lap. “i didn’t want you to think i was weak,” he says, barely audible.

you sit down beside him, shoulder brushing his. “i don’t think you’re weak, jimin. i think you’re trying. and trying alone is exhausting,” you nod your head. he doesn’t answer, but he does unwrap the sandwich and takes a bite.

you put your head on his shoulder, “next time, just come inside.”

it’s a small table.

old wood, a little uneven in the legs, the same one your mom’s had since you were in second grade—but tonight, it feels different. warmer. fuller. jimin sits across from you, shoulders tense at first, head ducked slightly like he’s not used to this kind of comfort. his mom is beside him, hands folded in her lap, eyes glassy when she sees the spread your mom’s laid out.

pasta. garlic bread. a salad tossed with the fancy vinaigrette you keep for holidays.

“come on, eat,” your mom says, smiling gently at jimin’s mom. “you’re family. always have been.” you catch jimin looking at you then—quiet, soft-eyed—and you give him a small smile.

his mom clears her throat, trying to hide the way her voice wavers. “i told you we didn’t need all this…”

“you didn’t ask for it,” your mom says simply. “but we wanted to.”

jimin’s hand is curled tight around his fork. you can see the way his jaw clenches when his mom picks at her food, trying to make it last. he’s always hated this—watching her sacrifice without asking.

you nudge his knee under the table. he glances up. you mouth, eat. he rolls his eyes, but he takes a bite.

your mom starts talking about the bakery—telling a story about a customer who came in asking if cinnamon rolls could be vegan and also gluten free and also taste the same—and eventually, the table starts to soften. laughter hums between you. even jimin’s mom lets out a real smile, her hand brushing his when she reaches for more salad.

later, after the table’s cleared and your moms are in the kitchen with mugs of tea, you and jimin slip out to the porch.

he leans on the railing, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, head tilted back as he exhales. you stand beside him.

“i know you didn’t want this to be a thing,” you say gently. “but i told my mom because we care. not because we pity you.”

“i know,” he says, voice low. “she just… she works so hard. and i can’t always help. not enough.” you bump his shoulder. “you help more than you think.”

he finally looks at you then. and there’s that look again. the one he gives you when he’s not being the tough guy. the one that says he feels more than he knows how to say.

“you still going to that party tonight?” he asks, voice low. “yeah,” you nod. “you?” he shrugs. “wasn’t gonna. but maybe i will now.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it—barely more than a whisper, “thank. for dinner. and for… just being you.”

you smile, heart aching in that way it always does around him, “you’re welcome.” your eyes meet and something hangs between you—quiet and unfinished.

you don’t push it.

because you know, when jimin’s ready, he’ll say it.

but for now, you just lean against him, watching the sky shift above you.

together.

it was a spring break party at some frat house. the music was too loud, the air too warm, and the cup in your hand had gone flat a long time ago. but your friend dragged you here, swearing you needed to “have fun for once,” so here you were—sipping weak punch and swaying to the bass in someone’s overpacked living room.

you hadn’t seen jimin in over an hour. he was here somewhere—your ride, your constant—but the party had swallowed him up.

you barely had time to turn around before a hand grabs your wrist. “hey,” a voice slurs behind you. you freeze. fuck.

it was a guy you vaguely recognize from a few classes. tall, cocky, the kind who stared too long and didn’t understand the word no. you’d dodged his attempts before. but this time, he’s drunk. and bold.

“been lookin’ for you all night,” he said, tugging you closer. you yank your arm back. “i’m not interested. but he didn’t let go.

his fingers wrapped tighter around your wrist, nails digging into skin. “cmon. don’t be like that. i saw you earlier—dancin’ all cute. you were lookin’ at me, weren’t you?” he smirks. gross.

“no,” you said, heart thudding, voice sharp. “let me go.” he leans down, face way too close. “bet you taste as sweet as you look.” and then he grabs your waist, hands sliding down your back like he had a right.

“get off me!” you shove him, panic in your voice now. he just laughs, like it was a game. like you were something to be played with. “don’t fucking touch me.”

a figure pops up in front of you, pushing you back softly. jimin. he pushes the guy roughly as one of his other friends approaches you, checking up on you.

the guy stumbles, “what the hell is your problem?” the guy snaps, straightening up. jimin’s eyes are wild and his jaw is tight.

jimin doesn’t answer. he just punches the guy.

the room froze for a second, a chorus of shocked voices echoing over the music. the crowd barely had time to react before jimin tackles the guy into the beer pong table.

you try to get jimin before namjoon pushes you back, “let him fight. that guy harassed you.”

jungkook and taehyung hype up jimin as jin and hobi run down to get jimin off. “don’t touch her!” he shouts, his voice shaking. “don’t you ever fucking touch her!”

jin holds down the guy as hobi pulls off jimin, “it’s okay, jimin! it’s okay!” jin says. hobi holds him, in a bear hug. jimin’s chest was heaving, lip split, eyes still burning as jin pushes the guy out of the house.

and than finally, he looks at you. not angry, wild, just scared. you stand next to namjoon as jimin approaches you, he holds your face.

your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace. you stare up at him, “you okay?” he asks. “jimin you didn’t have to—“ “yeah,” he wipes the blood from his mouth.

“i did.”

and for a second, everything else—the party, the noise, the crowd—it all fades. because the way he was looking at you right there? it didn’t feel like just friendship anymore.

your room is quiet.

the soft hum of the lamp casts a golden glow across the sheets, and you’re both lying on your sides, facing each other. jimin’s hoodie is tossed over your chair, his hands freshly cleaned and bandaged from the fight.

you’re not speaking. not yet. just breathing. his eyes are on yours—soft, unreadable. “you always smell like sugar,” he says suddenly, voice barely a whisper.

you blink. “what?” he gives you the faintest smile, like he’s embarrassed but not sorry. “your clothes, your hair… even your bed. you smell like cinnamon and vanilla. like I’m supposed to be here.”

your heart skips. “you are supposed to be here.” he looks at you like he’s trying not to fall any deeper—and failing.

“you mean that?”

you nod slowly. “yeah.”

his gaze drops to where your fingers brush beneath the blanket, and he exhales through his nose like he’s been holding something in for too long.

“i thought i was gonna lose it,” he murmurs. “when i saw that guy grab you.” “you kinda did,” you whisper. he gives a breath of a laugh, then goes quiet. the way he looks at you now makes your stomach twist.

“it wasn’t just about tonight,” he says. “it was the way he looked at you. like you were something to take. something he had a right to.”

his jaw clenches. his voice lowers. “but you’re not. you’re… you.”

your breath catches, and for a second neither of you speak.

then, softer than before, he adds, “you know i think about kissing you every time we’re this close, right?”

you blink. “jimin…”

“every time,” he says. “when you laugh. when you look at me like i’m not the guy who fights too much. like I’m someone good.” you reach for his hand beneath the blanket, finding his fingers and curling yours around them.

“you could,” you say quietly. he looks up at you, searching your face like he’s not sure he heard you right. “yeah?” you nod. “yeah.”

he leans in—slow, hesitant—giving you time to pull away. you don’t.

his lips brush yours like a promise, warm and gentle and everything he’s never said out loud. he kisses you like he’s afraid the moment might slip through his fingers, and when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“i’m not good at saying things,” he whispers. “i mess up. i keep stuff in. but i’d never hurt you. never.”

“i know,” you whisper. “that’s why i trust you.”

he smiles, a small, real one, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you into his chest like you’re something breakable and precious.

you bury your face against him, breathing him in—his shampoo, his cologne, the faint scent of blood and sugar—and you let yourself melt into the safety of it all.

tonight, he’s not just the boy with bruised knuckles.

he’s yours.

the sun spills across your room in soft streaks of gold. you’re warm, still half-asleep, tucked against jimin’s chest under your comforter. his arm is draped over your waist, legs tangled with yours, and his breath is slow and steady against your neck.

it’s quiet. peaceful.

and then— “sweetheart?”

your mom’s voice right outside your door. your eyes fly open. knock knock, “i brought muffins—do you want—” the door creaks open before you can say a word.

jimin bolts upright like he’s been shot. his hair’s a mess, hoodie halfway off his shoulder, eyes wide and terrified.

you’re scrambling, yanking the blanket up to your chin as your mom freezes in the doorway, holding a plate of blueberry muffins and blinking at the very obvious boy in your bed.

jimin mutters, “oh my god,” under his breath. your mom’s eyes slowly narrow. “park jimin.” you open your mouth. nothing comes out. he coughs. “hi, mrs. (last name).”

“you got five seconds to tell me why you’re in my daughter’s bed.” you try to sit up without making it worse. “it’s not—it’s not what it looks like—”

“really?” she says, raising a brow. “because what it looks like is that my daughter has a bad boy with bloody knuckles sleeping in her bed.” jimin’s hand slowly disappears under the covers like he can make himself vanish.

“she was patching me up,” he blurts. “after a fight. i didn’t mean to stay—i just—she said i could crash—”

your mom looks at you. you look at jimin. jimin looks like he’s reconsidering every life decision that led to this exact moment. then your mom sighs and sets the muffin plate on your desk.

“wash those sheets. and if you’re staying for breakfast, jimin, you’re helping me at the bakery— and! best believe, your mom and i are gonna be talking about this for the rest of you guys’ life!”

she turns on her heel and walks out, muttering something about teenage hormones. the door clicks shut. jimin stares at you, eyes wide. you burst out laughing.

he groans and flops back into the pillows, throwing his arm over his face. “i’m never going to recover from that.” you grin, curling into his side. “you still smell like vanilla and blood.”

he peeks at you from under his arm. “think she’s gonna ban me from the bakery?” you kiss his shoulder. “nope. but she’s definitely gonna make you wear an apron.”

he groans louder. “this is the price of love, huh?”

you smile, heart full. “guess so.”

652 notes · View notes

ctrlhope · 1 year ago

Text

The Pitfalls of Silk (m)

synopsis: The winter gods are out to get you. That could be the only possible explanation for the series of bad luck tumbling before you— tropical vacation cancelled, snow locking you inside. Hell, even your shovel broken in half has got to be the gods playing some sort of trick on you. Pulling you along, making decisions for you as they guide you along the red string of fate. Guide you towards the very spider that found his way into your basement. Allowing him to fall into your heart all the same. -> apart of the rest, relax, reserve series

p.jimin x f.reader

⋆𐙚┊: wc: 20.0k

⋆𐙚┊: genre: hybrid au, soft yandere, soulmate au, romance, fluff, smut, v light angst

⋆𐙚┊: content: spider hybrid!jimin (cobalt blue tarantula), human!reader, soft yandere jimin, dom!jimin, power imbalances, blood, blood kink, injury, mates / mating, stupid misunderstandings, reader is rlly bad at feelings, heat/rut cycles, jealousy, biting/marking, jimin has fangs, brat taming, light subspace, bondage, fingering, breeding / breeding kink, unprotected sex, cumplay, overstimulation, manipulation, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of venom, honestly rlly soft- jimin is just a little off his rocker, so many mentions of the word silk, jimin is soft for reader but also a little perverted freak <\3

⋆𐙚┊: notes: AHHH it’s finally here!!! I’ve had such a bad crush on spider jimin for such a long time. Creating his character over the years in my head— how exactly this type of hybrid would function was so fun for me. This fic (& the others that follow) has been spurred on by my special interest in arthropods so I hope you end up loving this jimin as much as I do <33 mwah I kiss u guys

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The weather has grown cold, too harsh for anyone to live outside— survive. Burly temperatures tumbling through the air in icicles, the entire world painted in white.

While the city was still busy, your quaint neighbourhood had gone completely quiet. Everyone huddled inside, trying to keep warm while they sipped on cocoa. The worst blizzard in generations deciding to tumble through on the exact weekend you were meant to go out of town. Meant to be enjoying a tropical beach with the best of your friends!

But nooo, all of the planes had to stay grounded and you had to be stuck in your house with nothing but chilly embers decorating your fireplace.

You were pissed about it all, to say the least. Annoyed that your vacation had to be cancelled, annoyed at the fact you couldn’t stay warm in the slightest, annoyed that you had to be shovelling snow out of your driveway right now.

Well, attempting to shovel snow would be a better way to put it. In theory it seemed like the right thing to do– try and get your car out just in case, start to clear a path for when you’d finally be able to greet the outside world, triumph over whatever winter gods are trying to keep you locked in your home.

In reality, you could hardly move– three layers of pants, two coats keeping all of your joints locked down. God, and the snow. It was coming down way too hard, piling up faster than you could brush it away. Hurting your cheeks with the freezing temperatures, making your bones throb with want to go back inside.

It is safe to say that you did not succeed. That was an easy enough conclusion to come to with the two halves of your snow shovel in your hands. Eyes staring blankly at the object with utter… you don’t even know the word.

Cheeks flushed red with cold, head lifting to the sky as you blink. What the fuck! How shitty can your shovel be! What the fuck is wrong with the snow!

Okay, maybe you did buy it at the dollar store. But that isn’t the point! Where has quality gone in our nation! Caring about the consumer! Yeah, that was never there to begin with! But still! You like to think that there's a point in that somewhere!

The snow falling on your skin feels like the sky is laughing at you, mocking you. It probably is. Cancelling your trip, forcing you to stay at home into the lonely confines of your small neighbourhood.

Yeah, the world is out to get you, you’ve decided it.

A grumble leaves your throat in annoyance, quiet cusses leaving your lips as your legs try to waddle themselves inside. Layers of clothing restricting every movement you make, joints feeling stiff and bones feeling cold. You are no more than a penguin, are you?

“Stupid fuckin’ shovel, stupid fuckin’ snow…” You huff, slamming the thick oak door behind you. Hoping, in a way, that you could pretend none of the frost was there in the first place.

It’s not that you hate snow– of course not. You don’t like to hate much of anything. But when it’s this deep, this thick, you can’t help the sour mood you fall into. Can’t help the sickly feeling in your gut that it has somehow wronged you simply for existing.

Whatever, not that it matters much. You aren’t mother nature. You can’t change it or your now cancelled– most likely non-refundable plans.

What you can change? A nice warm pizza in your tummy.

You hum to yourself, tapping off your boots before ridding yourself of them entirely. Soon follows your jackets, puddles of water quickly forming on the floor where it falls. Snow melting much too fast now that it is in the warmth of your home.

You stare at it in spite, another way mother nature has wronged you today.

You know what? No, not your problem right now. That is a problem for you later today! The wood would be fine. And if it isn’t?

…

You groan, throwing your head back as you move to the bathroom. The battle of opposing forces inside of your head has won again– being responsible, doing the right thing.

Your hand snatches a towel, “Stupid shovel… stupid snow…” You huff, kneeling on the ground to wipe away the liquid that pooled.

You hang the towel back in the bathroom for it to dry before finally making your way to the kitchen. To finally make the frozen pizza you want– no deserve! Yeah, you’ve had a hard day today, being an adult is too hard sometimes. You deserve a little treat don't you?

Feet scuffling against the floor, fluffy socks dragging along the surface allowing you to quickly slip against the tiled floor. Your hips sway, a quiet hum leaving your lips as your hands move diligently, efficiently. Placing the pizza in the oven, setting the timer, flipping the switch on on the kettle.

Everything happens with practised ease. With movements that leave no room for error. Careful, efficient, the way your parents always taught you. The right way.

If you do everything correctly, things will never go wrong. You’ll never have to worry. When everything is in your control, everything is perfect and content.

It’s too bad the right way never accounts for things out of your control. When the world causes you to tense and get annoyed– when it doesn’t behave the way it's supposed to, like you want it to. Just like stupid shovels and a winter storm no one predicted.

But hey, at least you still have power. Your backup generator is there if you need it. Can still watch your dramas and eat warm food. Keep yourself sane while the insane persits just outside of your door.

Lonely, lonely, lonely winter storm~ whatever shall you do~

Your head begins to sing to itself while you wait. Maybe you already were going insa–

Bang.

What the fuck was that?

Your eyes instantly dart to the basement door wide with fear– the source of the sound.

A crash, a quiet cry, a scurry all sound in quick succession. Too loud to miss. Too loud to ignore. Too distinct to place on anything else.

You know winter noises. The crash of shutters against the window, the influx of snow on glass. The beating of hail against the roof or the creaking of pipes chilled from the cold. The noises you just heard? None of the above. They couldn’t possibly be. They weren’t. They were too… too…

Human.

Shit, shit. Is someone in your basement?! Oh god, oh fuck.

The room, it freezes over.

Your pulse starts to race– hairs raise, stand on end. Breath filtering through your nose as you start to panic. Fingers grip the countertop as you try to ground yourself. Try to figure out a way to escape this.

If horror movies have taught you anything– it’s how to run. Grab everything you can, high tail it out before you become victim to the unknown lurking just below the surface of your floorboards. Before you can be possessed or worse, chased down by some mass murdering clown.

That would be the smart thing to do– the wise thing. To get out of your house as quickly as possible, call the police to investigate it for you before you have to become the ‘final girl’ of a movie franchise of your own.

But the storm, the storm would never allow for the right thing.

The police would never make it in time, the roads far too hazardous to truly reach you. If they did, you would already have frostbite from the cold outside by the time they made it. You might be worse off than before–

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The reasoning formulated in your head as you grab a broom from the closet, slowly make your way to the basement door. Completely ignoring the nagging feeling in your gut, the one that tells you that you actually want to travel down the stairs. A string tugging you along a path predetermined, forcing you to forego anything you had thought before.

No, your line of reasoning had to be the object pulling you down those stairs, creaking with every slow, nagging step that you take. It could never be curiosity, a want to understand the unknown guide leading you astray from the dirt road you’ve taken time and time again.

The right road that would lead to the right solution is all but forgotten in this moment. Only adrenaline spurring you on, fingers clenching and unclenching around the broom handle in your grip. Fingers tied so tight around the metal that your knuckles may as well be white.

You're terrified– scared out of your mind. The only noise passing through the drums of your ears is your own pulse, the accelerated beat of your heart as you try to clear the fog that dances over your brain. Fear must be clouding your judgement, making you follow it blindly into the light; well, dark.

Your breath leaps from your chest in short pants, eyes haphazardly harding around your form as you make it to the bottom of the stairs. Something is keeping your legs moving when all your brain wants to do is turn back and run. Call the authorities like you should be doing instead of risking everything to satiate the incessant need pulling at the back of your skull. Acting on instincts alone, allowing the string of fate to tug you around the corner. The urge to investigate is stronger than anything you had ever felt before. Anything you’ve ever wanted to feel before.

He sees you before you see him.

“P-please..” The quiet, almost non-existent voice sends a chill down your spine. One you were not expecting in the slightest.

Terrified, panicked. Shaking like a leaf, eyes welled with tears. It’s almost like he knew you were coming down all along, just… didn’t know what to do about it. Too scared to move, too scared to hide. Too scared to do anything but sit there and wait.

Just as petrified as you.

Nothing about the scene before you is making much sense at all. Not to you, at least. Why is he so scared? Why is he in your home? Why isn’t he doing anything but sitting there with pleading, helpless eyes? You try to take everything in, try to fit the pieces of the picture together.

Basement window opened slightly, just enough to allow the man— was he a man? To climb inside. Pretty blonde hair completely dishevelled on his head, grime coating what you know would be such pretty locks. Eyes with double pupils brimmed with tears threatening to spill at any second. Pink plush lips quivering with worry, fangs biting into them so hard you fear they may bleed. No, they are bleeding.

He is definitely not a man. Nor is he a beast. An intoxicating swirl of the two combined into a species of hybrid you’ve never seen before.

The first thought in your head is one it shouldn’t be. One that makes your heart stop for entirely different reasons than before. Makes you drop the broom in your hands, allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. Defences dropped completely in the face of the stranger before you.

He only flinches at the noise, blood covered hands reaching in panic to cover his all too sensitive ears.

Any worries have left you– something seeded deep within your soul tells you he isn’t a threat in the slightest. Not to you, at least. Never to you. Maybe it is the same string as before pulling you along. Pulling you to what destiny has provided.

He is absolutely gorgeous. Even with the grime and his pale complexion from the cold you can tell that easily. He might just be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, and you find lost in yourself what to do about it.

What is anyone meant to do when a drop dead gorgeous hybrid enters their home in the middle of a blizzard? Just as scared as you were moments before? Looking like he might freeze to death if you don’t–

Holy shit he must be frozen solid.

It’s only then that you come to your senses, your eyes racking over him once more as you take in all of him for more than just the beauty he brings.

His clothes are thin– far too thin for this weather at least. Tattered on the edges, few stains spotting the fabric, though its clear effort was spent trying to get them out. Your mind wants to wonder why he would worry about that, worry about making himself appear presentable, but raking your vision down you know there is no time for it. Not with the blood on his palms or the red of his flesh.

Your body moves quicker than your brain can think, crouching down in front of him. Noticing the way he flinches once more, the fear in his eyes more palpable, hurting worse than a gunshot wound.

The constriction of your chest is dumb, or at least it should be. Feels almost benign, unfounded. You just met him, you're scaring him, but for an unexplainable reason you wish you could take all of his worry away just for that moment. Make him feel a little better, a little warm. A little safe.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” Your voice mumbles, trying to soothe him or yourself, you’re not entirely sure.

“I-I’m sorry… pl-please don’t.. It’s just so cold… Please…” He begs, though neither of you are sure what for. Not to hurt him, not to send him back outside. All you know is the tears that now flow from his eyes, cresting along his cheeks, dripping to the floor.

“Not going anywhere…” You hope your voice sounds stronger than you feel, hope he can’t hear the way the strings of your heart break, hope he hears how much you care in your tone all along, “Trust me a little okay…?”

You know your words mean nothing, that it might have been an impossible task for him to do so. But you had to try. Had to hope.

It should be hard for you to trust him too, it should be hard to rectify your fear in the face of the one who had caused it. It isn’t the right thing– none of this is the right thing, but it all just comes too easily. Compassion, caring takes over the anxiety too easily. Too brilliantly to do anything else other than care for this hybrid that has wound up at your door.

He was just a scared hybrid doing whatever he needed to to survive. Terrified out of his mind that he would freeze or starve out there– probably had no burrow or… you’re not sure, honestly, what his home might be like. But no home nevertheless. You could never just send another person out there to die.

He stiffens as you reach out for him, gently take his hands in your own. They feel like ice, frozen solid. You don't want to acknowledge what could have happened to them if he was out there any longer.

Without thinking you raise them to your lips, blowing on them as best you can. Trying to do anything to get the blood flowing again before you take him upstairs. Warm him up properly. Make him feel like more than a snowman once again.

You don’t notice the way his form completely loses all stress as you touch him for the first time, speak to him the first time. He feels transfixed on your voice– it had to be too sweet to be real. But you were too focused on your mission. Too focused on making sure the man who has broken into your home is okay to notice the way his lips part slightly at your tone.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches, the way all of his hair stands on edge as a current runs through his body, breathing life into every pore he possesses. Nor the way his eyes widen, losing their will to cry as he stares at you.

Don’t notice the recognition on his face.

You don’t notice a lot of things he does that day. Too focused on getting him into a warm shower– one he was very confused by, you might add. Too focused on getting a warm meal in his belly. Too focused on getting him in nice, clean clothes. A set that will properly keep him warm.

You could worry about other things later. But this felt right. This felt like something you were always meant to do. Or maybe that was just the size of your heart talking– you could never be too sure. But you liked to think it was the former. Liked to hope that Jimin, who you later learned was a spider hybrid, was always meant to come tumbling through your window, into your life for good.

The days that follow are easy– falling into a rhythm with him, taking care of him is just too simple. As basic as breathing, maybe.

Though, it hasn’t exactly been hard with how much he sleeps. How deep he’s nestled in your bed, blankets piled on top of him to drown out any chills that may attempt to slip into his bones. It’s almost like hibernation– if you could describe it. Re-building his energy, making himself feel strong again before he faces the world.

You can’t blame him, honestly. Not after everything he’s been through. Only god knows how long he had been out there. How long he had to brave the snowstorm, the cold weather that previewed it as well. You would probably do the same thing. Hide yourself from everything that hurt you.

Most days you wish you could be doing the exact same thing as him. Hide under a pile of blankets and forget the rest of the world exists. But the voice of your parents would always nag you out of it, force you to be human with the rest of society because it's the right thing.

You humph, gently placing a plate of food on the bedside table. Let him occupy your room for as long as he needs, preparing meals for him even though he never touches a bit of it. It’s the least you can do with his condition.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to stop someone's pain so badly. You hope you can by just doing small things like this. You sigh, heading for the door once again. Another day on the couch.

“Human…?” His voice is quiet, almost non-existent as he calls for you. Cracking slightly, the first time he's spoken in days.

You quickly turn to face him and almost want to fall to your knees at the sight. Fluffy blonde hair peeking from just below the covers, doll eyes peering at you while the rest of him stays hidden beneath the surface. Does he know how destructive he is?

Wait, no. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. He’s letting his defences down, actually talking to you. Stop it.

“Hmm?” You gently call back, glued to your spot in the doorway. You don’t know what he would do if you moved, how startled he may be because of it. You want to talk to him– to find answers.

“What time is it…?” He slowly asks, pacing his question. You notice a slight lisp behind his words– how much of an effort he puts to cover it up.

“Mmm.. about 1? I made myself some lunch so I was just stopping by.” You explain, trying to justify your presence in the room.

“Oh.” He looks beneath the blankets, eyes darting around the room, “Okay. Thank you.”

It seems neither of you are great conversationalists, awkward air passing between the space left between your bodies. You don’t blame him. You don’t know what you would be thinking, feeling if you were in the same place as him. If you didn’t really know what your fate was going to be.

“How are you feeling?” You ask quietly, playing with your fingers to distract from the nerves that you feel. As much as you want to jump, pin him down and ask every single thing your heart begs for, you know that isn't the right thing to do. You know you should be slow, careful with this. At least, that's what the articles online have told you.

“Better…” His voice comes out smoother this time, finally coming out of sleep as he sits up in the bed. Gently taking the plate into his lap, scrunching his nose. “It’s not cold in here like out there.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself. He seems so relaxed, so at ease. Not scared in the slightest of you or what you may do. You forget all about the fact that you should probably be scared of him too.

“Not really,” You smile gently, eyes glancing at the window as he starts to eat, “I was really worried about you, scared me bad.”

You don’t see the flush that covers his cheeks.

“I-I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to… your window was the first one I could get through and I knew I couldn’t take the storm anymore so I–”

“Hey, It’s fine.” You turn your attention back to him, “I’m just glad you’re okay, yeah? It must’ve been terrifying out there.”

“It was.” He doesn’t hesitate in answering in the slightest, eyes serious as they focus on you. They’re beautiful, really. His eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

He shakes his head, “Not your fault human, I left the reserve. My fault.” He tells you in earnest, wanting you to believe it with every piece of your soul that you could never do anything to hurt him, “Come sit?”

The question is quiet, but you oblige nonetheless. Legs moving you slowly, perching at the end of the bed to face him. Kicking your legs slightly as you stare at the pattern of your sweats.

“The reserve?” You ask, turning slightly to face him. His face is suddenly smiling, nodding at your question. He must like the place a lot, see it as home for him to become so excited.

“Yeah! Where I live,” He explains, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he speaks, “They say humans can't hurt you there, you get to hunt like in the wild too.”

He hums, content in talking about the one place he has ever found comfort in, found friends in. You can’t help but smile as he speaks, too.

“Yeah? It sounds really nice.” He’s nodding his head once again, as quickly as he can.

“There are lots of other arthropods to play with there. Lot’s of food. Sometimes the humans that visit will give you some too, but they’re normally scared of me.” He suddenly looks serious, eyes coming to meet yours once again, “You’re not scared of me, right?”

You jerk your head back, brows furrowing together in confusion. How could someone be scared of someone like Jimin? You’ve only known him for a matter of days and you doubt that you could ever be.

“Of course not.” You tell him, gently reaching a hand over to place on his knee. He doesn’t flinch away like you expect him to. “You just needed some help, we all need help sometimes.”

He smiles, the serious demeanour retracting from his face in an instant. Back to smiling down at his food happily. The silence doesn’t feel as awkward anymore, at least you don't think it does. It makes you happy, stretching on as he continues to eat like a man starved. He probably is, days of not eating and only sleeping.

“Why did you leave it?” You tilt your head, staring out the window once more. Few snowflakes trickle against the blue sky, “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I figure if we’re going to be together through the storm–”

“You’re not gonna kick me out?” His face is awestruck, fork dropping to the plate in surprise. What is he talking about? Kick him out? In this weather?

You quickly shake your head, hand slowly pulling itself back from your knee. He whines in protest, quickly trying to force himself back under your heat. The touch of your hand warmed him up more than anything else in this room– more than the blankets, more than the heater or the warm towels.

His hand tangles itself with your own, pulls you back to his covered knee. Keeps your hand in place with his own while he uses the other to eat. Good. This is better. He likes it when you touch him. The way your small hand feels wrapped in his own.

Makes the tips of his fingers tingle, warmth spread throughout his skin. This is right. This is good.

“Why would I kick you out?” You ask in disbelief, either unnoticing or uncaring to the way he holds your hand– he’s unsure. Not that it matters much! “It’s too cold for anyone out there. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He smiles, the pit of his stomach only warming more at your words, “Good.”

“We have to wait for the snow to melt to drive you ba–” He cuts you off once again, not wanting to think about going back. At least not without you.

“My friend Taehyung leaves a lot,” He begins to explain, fingers squeezing your own as his palm lays heavy against the back of your hand, “He always talks about how fun it is. All the cool things he gets to see, you know?”

He places his plate to the side while he talks, licking one of his fangs gently. You don’t want to think about how handsome he looks while he does such an action.

“So I wanted to try it out, but we’re not really supposed to leave, you know? ‘Cause then we’re not protected.” You nod along, “And I don’t really have wings to fly out so… I had to wait until they weren’t really paying attention.”

“And that just happened to line up right before the snowstorm was supposed to hit.” You finish for him and he nods, looking down at his lap, “That has gotta be such shitty luck, Jimin. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not, you just wanted to go out and experience new things and you almost ended up dead.” You frown at him, trying to get the man to understand the gravity of what may have happened. He simply shakes his head, plush lips tilted into a small smile just for you.

“I said it’s okay.” He tries to make you believe it, leaning closer. Feeling nothing like the stranger he was only days before. “I got to meet you, so it was all worth it.”

Mate. Mate. Mate.

Jimin has a mate that he’s going to be with someday. Someone he’s going to fall in love with. Someone he’s meant to be with, be happy with for the rest of his life. Someone that isn’t you. You really need to accept that and move on from this stupid fucking crush you’ve developed. One that will amount to nothing but heartbreak.

All hybrids have them– Jimin is not excluded from that. You know it’s true. Know it’s so true that you can hardly breathe but he just makes it so easy, too fucking easy to fall for him.

He takes care of the house, cleans it for you whenever there is a mess. Does the dishes after dinner. Takes out the trash. Tells the spiders in the yard not to mess with you– okay, you’re not entirely sure he does that last one. But he is adamant he can speak to them, and who are you to rain on his little spidey parade.

As the seasons change and the months pass, he only makes it easier and easier. Fitting into your life like he was the only piece missing. Filling in all of the bits and pieces you never knew you needed, wrapping silk around your heart and pulling it tight before you could ever think about letting him go.

Even as the months heat and his deep blue roots grow out from his bleached hair, he has no desire to the place he once called home. The reserve quickly pushed aside every time you try to bring it up. Saying he likes it better here, that this is now his home.

To be honest, nothing makes you more happy. Nothing in the world could possibly make you feel better than Jimin. His little webs he places in the corners, the soft way he clings to you when he becomes needy, the way he likes to show you any bugs he catches before he eats them. You’re not sure you could continue in your life without it.

Yet still, still. You’re not sure if this is right. The right thing, the right way to go about it all.

You often fear that you’re keeping him from what he really wants, if he actually wants to go back but feels indebted to you in some way. If that’s the only reason he actually sticks around.

You worry you’re being selfish in that regard. And then once again you find yourself spiralling into the void of questions you could never have answered. Feelings that will always be unaccounted for because Jimin has a mate.

Or at least, will have one. Someday. And you’re not sure if you could handle that day coming. Not in the warm heat of spring, flowers blooming alongside feelings for an arachnid that has entered your life.

One that has no intention of leaving your side anytime soon, if he has anything to say about it.

But nothing, nothing in the world could prepare you for this. What could prepare the thrum of your heart or the butterflies in your tummy? You never expected him to hold you this close, keep your body pressed against his own in the small space of the coat closet. Keep his face tucked away in your neck, whining in pain at something you could never think to discern.

So quickly you were pulled away, without a second to waste you were dragged onto his lap. One second kicking off your shoes, covered in mud from gardening, the next a hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you into the dark confines. Only Jimin there to cover up your scream, lips delicately pressed to your ear uttering a quiet please. Voiced laced with a whine so pained you couldn’t help but join him without a second to spare.

A thought to think– a debate on whether this is right to do or not, for yourself and your own heart.

“Min? Min, what’s wrong?” It’s the only thing you can think to ask, pulling him away from your neck, making his head face your own. Hands gently cupping either cheek as your eyes attempt to make out the features of his face.

It’s too dark, you can’t see anything. The only answer he gives is in the form of a pained groan, not even his eyes reaching you through the darkness. You start to panic, feel the nerves along your spine light up in trepidation.

He’s hurt. He has to be. What happened? Is he okay? He’s never acted like this before. Not with you. Never before has he seemed so hurt, so dishevelled save for the night you first met him.

Just before this the two of you were gardening, mid-morning sun shining bright overhead. A light breeze passing through the trees keeping the two of you cool. That was it! He only went inside a few minutes before you, a few minutes alone and he was already hurt this bad.

Oh god, you never want him to hurt. To be in pain. It hurts your heart just as bad as it hurts him, if not worse.

You’ve fallen a lot farther than you thought.

“Min, let me just turn on the lights okay? Let me see what’s wrong.” You try to coax him, try to kneel from his lap to reach the string above you. Panic flooding through you as he keeps you snug, keeps you from helping him.

You stop your struggle, veins running cold as he lets out a sharp, violent hiss. A sound he’s never made before, never dare uttered towards you– around you in general. It leaves you nervous, scared for entirely different reasons than before.

But one thing is clear from the way his fingers dig into the skin of your wrist almost painfully. The same wrist that was reaching for the string. He doesn’t want you to turn on the light.

“Okay…okay I won’t…” You tell the arachnid, slowly lowering yourself back onto his lap. Letting go of the struggle, letting go of the resistance. It isn’t what he needs right now, isn’t what he wants.

His grip loosens, arms returning to their place around your waist. Holding you close. Keeping you in his arms. His face nuzzles back into your neck, inhaling deeply with every breath he takes. Smelling you. Imprinting the memory of it in his brain.

“What if I use my flashlight…? Would that be okay?” Once again, the response is a much short, quieter hiss. A lot less defensive, angry than the first. Just a sign of dismissal.

“Okay…” You say quietly, bringing one arm behind him to gently run through his hair. Scratching his scalp in a way that always has him preening, “Can you please tell me what's wrong? So I can help…? Please…”

Your voice is quiet, almost a beg as you ask him. He squeezes your body tighter in response. Would’ve basked in the tone you gave him if not for the pounding behind his eyelids. Still, he knows if he’s going to get you to stay, he has to talk. No matter how much it hurts.

A whine leaves his lips, nose running along the column of your neck as he tries to scent you, “Hurts.”

He answered, his voice shaky and quiet, but it gives you nothing.

“I know Min, I know…” You hush quietly, trying to consol something that you do not have the answer to. Your other hand slowly starts to soothe up and down his back, trying to relax the poor boy enough to speak.

“The light. Hurt eyes. Head Hurts.” He gruffs out, burying his face into your skin to block out any other source that he could.

Your lips part in a soft ‘o’ as the picture becomes clear to you. Staying outside too long, helping you in the garden had come at a cost to the poor spider in the form of a splitting headache.

How could you have been so dumb to let him help you? The articles you’ve read, the pieces you’ve tried to put together to understand the man in your life– they told you as much. How delicate some species' eyes could be but… Jimin never seemed to have that issue before. Never mentioned it, anyway. He doesn’t mention a lot about himself.

You frown.

“Min, I’m so sorry…”

He only grumbles in reply, blunt nails digging into the back of your shirt to keep himself grounded. To keep his head from pounding any louder.

“Let me– Let me go get you some Ibuprofen, yeah?” You hope the sound of your voice isn’t making everything worse. If it does, he doesn’t say anything, only shaking his head, burrowing it further under your hair.

“Just… stay.” He sighs in defeat, shoulders relaxing as he holds you close. He doesn’t need medicine. He doesn’t need anything else. He just needs you. Why can’t you understand that?

“I’ll–” You breathe, trying to force the flush of your cheeks to disappear. He can see in the dark, you know that much. You wouldn’t want him seeing this. The effect he has over you. Doesn’t he know how dangerous he is?

“I’ll stay.”You sigh in defeat, unaware to the pride that blooms in his chest at the battle won. The quiet chirp from his throat that he has you here, with him. Where you’re meant to be.

Hours pass just like that, just the two of you wrapped in each other's arms. No words spoken but quiet requests to know the other is okay. That the other is safe. Even as your muscles begin to cramp, bones start to become sore you don’t dare to move. Don’t dare to do a thing when you are the only one that matters to him right now.

Jimin makes it so easy to pretend.

Especially as his migraine begins to lift, as the conversation between two souls becomes more frequent. As he moves your body to the side so your head can rest against his chest. As his fingers smoothe over the skin of your thigh, rubbing gentle, comforting circles into your flesh.

“And then Namjoon, you know how bad a flyer he is, ran straight into the director of the park. Made her spill her whole coffee all over.” He smiles to himself as he tells the story of the bee hybrid, eyes heavy as he looks down at your form. So cute and small, “and you know what he said?”

You shake your head, “what?”

“‘You need some honey?’” He recites, dipping his voice in a deeper octave to mimic what you can only assume to be Namjoon’s. His voice falling into quiet giggles, you quickly follow suit. Laughing at stories of friends, feeling at home in the dark closet.

You don’t care how long the two of you have been in there. Only that he isn’t in pain anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay now.” You tell him, eyes feeling heavy, the soothing tremor of his voice vibrating in his chest making your head start to fog. Inklings of sleep slipping into your frame. Head lulling back against him, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

He nods, his throat constricting at just how perfect you look there, fingers teetering on the brink of digging into your skin once more. “Feeling a lot better… my vision is still a little spotty but it's okay.”

You pout. He has to hold back a coo. Too cute. Do you even know how cute you are when you get like this? Probably not.

“No, it’s not okay. I should have known. Told you to go back inside so you don’t get hurt. I don’t like it when you get hurt.”

His heart pounds once, twice before he releases a shaky exhale. Do you know what you do to him when you talk like that? When you show him just how much you care?

The level of restraint he has, it has to be impressive. If he was Taehyung, he would have taken you right there. Wrapped your arms in webs so you couldn’t move. Mate you without a second thought.

Seriously, what did you think you were doing? Talking to him like that? Making him feel like he’s going insane, a few short strings from breaking free and just taking you to his nest. Keeping you there.

You can’t say things like that to him. Not with how innocent you look, with how terribly he already wants you.

A harsh breath comes out of his nose as he forces the thoughts away. He’s not Taehyung. He’s not going to take you for his own selfish desires alone. No, he’s going to keep lulling you into his web like he knows you want. Knows you need. Keep being a good little spider for you.

“I should have told you.” He says quietly, lips coming down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, “Couldn’t have known my species is sensitive like that.”

You hum in quiet annoyance, “Still… read online about some glasses that can help some insects manage light… should have bought them.”

A courting gift? No no, you don’t know what that is. No matter what his spider screams he knows that isn’t true.

He sighs, he needs a distraction. Something to calm the voice in his head screaming at him to kiss you.

Your leg kicks out gently as he starts, feeling like nothing but a feather tickling across your skin. Gentle silks laying across the surface from his wrists, spinnerets hard at work to produce the webbing he places on your thigh.

He huffs quietly, a smirk of a laugh coming out as he moves your leg back, “Tickles?” He asks, an amused lilt present in his voice. Oh god, he’s going to start teasing you again. He loves teasing you.

“What are you doing?” You ask quietly, eyes glancing down to where his fingers move expertly. Thread after thread moving through his fingers, decorating your skin as he draws pictures. Paints flowers, sunsets, anything he can think of really across the canvas of your thigh.

“Just drawing… calms me down.” Marking you, claiming you. Showing every other arthropod that this one is his, this one is Jimins’. Well, at least for the next 3 days when the stick wears off. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tingle runs through your spine as he works, eyes not able to leave his hands for even a second. Your stomach swarms with what has to be a hive of bees, your core bubbling with something you don’t want to describe or think about.

You just hope he can’t smell you. Can’t hear the race of your heart, the increase in breath. The flush on your cheeks that travels all the way to your ears.

He can.

“N-no… It’s okay. I want you to feel better so… do what you need to do.” You mumble, trying to get your feelings to calm down before you fully lose it.

You have to buy those glasses.

Being a spider is just too difficult!

At least that’s what Jimin has told you time and time again over the past 8 months you’ve spent with him. Cold, icy months blossoming into the summer heat with him by your side. With him making residence in your home, cementing his place in your life without any regards for going back to his original home.

It’s too hard for him out there anyway! People at the park think you’re scary so they won’t give you any snacks, security removes your webs when they become too prominent around the landscape. Something about having to “give other spiders a chance” and them “taking up too much space.”

Can you believe them?! All the time and effort he put into his pretty webs, gone in a flash! The strain the sun caused his eyes, the pounding headaches he endured stringing up pieces of silk along the trees, creating a beautiful orchestra of white to claim his territory.

Thank god he doesn’t have to deal with that anymore, at least. Ever since you bought him those sunglasses, making webs outside has never been easier. Catching prey so much easier than ever before.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him eating the bugs he catches, but who are you to yuck his yum? You know all of the things he’s had to endure as a spider. Everything he’s convinced the world hates him for simply based on his breed alone. The least you can do is show kindness around his diet.

That’s how you end up rubbing his back in soothing circles time and time again, fangs piercing a stuffed animal or piece of fruit– anything he can get his hands on really, as he whines, flinches as he spits out all of his venom.

His venom is one of the worst things he’s had to deal with, you’ve learned. It builds up behind his teeth, waiting to be used on a waiting victim when there is no such thing. No exit point for the liquid to flow.

His fangs begin to ache, begging to pierce something just to release all of the pent up tension in his gums. It hurts too bad, too much to just keep it inside. So once a month, you find yourself in the same position, trying to help him relieve the aggression with soothing, gentle words as he spits the venom out in a way you can only imagine is unsatisfying. Leaving his fangs sensitive and achy for days to come.

In general, his fangs seem to be a point of special contention within the hybrid. They’re too pointy, cause too many issues. The extended canines digging into his plush lower lip just a little too hard making every movement just a little too uncomfortable. God, and he has to worry about brushing them to perfection– keep them pretty for his mate.

At least, that’s what he tells you.

The rest of the world hurts him. You don’t.

Today especially. At least that's what you can assume by the stretch of his arms, the whine bubbling from the back of his throat. His arms reaching for your form, beckoning you, calling you to join him on the couch. All worked up, acting like a wounded puppy that needs nursing just to get your attention.

It always works. Always will.

Some would say he’s become more pushy— more desperate for your attention, forcing it from your grasp without realizing it yourself. That’s what your friends have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand with no more than a simple gesture coaxing you forward into his sweet embrace, never noticing the glares he sends others who enter your home.

No, you would deny all of it. Listen when he tells you that you don’t need your friends anyway. It just feels so good to be needed by him, wanted by him in a way you can never have him. In whatever way he’s willing to give.

r weakness than ever before. No matter how much you’ve tried to avoid it, how much you’ve tried to do the right thing and shove the stupid, pesky feelings down, he’s managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart. Filling a deep hole inside with his pretty silks and crooked little teeth. Takes up a lot more space then you’d ever be willing to admit. Not to him, anyway. Not when he could find his mate any day now.

You’ve been thinking about it more and more lately– the prospect of his mate. It’s difficult not to when he treats you so kindly. When he creeps in your bed at night to cold you, when he reaches out for your comfort alone. When he graces your neck with his fangs his lips–

You drop the dishes back in the sink, shoving your thoughts back into the deep dark recesses of your mind. Maybe if you can be his comfort for now, that will be enough. Even if it isn’t right.

Maybe that’s just how far you’ve fallen, how much he’s tangled you in his embrace. Not that it matters much, you smile all the same. Abandoning your task on only his third whine and fourth dramatic roll of the night. Giving in is so easy when it’s him.

But! It’s a new record for how long you’ve held out! Even got two stomps out of him. You should be proud of yourself.

Maybe you are, though it's for different reasons entirely as Jimin grabs at your wrists, pulling you down beside him. Nudging his face into the crook of your neck with a quiet, pained whine.

You like to ignore those other reasons. They’ll only hurt more if you face them head on. But it's hard to, so hard when he’s this close. When he’s holding you like you may just be the very thing from shattering his world apart.

Or maybe you’re over thinking things.

Yeah. It’s probably that.

“Y/n…” You feel his lips ghost your neck as he whines, wiggling slightly in discomfort.

His duality is always impressive, has been making your brain go a little haywire since he first moved in, since he became more comfortable in your presence. Letting you see him for what he really is. Always playing so cute, so pliant when he needs something– attention, food, for you to just give in and give him what he wants.

Other times he acts as if he could be the reincarnation of Arachne herself. Beautiful, deceptive. Terrifyingly aware of how attractive he is to the human eye. You think he does it on purpose. Likes to see your head spin as you try to keep up with which apparition of Jimin you will experience that day.

He doesn’t know how dangerous it can be, especially for you. How easy it can be to believe that it's real and not just the flirt of his personality. At least you have cute Jimin for now. It’s a little easier to manage.

“You okay Minnie? Something happen?” Your arm reaches up for where he clings to it, fingers gently petting through his fluffy blonde hair. The action seems to soothe him, make him almost pur from the feeling of your fingers alone. Make him feel the slightest bit better from whatever might be irritating him.

He forces his wrists onto your lap, nuzzles his face further into your neck. Inhale all the scents you have to offer. Let you see the issue of spiders.

The tiny holes of his spinnerets come into view, red and inflamed. Shit. They have to be hurting. The skin jutting out slightly more than it should be. Pretty strings of silk hanging in a messy manner. Clogged glands always hurt. Always make for issues.

You frown at the sight, delicately taking his wrist into your hand, looking at it closer. No, not too bad you have to take him to the doctor… you can handle it fine. But it won’t feel good, it never does. Dummy must’ve gotten too excited while webbing up the basement again, got his poor spinnerets working too hard. Overproducing silk to the point it has nowhere to go.

“Min!” You whine, already grabbing a pair of tweezers from the side-table– you’ve learned it’s always good to have a pair on-hand. “I told you that you gotta be more careful!”

“I know!” He hisses almost pathetically, “Just got ahead of myself!”

His voice is no more than a grumble, turning his head away from you yet not pulling away in the slightest. Pretending he hates when you scold him, when you show just how much you care about him.

You pretend it isn’t cute in much the same way.

“Always end up getting ahead of yourself,” You sigh dramatically, acting as if having to take care of the arachnid bothers you more than it actually does. Truth be told, you don’t care in the slightest. Who knows, maybe it even makes you preen in delight.

Feeling wanted as your fingers try to be as gentle as possible while removing the silk. Pulling out the little pieces strand by strand, work out the knot it's made under the skin to try and bring him some relief.

Though, no matter how careful you may be, he still flinches in pain all the same. Trying to cover it up like it was nothing, like every poke and prod doesn’t hurt. Like he can be tough under your gentle hands and pained gaze. He knows it has to be done and no matter how much you hate to see him in pain, you do too.

The dull ache will grow worse and worse, could even turn into an infection if you don't handle it as fast as possible. Worst case? He may have to have his spinnerets removed completely. A fate that feels worse than death to a spider hybrid– or so you’ve read at least.

Soon after he came into your life you did everything in your power to learn as much about his species as possible. Scoured webpage upon webpage, blog post on blog post, youtube video after youtube video. Even went down the sticky threads of a reddit rabbithole to try and learn everything about him.

The only thing you found: how horrible arthropod hybrids are treated in your society. Either sold at auction for absurd prices or cast aside completely depending on how “inhuman” they look. How they are used as tools to show wealth or are discarded from the rest of the world completely. The notion alone had pissed you off to no end.

Jimin was a member of the latter group– or at least that’s what you assumed. From behind no one would be able to tell he was any less than human. His lack of multiple limbs or fluttering wings left him to the devices of the reserve. Probably cast aside, dropped off by the people that raised him for not providing anything that went along with their definition of ‘value’.

Your eyes pinch into a quiet glare. They’re just fucking stupid. Anyone could see that Jimin is perfect. Anyone could see that he did not deserve the treatment he's received, nor deserved to be in the state he was in when you first found him.

And while you’re glad he didn’t end up with anyone else, still didn’t end up in an auction house like many others had, you hate them for thinking they could define his value. That they could define him for more than what he lacked. He still has beautiful fangs. Still has beautiful eyes and his natural cobalt-blue hair. He is still perfect to you.

A sharp hiss leaves his lips, arm attempting to jerk back from your hold as your grip tightens just a hair too hard. As you accidentally tug on a far too sensitive part of the knot. Getting a little too lost in your head while your fingers pick away diligently. Trying to ease the pain as fast as you can.

“Human!” He whines, quickly shushed by a flurry of apologies leaving your mouth. Face flushed, panic in your eyes as he admonishes you.

Once again you’re reminded all too well of how far you’ve fallen for him. Heart racing, brain yelling at itself for hurting him.

It’s dumb, you know that. Everything about the schoolgirl crush you’ve formed on him is. But it doesn’t stop the frown on your lips, the gentle rub of your fingers into his skin as you try to make it up to him.

A quiet grumble leaves his lips, heart hurting at the little dejected expression you wear. He forgives better than he forgets, moving his arms back to the pillow propped on your lap, allowing you to continue your work.

A pout stays on his lips as he watches your hands move. Watches the way the tweezers move under the thin layer of skin. Watches the way you move softer now, taking your time with him. Trying your utmost to not hurt him again.

To you it feels far too intimate. To him, it leaves him almost feral.

“Been working really hard on them lately, haven’t you?” Your voice sounds, trying to distract him or yourself from wandering thoughts– you’re not sure. He’s almost clean– almost all better so you can stop playing nurse. Get a warm washcloth to soothe the skin, take away any ache that lasts from the overused glands.

He nods, “Autumn is coming up…” He mumbles, the words leaving his lips in almost a shy fashion. Like it’s a secret that isn’t a secret at all in the coy fashion he knows you adore.

He knows all too well all of the things that make your stomach flutter. Listens to your heart beat like it’s his favourite song, the flush of your cheeks his favourite painting. Every little twitch of your lip or tap of your feet he catches with ease. You are his favourite everything.

You’ve become far more interesting than any book, far more gorgeous than any actress. Learned to read you better than yourself.But he supposes that would happen to any hybrid who had to wait as long as him, endure as much as he has.

Humans are tricky things, you know? You have to wait and wait and wait just for them to finally give into what they really want. Play the long game to win a prize at the end like he wants, deserves.

He’ll win it soon. August.

“Mmm? Having a contest with the house spiders or something?” You giggle, an effort to try and keep the atmosphere as light as possible. Try to distract from any pain he may be feeling at the moment.

Jimin is convinced he can speak to them– the house spiders that you allow to stay in the corners of your house. Another one of Jimin’s pitfalls that you couldn’t help but wonder into. He claims that they’re his friends, that he talks to them all the time. You, on the other hand, are unconvinced. They probably just use him for food!

“How did you know?! Who told you!” He gasps in mock surprise, head dipping low to rest on your shoulder before he continues, “No, not this time…they all know I would win anyway.”

“I know you would,” He doesn’t allow you in the basement to look at them, at least he hasn’t in the last month, but you’ve seen plenty strung around the house. Dotted in the corners of each room, his way of claiming territory. “You’ve always got such pretty silk.”

His face flushes– he knows you can’t see it. It’s good if you don’t, better if you have no clue how much your words affect him. Exactly how much those words mean to him.

Hopefully you will soon enough. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, you’ll know a lot of things. But right now you just need to stay a little clueless. Just for a little longer.

That’s what he promises to himself.

“What’s happening in autumn then?” You ask, finally pulling the last bit of silk from his left wrist. Both finally clean, finally working like they should be.

Taking each wrist into one of your hands, your thumbs find the openings to the spinnerets. Fingers rubbing gentle, soothing circles into the flesh. Your version of a little makeshift massage. One that always causes him to fall apart under. Spine slumping, mouth parting slightly as he watches your fingers work. His brain going a little empty along with the soothing motion of your fingertips.

Another thing that you don’t understand the intimacy of. The extent of what your touch means to him. How terribly it makes him want to bite you.

His voice is a pitch lower than before. You can’t help but notice the way his breath stutters in his throat at the gentle movement of your thumbs. The way his pupils expand ever so slightly. The way he leans into your touch, avoids eye contact at all costs.

You can’t help the blush that dusts your cheeks, the flutter of your ribcage. The way you keep going just because you know it’s making him feel good.

Stop it! You’re thinking in a bad way again! It isn't right! It’s just from the massage, the relief after his spinnerets are cleared! God, you can’t think about him like this. Can’t do this to yourself! Calm down, seriously. None of this is a big deal.

You know he can hear fast your heart is beating regardless of the argument going on inside of your brain.

“Autumn is mating season.” Your thumbs stutter.

Oh. That is something all of the articles definitely neglected to tell you. They didn’t tell you anything about… that aspect of spiders. Not that they explained much to begin with but certainly nothing about breeding.

You can’t help the way your grip tightens, trying to find purchase– stability at the revelation. Heart thrumming in your chest faster, more aggravated than before. The chill that travels down your spine with the hum of his voice so close to your ear.

Can’t help the sinch of jealousy that finds you either.

Fuck, you hate that he’s smirking– without even looking at his face you can tell! You know he can hear the exact pitter-patter of your heart, any little sound or smell you let out he can easily pick up. Knows your exact emotions before you know them yourself.

“Ah… I see.” This topic really shouldn’t make you so embarrassed! Pull yourself together!

You know that all hybrids have a cycle they go through. Heats, ruts, anything in between. You knew that when Jimin came into your life he would be the same! Knew there would be a time when he’d have to lock himself in the basement, body flooded with hormones. The pretty sounds you’d have to block out filling the house.

But still, because it’s him, you can’t help the nerves that arise from your core. The realisation that it would be coming sometime soon.

If you’re going to make it through you’d have to invest in some soundproof headphones. For your own sanity.

“Mmm?” He smiles, voice sweet and saccharine. Away with the pain of existing also left cute Jimin, leaving a deadly predator in its wake. One that likes to taunt and tease you while acting as innocent as an angel.

Leaves your brain confused, floundering trying to keep up with his deceptively sweet tongue. Doing it all just to get a cute little reaction out of you.

Guess he picked up on the exact little whirlwind of your mind, “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed…”

“Shut up!” You whine, trying to stand from the couch so you can retrieve a washcloth. Try to avoid the way your heart is going to pound out of your chest, the way you know you’ll fall farther into his clutches.

His arms lock on firm, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck to rub his cheeks against your skin. Scent you just like he does a million times a day claiming that it's necessary. Spiders smell so much less than other hybrids– he has to do it or else.

Or at least that’s what he says– you think that it’s another lie.

“What!” He laughs, “Not like I’m saying anything dirty, it’s only natural.” He chides, sliding back against the couch, pulling you into his side with ease. Slotting you in like you’re meant to fit there, not whatever mate he meets in the future.

Your brain yells at itself. You know how dangerous that line of thinking is.

“Unless you want me to be dirty? I could if I wanted, you know.” He smiles as innocently as a wolf, fangs oozing with confidence behind them.

“Oh my god!” You sigh dramatically, putting on the front you always do when your heart feels like it may just explode. When you feel like digging an early grave because Jimin knows exactly what he’s doing.

You simply roll your eyes, “And I could punch you in the dick if I wanted to, you know?”

His laugh is always so pretty, boisterous yet still as light as air. Head tilting back, his neck on display as he chastises you for the empty threat. One you both know won’t come true, at least not right now.

He smiles, a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead as he urges you to stay. Promising he’ll be a ‘good little spider’ so you don’t have to worry about him. The implication of snacks and movies making you stay. The way he pouts when you tell him you’re not buying anymore BugBitez™ until the end of the week confirming that this is where you need to be right now. That it’s right.

It’s almost too easy for him too. Everything is too easy for you when it comes to Jimin. He claims the exact same.

Or at least, that’s what he mumbles in your ear now. Arms wrapped around you as tight as he can manage. Movie nearing its end with Jimin on the cusp of consciousness, you having lost the plot of it a long time ago.

Something about Aliens? Cowboys? Mothman? You couldn’t even hope to guess. Not when his breath is in your ear.

It’s hard to focus when he’s so close like this. When he’s saying pretty words that could get you lost in your fantasy over and over again. Making him harder and harder to give him up every moment that passes you by.

“Got lucky with my human.” He mumbles, half asleep, face buried in your hair, “Really good human.”

His lips move so lazily when they speak. Fangs running across the surface your skin like they have a mind of their own. Never daring to pierce the surface. Never daring to bite you for real. No matter how bad he really, really wants to.

How bad he wants to mate you. Make you his pliant little prey– see if the rumours about what his venom does to humans is real.

Your breath stutters but you pay it no mind. Trying, begging your eyes to remain focused on the movie. To ignore how deceptive sleepy Jimin is. Tomorrow, he will act as normal. His words will carry no weight.

He isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t his mate. You two are just friends sharing a house.

Feelings you have no right to have are forced down over and over again. It seems like it's become a daily occurrence– a pattern of habit you have no hope in breaking. The love piling behind your eyelids means nothing when the person he is meant to be with could be around any corner.

But it’s getting harder. Too hard to hold them back and restrain yourself. Especially on nights like this when it feels like fate that the two of you met.

Thinking back on that fateful day now, all of those months ago, you’re sure it had to have been. Maybe the winter gods (if such a thing existed) decided to shine their light on you; to make the blizzard a little less lonely. Make your life filled with long days and even longer nights just a little bit brighter.

Or maybe they hated you and wanted you to suffer.

Wanted you to live a life knowing your affections will never be reciprocated, knowing that Jimin has a fated one out there somewhere just waiting for him. Knowing that it isn’t you. Cursing you to a life of watching Jimin fall for another.

Thinking becomes so hard when it’s about Jimin. When it’s about the man who made you so far into the pits of hell that you don’t think you’ll ever crawl out.

So instead your fingers simply squeeze his hand. Rub gentle, soothing circles into the skin. Care for him like you’re meant to instead of thinking about what the future may hold. What will happen when he does find his mate. What they might be like, what they might dress like, if they’ll have to move in here, if you’ll have to watch him fall in love over and over again every single day.

You think you might hate them.

You sigh.

No, that wouldn’t be fair. Could never be fair to Min. He deserves happiness. He deserves the world whether or not you’re a part of it.

You hope he isn’t able to pick up on the changes in your scent.

“Mmm mm, got lucky with you Min.”

August 11th.

A beautiful dream shattered by the incoherent nightmare that is your spider pacing around your room. A pillow pulled to either side of your head, doing everything in their power to drown out the noise as an audible groan leaves your lips. His nervous prattling too early in the morning for your liking.

Any other day it would be fine, you would think that it’s cute. The way he worries his lip between his teeth. The way he gently bites down on the pad of his thumb, one arm crossed while the other soothes the skin of his chin.

Any other day you’d sit in bed, listen to him. Mock him slightly with how much worry runs through his body.

But he isn’t talking about his mate any other day, is he? No, it seems that the occasion has been saved for this morning. His head running a mile a minute, losing all composure he once had before. Losing his very sense of self as anxiety courses through his veins.

“What if it isn’t good enough? I need to present it to her soon. Need to make sure everything is perfect for her.” Apparently he had met her. When? You have not a single clue. Jimin hasn’t left the house in weeks other than to go hunt bugs and to go to the grocery store with you.

“What if the web isn’t big enough? She might not like the style either…” He grumbles, eyes locked on the carpet as he moves back and forth across your room, “God and what if she hates the food… No, no you know what she likes.”

“Jimin, she’ll like everything. It will be fine.” You groan, sitting up in bed to face him, voice gruff with morning air.. You don’t want him to be in here, talking about this. Talking to you about this. Shattering your heart every second that passes by.

You knew it would happen someday, you really did. You tried to do everything right. Tried to pretend reality wasn’t creeping through your windows with every second that passes by. Try to ignore the impending sense of doom that covered your skin.

Did everything right only to end up failing once again due to the rations of Park Jimin.

You try to look at him through the fuzz in your eyes, sleep still trying to force you back into its clutches with everything that it has. Try to see what he is doing– understand what he is saying. His voice continuing to speak yet not fluent enough for you to actually understand. His body twitches ever so slightly, head jerking as his teeth dig deeper and deeper into his thumb. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room– not to him at least. Lost within the tangles of his brain.

Pulling himself deeper and deeper into the recesses of his mind, spiralling out of control of everything that seems rational, everything that he is meant to do or meant to say. It’s almost like he isn’t in the room at all. Isn’t pacing along your floor, surrounded by your scent. Comforting his inner spider before it loses control entirely with the hormones that rush through his veins.

August 11th. The date was circled 5 times on his calendar– red exclamation points, doodles scattered across the stupid day. Yet now, for the life of him he can’t seem to remember why. He can’t seem to remember much of anything though, so that isn’t a surprise. Only his web. The gifts he’s prepared for this day. Yeah. Those are the only things he can seem to think about.

A hand lands on his shoulder– one that isn’t his own. Who’s touching him? He isn’t sure. Isn’t sure of much other than the smell combing through the room that becomes sweeter and sweeter by the second. Honey he is unable to resist.

Especially with how soft the hand is that touches him. How gentle it is on his shoulder, his pace back and forth falling just so he can revel in it. Understand it.

“Hey Min.” Oh. It’s you. Your voice coming through the fog. Your voice startling him from the dream.

Gorgeous, gorgeous you.

Mate.

“It’s gonna be okay, yeah?” Why do you sound sad? No, maybe it’s distressed. His face falls.

No, no, no. You shouldn’t be sad. You should never be sad. You should always be happy with him. You should love him. His love should make you whole. Your love makes him whole.

Wait, does he have your love yet?

Now he isn’t sure.

All he knows is that he should. You should. He should wrap you up in his nest, hold you close until you feel nothing but him. Don’t think about anybody else. Look at anybody else. You should always be happy and safe. Happy and safe with him just like he feels with you. Has always felt with you.

More than that stupid reserve. More than his webs back there. It was fate that brought the two of you together, right? Right? So he should be allowed to indulge just a little. He should be allowed to let go of this stupid, fucked up play he’s been putting on for so long. He should be allowed to do whatever he wants.

The reserve always taught him he was a wild spider, you know?

Wait, spider.

Spider.

His rut. That’s what’s coming today. That’s why the day was circled. That’s why Jimin isn’t acting like himself. That’s why his spider is itching, clawing to come out to play. Why he so desperately wants all of you to himself.

He hasn’t even presented his web yet.

He tilts his head at you, blank eyes staring down into bright ones. Ones that hold his entire world at your fingertips.

“There he is.” Your smile is almost blinding. Makes his head pound just like the sun's rays.

That’s right. That’s why he needs to keep his composure. To keep that smile on your lips. To keep you happy. To keep you falling in love with him slowly the human way. The way he knows you’d prefer. Knows you adore every second of.

He isn’t Taehyung. He isn’t Taehyung.

The human way is better. Better at keeping you pliant. Better at keeping you happy. Better at keeping you unafraid.

He hates when people are scared of him. Hates when people flinch with every movement he makes. Hates when people can’t just love him like he so craves. He’s still a hybrid. He still wants love. He was bred for it just like the rest of them.

So when you came into his life, so gentle and caring despite the palpable fear that scented the air– weighed it heavily, it sparked light behind his eyes. When he felt you touch him, felt the sparks dance across his flesh and allowed himself to inhale once more. When there were no traces of fear within you, only the scent of his mate. His eternity.

He knew he had to do the right thing. Had to make you love him the human way. Had to make you fall for him, endure the wait. Endure the daily struggles of his instincts just so you would never be afraid of him. The end would be worth it.

He would never let you fear him even at the cost of his own sanity.

Because he isn’t Taehyung. He’s Jimin. He’s a good spider.

“You need to be careful Min…” You tell him quietly. Your voice is the only anchor to his shaky world. The light brought him back from the edge over and over again today.

He needs to leave your room before all of his planning goes to waste. Calm himself down. Present to you his web and all of his gifts so you can accept him properly.

“Your thumb… it’s bleeding honey…” He tilts his head again, inspects your hands as they move closer. Tries to force lucid thought from behind his heavy eyelids as you touch his skin directly.

Tries to ignore the throb deep inside as you gently remove the finger from his lips. Pull it away from the fang that was piercing him. The sting of the bite.

He hadn’t even noticed it.

He watches as a single drop spills from the abrasion. Slipping down his finger. Feels the way your hands come up to cup his cheeks.

Leave. Leave. Leave.

The way your thumb comes to his lips, worry etched across your features as you swipe away any remaining blood from his lower lip.

Leave. He needs to leave.

He isn’t sure how your finger ends up in his mouth. His plush lips wrapping around the digit, tongue curling around your flesh as he licks away the red spilled. Sucking on it gently as heat curls in his stomach. His eyes half-lidded, staring into the recesses of your very soul.

A groan passes through him at the taste of your skin. How sweet you are against his tongue. Do you even know what a vixen you are? What a tease you’ve come to be over the past 9 months?

No. Of course you don’t. Not with the blush that rushes to your cheeks. The stutter of his name that passes through his lips. The questions that you ask– what are you doing? Wh-why?

He wants you to be quiet. To enjoy you for all it’s worth. Enjoy everything you have to offer.

The command is silent– no more than the press of his bleeding thumb to your lips. The demand that you part them for him. To clean that wound that you unknowingly caused.

A hand on your cheek directing your head back. He’s been a good little spider, you can be a good little girl too, can’t you?

You are.

“J-Jimi–” He slips it inside, resting the pad against your tongue. Holding it in place. Asking, begging for this one little thing from you. You don’t mind, do you? You’ve always made him feel better before. This is no different, is it?

And so you do.

He watches the way your eyelids fall, your lips close as you begin to gently suck against it like he so craves. Like he desires down to the very cells that make up his body.

To imagine it’s his cock instead. Gently fucking into you over and over again, teaching you how to take his it how he likes. How he knows you’ll like. You’ll love everything about him. You’re meant to. It’s in the fabric of your DNA and soon it will all be his. Right after he shows you his–

Shit.

He needs to leave.

Got carried away in his fantasy. In pretending again.

His rut is coming too fast, too strong now that he finally has his mate in his grasp. He needs to leave. He needs to calm down so he can go this properly.

He leaves you on the bed, more confused and distressed than when he first entered. Annoyance hovering over your entire wake in a blanket of unrest. One that you know will not ease your soul for the rest of the day.

The spider has locked himself away. Hiding from you. Keeping himself in the basement, door locked, shutters drawn to drown out any sense of you that may be persisting.

You, on the other hand, have had nothing to do but stew in your own emotions. Think about every little decrepit detail that occurred hours prior. Edicting yourself to only address him by spider even in your thoughts.

It’s spiteful, sure. But it’s the least he deserves, you know? After everything he’s put you though– pulling you along like a little puppet on a string. Making you sit idly by for him to give you any lick of affection he’s willing to part with. Making you feel special, like you're worth something every second that he gets only for him to remind you with too much familiarity that he isn’t yours to have.

He woke you up, told you about his mate, looked at you like he was going to fuck you, and made you suck on his finger only for him to leave? The sheer fucking audacity of this man.

You’re sick of it.

Sick of having to force everything down because you know it isn’t what he wants. Sick of falling in love with him every day. Sick of having to play house. Sick of not having him. Sick of being playing the lovesick fool.

So, into the novels you fall. Into alternate worlds that are far better than your own. Displacing yourself into new habitats, new environments to escape the confines of the four stuffy walls that surround your body, head, and heart.

Into a world where it’s okay to fall in love with whoever you want. Where it’s okay to feel wanted. Where reality can be shut away by your headphones and a good snack. Where you can ignore the body approaching behind you. The tap on your shoulder.

You try to, honestly. And a good attempt it was.

Keeping your grip firm on the pages, nails digging into the paper below. Breath in your lungs held as if doing so would keep him away. Eyes tracing the pages over and over again though reading nothing. Attempting to appear as if you didn’t notice him at all.

Maybe he would leave, that was your biggest hope. Take the headphones placed firmly over your ears as a loud, obnoxious hint. That he would see you’re not interested and retreat to his basement layer to plot on the next way to torture your heart.

He doesn’t. He never would.

His frame comes to kneel in front of you. To stare up at you with those big brown doe eyes that you know you could never escape. Placing a gentle hand on your knee, trying to get you to see that he is there. That he wants to see you.

You see his lips move, though ignore entirely what they say. Letting out a huff, turning your body away from his own. Continuing to mindlessly stare at the pages even though their contents holds no meaning in this moment. No real value.

His forehead drops to your leg, a sigh leaving his throat. Words mumbled from his lips you’re unable to make out– not that you would want to hear them anyway.

Maybe it’s a temper tantrum of sorts. Giving him a taste of his own medicine. To feel even a pinch of what you do. He probably never does.

Your fight is a good one. It truly is– at least you think so. But it all comes tumbling down the second his lips press against your knee. His hands reaching past your iron grip on the book to hold your own.

You will always fall to the likes of Jimin.

Especially when you see his lips mouth the word please. His brows crested with worry, his lower lip quivering in worry. Fangs biting the surface to try and soothe the nerves he feels.

Any sense of foreboding he held earlier, gone. The tick of his shoulders, the cold, blank stare of his eyes vanished. Your Jimin, the one you’re used to, in love with, rising to the surface again.

You’re unable to fight against the plea, no matter how much you want to. Unable to fight against him.

“What is it.” Your voice is harsh as you remove your headphones, setting the book to the side. Much more than it appears he’d like it to be if the flinch of his neck is anything to go by.

“I…” Words feel lost in his throat, but he forces himself to continue forward, “I have something I need to show you, human…”

Why is he acting so weird? Acting like earlier never happened? He seems nervous, almost petrified at your reaction. As if anything you say could break him entirely.

You don’t understand it at all. Anything about this situation, really.

“Okay…?” You watch his face carefully, trying to reason. To figure out why exactly the air seems so heavy. Why this situation feels so tense. “Show me then?”

“I…You have to come with me?” It sounds like a question, his face flinching at his own words. He’s meant to do this perfectly. Why can’t he seem to get it right? Why can’t his instincts help him with this? “Like, I can’t bring it up here… I need you to follow me?”

“Huh?” The quiet breath leaves your throat as your features pinch.

He quickly tries to explain further, trying to help you see through the worry on your face, “Not far I promise. Just to the basement, yeah?”

Your head jerks back in surprise, “You never let me go down there.”

“Yeah but…it’s special this time.” Oh.

It’s almost as if the pieces click together on their own. Your brain drawing conclusions, making decisions for you despite the obvious staring right in your face. His mate is probably down there. Wants you to meet her.

You can only sigh, accept your fate for what it is. Follow the boy with the string to the basement once again, just like the first night he came tumbling into your life.

“Okay.”

He holds your hand as you walk.

Holds it as if his life depends on it. As if it’s the red string of fate that has tied your two bodies together for the rest of eternity. As if he might die the second you two part. As if you might run away the second he lets go.

You never do, never try to run away from him. You’ve tried to run away from your feelings for so long. The least you can do is see through to the end of them, right? That would be the right thing to do. The dignified thing instead of trying to throw a tantrum on the floor.

The walk to the basement feels like the longest in your life. A marathon you have no training for, no experience with tugging you along. Silence extended for miles along each creak of the floorboards, each set of the dim stairs.

Jimin left the lights off, dusk settling along the horizon not long ago. Only distant flickers from the basement coming through as you make your way down. Candle light in the distance lighting the way.

He doesn’t say a thing as your feet reach the bottom of the stairs, toes cushioned by soft silk lining the floors. He doesn’t have to.

It’s beautiful. That’s the only way you can describe what he’s turned the basement into.

Beautiful silks cover every waking surface– the floors, the walls, the ceiling all lined in brilliant patterns of white dancing across the surface. Creating stories as if they were living themselves.

You wish you could stare at them. Admire them for the rest of your life. Decipher each piece laying, coating the surface. Envisioning the world through the eyes of Jimin. Through the world around him.

Webs cross from floor to ceiling, taking space over the room. Intricately laid in patterns you are more accustomed to with spiders. Webbed hatching sectioning off parts of the space, acting as furniture for the bug to rest on.

As your eyes scan the room, you finally find what you think has to be the most gorgeous web in the world. Sitting in the far right corner of the room stands a nest that takes up the entire corner. The effort it took to make it clear in its craft. So soft, so comfortable.

You almost want to curl up in it yourself.

Illuminated by only the glow of candle light, Jimin does nothing but watch as you take everything in. Watch as your face changes into that of euphoria. Mesmerised by everything he has worked so hard on, everything he’s done just to impress you.

You turn to face him, staring at him with nothing but wonder in your eyes.

“Jimin, this is– fuck this is incredible,” Your voice is breathless, cut off by how overwhelmed you are with everything. With him. “This must’ve taken you so long, it’s so beautiful. Oh my god, how did you–”

He can’t take it anymore. Can’t take it now that he has you here, has you in his web. Now that he can keep you in it forever. Complimenting him. Completing him. He needs to finish with the rest of this fast. Before he does something he’ll regret. Before he finishes showing you how good a mate he will be to you properly.

He tugs you forward, practically puzzling as he tugs you deeper into his room of webs. Expertly guiding you through each one without a second to spare.

Jittery, excited. Feeting rocking themselves back and forth as he sits you on a blanket placed on the ground.

He isn't going to last much longer. Not before his heat takes over. Before he loses his mind at you in the sight of his nest. His mate in his nest. Waiting to be bred. Waiting for–

No, no Jimin. Stop it. Stop acting like a spiderling that doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he has his mate in his nest.

“I…” He takes a deep breath, voice shaky as he tries to calm himself down, “I made us a picnic… I hope you like it.”

His spider hisses at the words, hating having to describe it as something stupid like a picnic. No, it's a nuptial gift. Evidence that he’s a good enough mate. That he’s good enough for you. That he deserves you.

You watch him, watch as he pushes the basket filled to the brim with food over to you. Watch as his frame shakes slightly as he stares at you, fingers tapping against strings of webs closest to your leg.

You can’t help but feel lost. Overwhelmed with affection, but utterly, entirely, hopelessly lost all the same. What is he doing? Why is he presenting all of this for you? Shouldn’t he be doing this for his mate? Isn’t all of this some type of courting ritual?

Oh.

It appears the puzzle you constructed– pieces matched together haphazardly stuck together with glue isn’t the solution after all. Isn’t the reality presented before you know.

You’re… you’re Jimin’s mate?

Your eyes widen, head jerking to meet Jimin’s gaze. His pupils shaky, not daring to leave the surface of the basket. Not daring to move an inch until you accept him.

You’re an idiot.

“J-Jimin a-are we…?” You hesitate to ask, hesitate to break the gentle balance residing over the entire basement.

His head snaps to face your own, eyes plagued with the same blank, predatory look as before.

“Mate.” Deep, harsh, scratchy. His voice makes you feel like he’s going to devour you whole. Like he is the monster waiting in the deepest recesses of your nightmares when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. When in reality he is the very being your soul yearns for stronger than any other.

The revelation, the– everything leaves you overwhelmed. Emotions strung up for the stars, casting aside any comets that tried to hurdle towards the perfect glass encasing this moment. This eternity you wish to live in forever as you finally understand that he wants you just as much as you want him.

You can’t help but grab his cheeks– ignore how venomous he looks, and press your lips against his own. Can’t help the explosion behind your eyelids, the sparks that travel across your skins in euphoric waves. The way your heart swells like a balloon, racing in your chest so fast you fear you may die.

Every emotion you’ve felt that day, every nagging, creeping sensation finding its way into the back of your skull vanishes in an instant. No going back. No orchestra or chorus reprise. No thoughts of not being his mate. You are his mate.

Only him.

Only Jimin.

He doesn’t part with you, not for a second. Not when he finally has you against him. When you so easily rise into his lap. When his natural instincts finally stop screaming at him and take over completely. Kiss you with everything he’s worth. Devour you whole.

His hands find purchase on your hips, blunt nails digging into the skin. Mocking him for not doing this in the closet with you all those months ago. Allowing him to truly understand how good it would’ve felt then. How good it will feel every second that follows.

He thinks you have to be the prettiest thing in the world.

His spider thinks that you need to be bred full of his spiderlings. Fucked so hard that you wont be able to walk– wont be able to leave his nest. That he’ll be able to tie you up nice and pretty, stuff you with his cum over and over again until you’d never even think about leaving.

His spider is winning.

“Min…” Your voice is breathless, trying to keep up with the flurry of kisses he presses against your lips, your face– anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s addicted to the feeling, like he’s making up for lost time.

“Min, I love you.” And just like that, any sanity he has left vanishes.

His spider has won.

Without a second thought you’re lifted from your place on his lap, thrown carelessly into his nest. His nest where you will stay. His nest where he’ll keep you. All thoughts vanished from that pretty little head of yours. Just like it should be.

His hands find the back of his collar, shirt discarded without a second thought on the floor. He doesn’t need it anymore. Not when he has you. When he wants to feel you fully.

You can only stare– fawn at his tan skin. The gentle muscles on display for you. For your eyes only while he crawls towards you. Stalks you just like they might a pretty little butterfly caught in their web. Wrapped in webs and killed without a second thought.

His lips find yours once again. Slotting together, filling the other to make them whole. Dazed in lust and passion, neither soul hoping there would ever be a way out for the other.

Well, there won’t be for you. But that’s okay. You’ll love it. Love every second of it.

He knows it as his fingers dance against your skin. Sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, running with skilled ease up your sides. The chill that racks through your body is evidence enough. The way you so easily allow him to draw your shirt over your head solidifies it. Your shorts follow, making it set in stone.

Your breath comes out in short pants, every slight touch, every little movement sends fire burning through your skin. Igniting you, setting your core ablaze with heat that only he can extinguish.

Fingers gently sliding over your ribs, thumbs coming just blow your breasts to rub circles into the skin while his fangs nip gently into your lower lip. He can’t bite you now. No, after he mates you he can bite you all he wants.

He groans at the thought, hips rocking themselves against your clothed cunt. Allowing you to feel all of him– the press of his cock, the motion of his need allowing you to fall higher and higher into a heaven you did not think possible.

You whine at him to do something, anything. Too impatient to wait any longer. Too impatient to live a second more without something, anything buried inside of you.

His smile is sick, twisted as he reclines back on his heels. Allows himself to get a good look at you.

“Shh, Shh…” His hand cups your cheek, smoothing his thumb against your lips. Pressing it inside with more ease than before. More compliance than before. There’s a good little girl.

“Poor thing is having a hard time, huh?” He mocks gently, hips pressed firm against your own allowing you to feel every inch of him, “Pretty lips all swollen, pussy a little mess from just kissing… mm mm…”

He groans, hand slipping between your legs. What he finds is no more than a mess of a girl. Hips bucking upwards. Slick dripping from your center, panties coated in arousal. Puffy little clit begging for any attention he’s willing to give it.

Without any hesitation his thumb finds your clit, pressing against it without any thought of reprieve. Without any thought to give you any of the relief you crave. You’ve made him wait this long, you can wait a second, no?

He groans high as you buck against his hand, mewl leaving your lips as some sort of plea. Ah~ how cute. Such a little thing so desperate for something, anything that you’re willing to give up your very head in return? How cute! How adorable!

His spider preens. Is almost so belated he doesn’t notice the hands that come down to grip his wrist. Hold him in place all so you can circle your hips against his thumb. Rub adorable little rings into your clit without any help from him. Use him to make yourself feel good.

A coo leaves his lips. Who is he to deny such a pretty little human?

“Ah pretty baby wants to feel good, does she?” He almost giggles at how pathetic you look. How adorably you cling to him. How hard you try.

His arm is ripped from your grasp, pulling back from the very place you desire him most. Where your arousal soaks the cotton of cotton, so palpable he can practically taste it in the air.

“It’s okay baby…” He sees the annoyance in your face, the battiness you hold in your heart coming to light. Excited to tame it. Excited to quell the pretty little devil in his web.

Tie you up. Breed full.

Breed you.

His fingers work fast. Arms are pulled over your head, silks quickly pinning them to the surface. Strings wrapping and wrapping until he’s sure you’re secure. Sure you can’t move.

His hips gently rock against your own, clothes cock pressing against your core. Watching as your hips buck, as you try to urge him closer with a pathetic whine.

See exactly how you struggle against the strings.

Perfect, perfect girl. How did he get so lucky, huh? Can never be sure.

You’re unable to stop the cry that leaves your throat as his hands pull your panties aside, finger thrusting into your wet heat. Filling you up, making you feel a little more whole.

“Min~” The moan of his name is shaky. Every sense you have in overdrive as he works his finger against your walls. Every push inside deeper, harder. Curling against your walls in the exact way you craved.

Pleasure coils in your stomach faster than you thought possible. A second finger joining the first, pumping in and out as he prepares you for his cock. Prepared you to take all of him and nothing less.

He knows you can do it. You can, can’t you?

“Mhmm baby, I know… head a little clearer now, huh?” He chuckles, chastising, “Can only think when you’re full. It’s so cute.”

You whimper at his words, head rolling back as the coil pulls tighter and tighter within your gut. Urging you to just let it snap, feel everything you’ve been waiting for.

“F-feels good…” You mutter quietly, unable to see the haze cloud his vision. The way his amused expression drops into that of a wild animal.

Without any warning his fingers pull out of your heat, body leaving your own entirely as he stands. Grabbing your hips, dragging them closer. Flipping your body over. Setting you pretty on your knees, arms uncomfortable crossed in front of you.

He quickly rids himself of his pants, allowing his cock to spring free from their confines. Head red and messy as it hits his stomach. Angry at how neglected you’ve left him. How desperately he wants this.

You have no way of preparing yourself for the drag of his cock through your lips. The gentle nudge against your clit. Thick head dragging through your folds, spreading your arousal. Mixing it with his pre-cum.

Making you messy. Making you dirty just for him. Making you belong to him.

“Gonna fill my mate.” All humour is gone from the man behind you, as if he is someone else entirely. It’s really too bad your head has a few too many screws loose to care. Care about anything other than the way his firm head presses against your hole. The way his blunt nails dig into your flesh.

“Gonna breed her. Mate her. Make her mine.” It’s almost as if his word is a command. The very sentences he utters become law.

You can only nod your head. Give yourself to the very man that fate led you to all those months ago. “Want~”

The thrust of his hips into your walls is almost too much to bear. A cry leaving your lips as he fucks himself inside in a single thrust. Forcing you to take him to the hilt, to feel all of him stretch your walls. No break. No waiting around.

You’ve both done enough waiting.

It hurts— the burn, as he stretches you full. Presses his cock against your walls making sure your cunt remembers no one but him.

The way he gives no reprieve, fucking into you like an animal starved. Pulling back until only the tip remains inside before fucking himself fully inside once more.

“Min!” You cry, waves of pain and pleasure boiling all the same within your bones. All the same inside of your blurred head, nothing but static and thoughts of him behind the line of your eyes. Slipping off into space as you let cunt clenched pathetically around his cock.

“Good mate, taking me so well. Such a good human.” He groans, hips pulling back and thrusting into you over and over again. Making you fall apart with his pace. Pumping his cock into your pathetic little hole fast and hard. Ruining you for any other man.

Making sure he will be the only one you allow to enter heaven.

Your moans come out wanton, pleaing. Hips start to move back against him, trying to keep up with his pace despite the burn you begin to feel in your tied arms. Desperate to let him know just how good he’s filling you. Just how good he’s making you feel.

“My mate.” His pants come out harsh, breath on your neck as he hovers close. The sound of skin and against skin is the only thing you’re able to hear. The pressure of Jimin’s lips against your neck makes you feel like you’re about to go insane.

He’s desperate to make you fall apart on his cock alone. Pleasure building and building, the coil tight. Ready to snap at any moment. Ready to fall apart at his command.

“Gonna make you mine forever pretty.” His voice is featherlight once more. The switches have you reeling, your brain spinning. “Want that, don’t you? For me to bite you? Mark you up? Breed you full of my spiderlings? Ruin that pretty little head for anything else.”

He sighs, nails digging into your hips where they’re sure to leave bruises. You nod your head in agreement, moans spilling past your lips as his hips change their angle. His cock hitting the spot that leaves you seeing stars on every thrust.

“Say the word and you’re mine.” You feel his fangs against your skin. The harsh drag across your delicate skin. “Forever.”

You can’t take it anymore, pleasure burning through you. Blinding you. Unable to think about anything else other than the rough thrusts of his cock against your walls.

“Please.” It’s no more than a whimper, but he swears it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

His teeth clamp into your flesh— the final thing needed to push you over the edge into bliss. Your body stutters, walls a vice around his cock as the coil finally snaps. Heat flowing through every cell you possess. The only thing in your soul is Jimin.

Your back arches, eyes dotting with black as you allow it to overtake you. Jimin rocking you against him, groaning as he fills you with his cum, painting your walls white. Allowing you to ride out your high with him. Finally allowing the rut to rid his brain for only a moment.

He slowly pulls out of you, panting. Quickly moving to cover your center back up with your underwear. Make sure all of his cum stays tucked away in your pretty little pussy to get you nice and pregnant.

You can only whimper, body twitching at every movement he makes. Worn down your bones— energy sucked so dry you can’t even feel the throb of your neck. Don’t even notice the blood that drips from where he marked you— claimed you in the way only a hybrid can.

All you're sure of is the need to be close to him. Need to feel him.

Is this what he had been feeling all along? Marks were known to do that, to allow you to feel what your mate does. If he had to endure what you’re feeling right now, it had to have been hell for him.

“Min…” you calm his name. Pull him from where he stares between your legs. Where his fingers rub circles into the surface of your underwear, spreading any cum that leaks from your twitching hole.

Within a second he’s at attention, staring at you with all of the love in the world. You’re not sure how you missed it before. How you could have deluded yourself into believing any less.

He pouts as you wiggle at your restraints, silk holding your arms in place all this time. He gently shakes his head, slowly flipping your body back over onto its back. Crawling over you to look at your face properly. Take in your fucked out expression. Ruined his pretty little human. Made her perfect.

“Don’t want to.” His lower lip juts out at you, eyes wide just like a begging dog. “Look pretty tied up in my web. Should stay like this. Forever.”

“I don’t think my job would like that very much.” You giggle, lip pouting out to match his own. He leans down, quickly capturing your mouth in a quick kiss.

Something hard pressed against your leg once more. His hand comes down to guide it against your heat. Rub against you despite the oversensitivity and cum leaking from your hole.

“Then we move to the woods together… I’ll hunt for us…” He grumbles, pushing your underwear to the side once more. Collecting any cum that has spilled out with his cock, gently fucking it back into your cunt with the head.

A whine rips from your lips due to oversensitivity. Pussy sore, aching from what he just put you though. What you aptly begged for. Yet you can’t deny him. Don’t want to deny him with how good it feels to be filled. How addicted you’ve become. Cock drunk.

“Wh-what?” You try to breathe, walls fluttering around his length as he slowly thrusts back inside. Filling you to the brim once again. “W-we can’t do that, Minnie…”

His thrusts are slow, languid. Almost like he’s making love. Treating you with utmost care despite how wrecked your entire frame is.

He is entirely unaffected. His rut leaves him wanting for more and more until you have nothing left to give. Face twisting into confusion at your words.

“Why can’t we? Make you up a nice pretty web… keep you full all the time” He hums against your neck, gently licking at his mark, “treat you like a real good mate, yeah? Fill you up over and over. Will look so pretty with my spiderlings.”

He moans the words, hips speeding up ever so slightly at the thought. It dawns on you that this must be his rut talking. Filling his head with nonsense he knows can’t come true. In a few days when he wakes up from it, he’ll probably pretend he never said anything about taking you to the woods. Keeping you there.

No harm in agreeing, is there? Especially when he makes you feel so good. So happy and full. When it makes him feel just as good. When your head starts to feel fuzzy, the exhaustion weighs heavily on your consciousness. You’re on birth control anyway, it's fine.

“Mmhmm… sounds nice..” You moan quietly, already feeling your second orgasm approaching. Allowing yourself to become lost in the same dream as him. Allowing yourself to fall victim to pretty words and false promises. Ones that he intends to make true.

“Gonna take such good care of my mate.” He groans, face buried in your neck. He feels your walls clamp around him, pulling him in over and over again. Cunt never wanting him to leave.

His hand draws between your thighs, fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit. Neither of you are going to last long. Both too sensitive to do anything but fall into the pleasure of each other.

Pussy fluttering against his cock, head rolling back as your high runs through you once more. White clouding your vision, ears ringing as you are overcome with fire. Drowning in the feeling of his cock fucking you full of his cum once again.

He lets out a harsh groan as he fills you. Breeds you just like a good spider would. Makes you feel complete as he helps you through both of your highs.

Your eyes feel heavy— too heavy to stay open even a second longer. Too tired to stay awake as he pulls your underwear back over your center. As he pulls your body close to his own.

He doesn’t blame you, never could. It must be hard having to keep up with a hybrid during their rut. But he knows you can do it. Knows you’ll do it for him. Especially with the promises you made. The ones you made only to him.

The last words you hear before falling under the veil of consciousness is a simple declaration. One you’ve waited months to hear.

“I love you.”

“Y/n! Hurry up!”

The whine of Jimin’s voice is louder than any car, highway, hell— aeroplane you’ve ever heard, you’re sure of it. The grip of his hand around your own is like iron, tugging you along the worn trail path, trying to urge you faster than your feet will allow.

“I’m going! I’m goin!” You chide with him, giggle leaving your lips at his hurried nature. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the spider more excited. Maybe even more so than when he strokes the bite mark scarred into your shoulder– your permanent reminder that you are his and he is yours.

“Not fast enough!” He groans, head rolling back in annoyance, “The best spot is going to get taken!”

He’s told you about this spot time and time again– excitement palpable with every mention. A beautiful clearing back at the reserve, one that the trees shine perfectly through. The best spot for basking in the whole park, as well as for begging humans for snacks.

You smile at the thought. Following as close behind him as your feet will manage. Blanket and bags of food tight in your grip. After months of paperwork, he can finally return to this place without fear they’ll take you away from him. The mate licence in your wallet proof enough of it.

He finally gets to take you to the reserve– the place he called home for so long before he met you. The place where he first learned how to be a proper spider. The first place he learned to make friends. He’s most excited about the latter part, getting to show off his shiny new mate to all of his friends. The one he caught the human way.

He’s been talking about it for days, since you first brought up the idea of visiting. Of wanting to see where he lived before he met you. Prattling on and on about everything he’s going to show you, how he’s going to introduce you to Jungkook if he can. About the waterfall over the cove that you two can swim in without anyone finding out.

All of it is a dream come true for your little spider. Your mate.

You smile at the thought– how excited he is as he helps you set up the blanket on the ground. As he helps spread food all around you. Body jittery, head twitching at every little sound.

It’s clear he’s going a little crazy with joy. Entirely ecstatic to have you here with him. Sitting across from him on the ground in a way that almost mocks the picnic you had in his basement that night months ago.

Ah, sorry. Nuptial gift ceremony. He liked it a lot better when you called it that.

“Oh! And then, after we eat, I can introduce you to the head of the park! She’s Namjoon’s mate, but she doesn’t know it yet.” He talks to himself, chatting idly about nothing as he presses another strawberry to your lips. You eagerly take it, biting down on the fruit without a second thought.

You cover your mouth with your hand as you speak, “Really? It must be difficult to confess to her, then.”

He nods his head, overexcited as he looks past you into the trees. Nose twitching as he tries to pick up a scent. Yellow tinted sunglasses high on his nose to block any light from hurting his delicate pupils.

You can’t help but think about how beautiful he is. How lucky you are to have him.

His hair has grown out since that fateful day months ago, blonde replaced by a deep blue that puts the night sky to shame. How his frame has bulked out ever so slightly. Pretty tan skin looking more healthy than ever. His head off in the clouds, trying to ground himself so he doesn’t pick you up and drag you off into the woods.

The human way is never easy for him.

“Mhmm… he’s trying but he isn’t very good at it. Doesn’t understand how humans like it to be done…” He mumbles.

“Hybrid’s do it different?”

“Yeah,” He seems a little lost in space, nose twitching harsher as he tries to recognise the exact scent he knows will be coming soon. Jungkook can never hold himself back from a picnic, no matter how far. He just wishes his nose was stronger.

“Hybrids just take their mate right away. Prove they’re a good mate and then it’s done. But human’s you have to teach.” Your shoulders drop slightly, and maybe if it wasn’t for the love you felt for him or the mate mark pressing against your neck, you would have understood the severity of his words. Of teaching a human, tricking them into making them fall.

“Oh…” You pout, head coming down to rest against his shoulder. None the wiser to the meaning behind his words, “I’m sorry… it must’ve been hard for you.”

He only shakes his head, “It’s okay. I just didn’t want you to ever be scared.”

Suddenly, Jimin is standing. Eyes darting across the underbrush that surrounds the treeline. You follow his vision, squinting slightly to try and make out exactly what he is looking at when two antennae pop over the other side of a bush. Twitching, pointing in your direction. Hunting down food as they move closer.

The insect moves close, tilting his head as he finally moves within your line of vision. Mop of brown floppy hair on his head, wide bunny eyes. Twitching nose all the same. If it wasn’t for the lack of ears and black antennae jolting from his head, you would’ve thought he was a rodent.

“Kook!” Jimin’s voice is loud as he quickly run’s to meet the boy. The other looks just as excited, eyes lighting up with stars as his legs take off in the same direction. The two fall into a puddle of laughter and play fighting as they fall to the ground in greeting.

The infamous Jungkook, an ant hybrid– the biggest ant hybrid you’ve seen, mind you. Jimin’s best friend is finally revealed. And you have to say, seeing them together. Watching as your mate attempts to playfully tie him up silks has to be the prettiest sight you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Oh my god, Min!” You laugh as Jimin struggles, the giant ant hybrid easily breaking free from the others strings. Instantly the attention is on you. Jimin leaning back to his heels, head thrown back as he whines.

“Shut up! He’s gotten stronger! My webs hold you good enough!” You continue to laugh, unaware of the ant sneaking closer. His antenna tickling your shoulder as he stares at the food in front of you. Begging for just a little taste to bring home to his colony, a little bit to make the queen happy.

You happily oblige, making room for the two of them to join you once again after their little scuffle. A reunion too cute to not try and remember forever. And just like that, conversation begins to flow easily between the three of you. Almost as if Jimin never left in the first place.

The two of them spend all afternoon catching up– Jimin reciting the story of how you two met, Jungkook opening up about the cute human that’s started to come by the park every saturday. Pulling his antennae down as he speaks, clearly embarrassed. Telling you all about how they met, about the reserve.

“Ah~ don’t mind him. Kookie’s just embarrassed cause he doesn’t know how to talk to girls.” Jimin teases, leaning over to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. His arm tightly wrapped around your frame, holding you close. “Not every day that an ant hybrid has a mate outside of their colony, you know?”

“Hyung! Shut up!” He quickly whines, eyes shooting a subtle glare towards the other. Legs kicking slightly underneath his frame. “You… know what it means… especially cause she’s human…”

“I know.” His fangs shimmer as his hand reaches out to ruffle his hair, “Don’t worry. She’ll wanna be your queen in no time.”

You nod your head in agreement, picking up another piece of fruit and popping it into your mouth. Nothing much to add to the conversation– you’ll never really understand the intricacy of hybrids and how they work. Especially those like Jungkook and Jimin.

Yet, you can’t help but feel at peace with that. At peace with them and this moment. Content with your life, content with your mate and the life you’ve built together. You hope that Jungkook can do the same with his own someday. Build a nice little colony or whatever it is that ants do.

“Mhmm, anyone would want someone as cute as you.” You smile, watching as the ant’s eyes go wide. Blush covering his cheek as he tries to pull his antenna down to cover them. Jimin instantly pounces on the other, starting a new round of play fighting. Laughing about having to defend his mates honour. That she isn’t allowed to look at any other hybrid. No one but him.

You giggle along with them, leaning back from your spot. Taking a mental picture of the scene in front of you. Jimin happy, playing. The sunset over the horizon as the three of you laugh in the woods. As Jimin no longer looks anything like that spider all those months ago.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe you did fall into his trap lined with silk. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even when you wake up in the middle of the woods. When you wake up in a cabin decorated in pretty webbing. When you come to find society is far behind you. When you discover no one else other than Jimin telling you that this is exactly what you asked for.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⋆𐙚 if you enjoyed this fic, please consider buying me a kofi!

2K notes · View notes

taevescence · 3 months ago

Text

Old Masterlist

I had this need to organize my works and posts, so I made this little masterlist for the older works I did before my hiatus (they’re not my favorites lol, but I don’t want to delete them because they received a lot of love and I hate deleting things). You can find my new masterlist here!

Min Yoongi

To Get To You

Pool Party [4.7k] Smut!

The New And The Ex [5k] Smut!

Work Night [3.6k] Smut!

First Time [1.1k] Smut!

Numb The Feeling [880] Smut!

Punishment [1.8k] Smut!

Call It What You Want

Hoodie [3.1k] Smut!

Park Jimin

Just A Taste [5.3k] Smut!

Kim Taehyung

Minsunderstanding [2.9k]

Just Another Bad Day [1.9k]

Jeon Jungkook

5:30 a.m. [1.8k] Smut!

The Best Way To Shut Someone Up [2.4k] Smut!

Friend-To-Friend Support [1.9k] Smut!

Summer Days [1.4k] Smut!

395 notes · View notes

btsugarush · 6 months ago

Text

I'd Hate To Say it | pjm (teaser)

summary: when you return home from studying abroad, you come to find your former best friend, jimin, has made drastic changes to his life that could put him in danger or behind bars forever.

pairings: drug dealer jimin x fireader.

warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood and gore, ex best friend jimin, gang member!jimin, tattooed/pierced!jimin, long hair!jimin, use of guns/knives, mentions of self harm, mentions of abuse, alcohol abuse, drugs, drug addiction, angst, murder, strong language, 18+, minors dni.

word count: 796

author’s note: yes yes, I’m getting back into my writing and I’ve finally posted at least the teaser to this fic lol.

Your heart beats heavily against your chest as you finally hear Jimin’s door unlock, the brunette appearing on the other side as it opens. He looks uninterested to see you, an annoyed expression on his face. “What’re you doing here, y/n?” He says dryly. You take a deep breath before you speak. “Is it true?” You ask softly.

Jimin leans against his door frame, a raised eyebrow as he waits for you to explain what you mean, but you don’t. “Is what true?” He urges you to go on. “What everyone is saying… that you– that you have something to do with that boy getting murdered.”

Jimin squints before his dark orbs survey the hallway to make sure no one is around. It was almost like he thought you were setting him up, but regardless of your estranged friendship, he still knew you better than that. Once he made sure the coast was clear, he pulled you by your arm inside his apartment and slammed the door closed. “What’s everyone saying?” He questions.

“That you, along with your little gang associates, had something to do with that shooting that happened in Busan last night.” Jimin scoffs, letting go of your arm. The brunette walks around you, running his fingers through his hair in distress. His back is turned towards you, and he stands in silence for a moment before turning to face you.

“Do you believe them?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t. It was time to face the painful truth; Jimin was no longer that sweet boy you used to know. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Jimin. I mean… since I’ve been back I’ve barely recognized you. You’ve been into a lot of reckless shit, and now you have murder attached to your name? It doesn’t seem too far-fetched anymore.”

Jimin scowled at your insinuation. “Then I guess you got it all figured out, don’t you? Just call the cops now if you’re so sure, y/n.” He pulls his cell from his pocket, reaching out for you to take it. “Go on, take it.” He beckons. You shake your head, refusing the phone. “I didn’t come here to prosecute you, Jimin.” You speak softly. “I came here hoping that it wasn’t you… but I can read you like a book still, and I know you had something to do with it.”

The brunette makes a ‘tsk’ sound. “So what if I did, y/n? Are you gonna rat on me?” He takes a step closer to you, the look in his eyes intimidating; but no matter how hard he tried to instill fear into you, he was still Jimin. “No… but you should turn yourself in. I don’t wanna see you go down like this, Mochi.” You utter the nickname you used to call him when you were kids.

This softens the brunette for a mere moment before he finds himself enraged. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking call me that. Don’t you fuckin’ pretend to give a shit about me. Not after you left me behind.” He grits his teeth, pointing his ringed finger in your face.

“I never left you behind,” you push his finger away, glaring at him. “I had goals, dreams to achieve. I couldn’t be stuck in this dead end life like–”

“Like me?” He cut you off. “Say it, y/n. Say like me.” He pushes. You shake your head, taking a step back from the brunette. “I’d hate to say it, but you’re a lost cause. I should’ve never come here. If you wanna ruin your life forever, that’s fine by me. I’m done caring.” You turn to exit, but Jimin isn’t done guilting you. “You never did.”

This finally boils your blood, and you whip around to face him. “I’m not the one that stopped reaching out, you did!” You remind him. You were tired of being the one to blame for your fallen friendship with Jimin. The phone worked both ways, and he was the one that stopped answering your calls, and calling altogether. “I am tired of being blamed, I am tired of your coldness towards me. I don’t know what the hell you wanted from me!”

“I wanted you to stay!” He snaps. “But you left and I was all alone! I needed you, y/n. I needed you and you fuckin’ left me…” his voice cracks, and for the first time since you’ve been back you see a glimpse of the old Jimin in his eyes. Soft. Innocent. Lost. “I… I don’t know what to say…” your voice is gentle. Jimin finds his composure, shaking his head. “I don’t need you to say shit,” he spat. “You wanna know if I killed that kid? Yeah. I did it.”

513 notes · View notes

yoongsriverandme · 5 months ago

Text

✩︵ 주문 — MIROTIC!

❝ You want me, you've fallen for me You're crazy about me, you can't escape me I got you under my skin (Ooh) … ❞

⤑ pairing: like crazy!park jimin x shy fem!reader

⤑ genre: smut, fluff, angst, rom-comy vibes, friends-with-benefits, s2l2f2l (they did some things out of order), idiots to lovers, college!au, fuckboy!au, reverse harem, mutual pining, "unrequited love," she fell first but he fell harder.

⤑ wc: 9.3k

⤑ summary: sleeping with your long-time crush was not how planned to confess your undying love to him, but if it was the only way you could be close to him then so be it. jimin's had a lot of lovers, and you're one of them, but why the fuck is he so bothered by the thought of you being with someone else?

⤑ rating: nsfw/explicit - proceed with caution!

⤑ warnings: fuck boy!jimin, popular "it" boy!jimin, shy "loser" girl!reader, lowkey toxic!jimin (i'm not sorry!), making out, bathroom sex, public sex, exhibitionism, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, A LOT of dirty talk, kinda shitty aftercare sorry, protected sex (pocket condoms 😓), JEALOUS jimin like holy shit, possessiveness, angst for a min, heavy pining, feelings realization, miscommunication, arguing, emotionally constipated!jimin, love confessions, angst with a happy ending (sorry nammy :/), not everyone gets a cameo this time sighs sadly.

⤑ date posted: march 9, 2025

⤑ authors note: HEY HEY HEY!!! bet you guys didn't expect this one!!! (i didn't either, random inspo struck me), but literally every single idea i've ever posted about IS sitting in drafts, and this one has been halfway done for weeks, so i figured i'd put it out there as i work on some of my other bigger pieces!

i ALSO just wanted to pop in here and say WOW, thank you so much for your support like... the feedback for my account has been phenomenal, and i want you all to know how touched i am!

with that out of the way, i hope you guys enjoy this fwb!au because wow was this a big one!

𓈒 ꪆৎ masterlist

⁘ preface: i only use bts as face claims! they are my muses, so anything they say or do, do not reflect their real life character!

The first time you ever talked to Jimin was when you had sex with him.

Now you know that sounds bad!

But you had no idea what to do when he had come to you as you hovered awkwardly against one of the walls in the house party you had been forced to attend.

You were the designated driver for all intents and purposes, so the red solo cup that you had clasped in your hand was nothing but plain sprite, which was used as a mixer.

‘Quite the devilish combination’ You couldn’t help but think as you swirled the carbonated liquid around boredly.

The room was stifling, filled to the brim with inebriated, sweaty bodies.

You were surrounded by sex, drugs and alcohol, some couples impatiently groping each other in the corner closests to you, and you forced yourself to look down, your cheeks warm at the blatant show of… affection.

It stunk, the music was too loud, and there were so many places you would rather be than here, like back home in your dorm studying, or watching an episode of your favorite show.

You didn’t fit into places like this, and you were one-hundred percent sure you had that fact stamped to your forehead.

The only pleasant part about this whole experience had been being able to see Jimin.

He was quite popular, and worlds away from you, but you couldn’t help but harbor a school yard crush on the pretty boy.

He was just… tantalizing, with the way he spoke to the way he always held himself with a slight air of seduction. Boys and girls alike were ready to drop to their knees with so much as a word from the man, and you’re ashamed to say that you’re no different.

It was embarrassing, really, with how hard and fast you fell in love with somebody you barely knew, but he shared so much of himself, you felt as though you knew enough.

You know he’s funny, and kind, despite the… whorish, reputation that precedes him.

You’re in no place to judge, truly, because if he were to come up to you right now asking you if you would like to have sex with him, you would say yes.

“Lame party, right?” Sounds a voice from beside you.

You jump ten feet in the air, a bit of your drink spilling out over the edge of the cup as you fumble to keep the damn thing still in your hand.

“Uh – yes?” You answer with a slight grimace, your stomach drops to your ass when said host appears next to you.

Park fucking Jimin.

This was not what you meant! Not so suddenly! Not like this!

You stare at him dumbly as you spiral, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his plush lips.

“You think?” He asks teasingly.

You instantly stumble to recover from your mistake. “No! Yes, no, I… I just –” You’re blubbering like an idiot, and Jimin seems to take great pleasure at reducing you to a flustered mess, but he relents with a laugh.

“”M just kidding.”

“No! I just… I’m not used to going to this sort of thing.”

“Oh?” Jimin questions with a raised brow.

You put your drink on the small refreshment table next to you so you can wring your hands together as a nervous tick.

“I’m my friend's designated driver for the night, and they knew I wouldn’t be doing anything, so…”

“That’s selfless of you.” He compliments, and warmth spreads from the roots of your hair all the way to the tips of your toes. “Ah,” You try to wave him off. “It’s… it’s nothing. I don’t mind.”

“But also that makes sense.” Your brows furrow. “What makes sense?” You ask.

He bombards your space, hooded eyelids giving you a once over.

You’re suddenly very aware of how dirty and scruffed your converses are, and you fidget a bit under his scrutinizing gaze.

“That you haven’t come to one of my parties before, because I’d recognize your pretty face anywhere.”

Your eyes widened.

Holy shit. Was he hitting on you?

“Oh!” You laugh nervously. “That’s… that’s very sweet of you.” You gulp.

His smirk only gets deeper, and he leans closer so that his breath caresses the shell of your ear. If his intention is for you to be able to hear him over the music, he’s doing beyond a wonderful job at succeeding.

Your eyelids flutter rapidly, and your hands shake, and you have no idea where to put them as you lean back slightly.

“What do you say we go somewhere else?” He asks with a purr, pulling away just enough to gauge your reaction to his proposition.

Now, you’re not an easy girl. Jimin may sleep with anyone he wants, but you’re just not into that sort of thing, and you know better than to –

“Yes, please.” It comes out as a slight whimper, but he hears you nonetheless, because he takes you by the hand and pulls you through the throngs of people.

Your stomach is tied up in knots, and you’re not even sure if you’re still connected to reality.

Instead of taking you upstairs and into his room like you thought he would, he redirects you into the hallway and into the door, and your stomach drops slightly when he turns on the light to reveal a bathroom.

‘It’s nice’ You try to convince yourself, but your train of thought is cut off when a pair of heavy hands lay themselves on your jean-covered hips, pulling you closer to his body and trailing his lips up the side of your neck.

Your breath hitches and you let out a small, “Oh.”

“Do you still want this?” He murmurs into your ear once more, and you find yourself nodding rather enthusiastically, much to your embarrassment. Jimin just chuckles.

He spins you around, and your eyes land on the slope of his neck that disappears into his leather jacket. Fingers tuck themselves under your chin and force you to look at him.

“You’re a shy one.” He coos, and you shiver when his thumb caresses the corner of your mouth, dipping into it just a bit.

“I’m not used to this.” You admit with a self-deprecating grimace. “What a shame.” Is all he says before tilting your head back and connecting your lips.

The kiss is soft, softer than you would have expected from your soon to be hookup.

You’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s rather ferocious with his kissing, with spit and teeth, but somehow still making sure it's nice for his partner.

He cups your wrists and guides your hands to tangle themselves in his black mullet, and you’re relieved to be able to do something with your hands.

A whimper escapes you when his palms press you to him by the lower part of your back, turning you to the nearest wall for balance.

Soon, the kiss turns hungry, and you can feel the strain of him against his tight black pants, and you tremble, like putty in his hands.

You try your best to keep up with him, kissing back with a lot more fervour than you’ve ever done before.

You’ve had sex once, and that was just because you wanted to lose it before college, just so you could say you did it.

It was awkward because it was with one of the guys from your English class, and he looked like he didn’t know what he was doing either. It was stiff and it burned, and you weren’t sure if you were even turned on enough to participate in penetrative sex.

Well, the same can’t be said for you now, because you can feel the material of your panties grow damp with arousal, sticking to your folds and causing slight friction.

It’s when Jimin finally rolls his hips into yours is when you finally let out a true, loud moan.

“Thought you were going to be quiet all night.” Jimin teases, and you flush. “I - I’m sorry.” You mutter against his lips.

He pulls back and strokes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Relax. ‘M just teasing.”

“Right, right.” You laugh demurely.

He lowers his head to the skin of your neck where he takes the skin of it between his teeth, and your hips buck into his on accident.

“Shit!” You curse, and you slap a hand over your mouth. “You like pain.” He says almost to himself. “Definitely noted.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but your mind seems to blank when his hands sneak their way to the button of your jeans, fiddling with the metal. That cursed thumb presses into the skin above the hem.

“Do you still want this?”

“Yes, please.” You whimper. Jimin grins and you can feel it, because he places a gentle kiss on the surface. “How polite.”

You swallow a whine at his praise.

He pops them open with practiced ease, and pushes a hand into your pants, hissing when he comes in contact with your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re this wet just from kissing?” He asks in awe.

Jimin finally finds himself in your panties and you gasp when the tips of his fingers press on your clit.

“There it is.” He says to himself triumphantly.

He’s quick to flatten his hand, replacing the tips with the pads of his fingers, drawing quick but fast circles over the pleasurable bud.

“Jimin!” You cry, and your nails rake themselves through his hair, drawing him into you.

You hold him close as he rubs at you, and his free hand keeps himself balanced on the wall just above your hand, completely enveloping you with his body.

“Feels so good.” You mewl, and he nearly growls.

“God, you’re so cute.” He groans.

He takes his hand away and your eyes furrowed in confusion. Was it something you said?

You don't have much time to think because you’re being spun around and bent over the counter, and you’re face to face with your debauched features.

“Jimin?” You ask, but you’re cut off by him snatching your pants and underwear down your hips and they pool at your ankles.

You threaten to turn a scarlet red when he spreads your legs as far as they can go and just stares at your sex.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He rasps and you shiver.

He looks up and meets your gaze in the mirror, making to take his leather jacket off.

“‘M gonna fuck you with my fingers, then I’m actually gonna fuck you. Sounds good?”

“Amazing.” You squeak.

He presses his hand on your lower back to keep you anchored to the marble counter, while the other slips a finger in till he reaches the knuckle.

Your jaw drops in a silent moan, the slight stretch of it hurts for a moment, but your body soon adjusts to it, because he draws it out, no wonder noticing how it glistens in the dim lighting.

Then, he thrusts it back in, over and over and over again until a second one finds its place next to it.

The sounds that escape your cunt are disgusting, and you cross your arms to bury your head in them.

You’ve never felt pleasure like this before, and when he curls his fingers just right, you all but wail.

“Found it.”

He abuses your g-spot with a certain kind of cruelty, and an arm slips out from under you to scratch at the surface of the counter. Of course you don’t leave any marks, but the bluntness of your nails make it a makeshift anchor to this earth.

“Just listen to you.” He huffs. “She’s so sloppy.”

“Don’t – don’t say that.” You whine in humiliation.

“Why not?” There’s amusement in his voice, and you hate how it makes another of arousal leak around his digits.

“‘Cause that’s dirty.”

Jimin laughs. He actually fucking laughs and all you can think about is crawling into a hole forever.

“There’s a lot about me that’s dirty, sweetheart.”

You shake at the nickname, and he notices.

“Oh? You like it when I call you that?”

The condescension in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, and you can feel that familiar knot form in your stomach, the one you’re only able to create by yourself.

You clench around him and he gawffs.

“It seems like I’m not the only one that’s dirty.” He remarks. “What else should I call you?” He acts like he’s thinking as he twists his wrist into you without mercy, your legs shake.

There’s tears threatening to stream down your face.

“Hm. What about babe, or baby? Oh! Better yet, how about darling? Hm? Would you like that darling?”

Hearing him call you such sweet names does something to you, because before you know it, you’re catapulted over the edge. You spasm around him, and he just hums.

“There you go, good girl. That’s it.”

You shake as you come down from your high, and there are hands stroking the outside of your thighs, up your hips, and back down again.

Your eyes flutter open from where they squeezed themselves shut to find he’s already looking at you. His gaze is dripping in dark black molasses sticky with lust and want.

“Can we keep going, or are you at your limit?” Jimin checks in ever so gently.

It makes you feel good knowing that he likes to make sure you know you’re still in control, and despite just having orgasmed, you find yourself painstakingly empty.

“‘M really good.” You slur, and a proud smile takes over his face.

He fumbles with the back of his jeans, and retrieves his wallet where he pulls out a condom from it. You eye it warily.

“I just put it in there yesterday, I promise.”

He makes work of his jeans, and you notice that he’s so so hard, and you almost feel bad for the poor man. Almost being the keyword, because when he releases himself from the confines of his boxers, you gape.

He’s averagely long, maybe even a little moreso, but god, is he thick.

He catches you staring and winks.

“Think you can take it?” He pokes and you huff. “Of course I can.”

He raises a brow at you, but rolls the condom on in a tortuously slow pace.

“Hurry up.” You whine, and he swats your ass.

“Be patient.” He chides with a hiss, but you’re still reeling from the sting of the slap to even comprehend what he just said.

Jimin settles a hand on your shoulder, the other helping him line himself up to your sopping wet entrance.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

You both watch each other as he splits you open on his cock, and his head falls back as he groans through his clenched teeth.

“Oh!” You quiver on his length, reaching back to grab one of his hands and breathing out a sigh of relief when he meets you halfway.

He’s twitching inside of you, and you appreciate the few moments to gather your bearings.

“Move, please.” You mewl, and he doesn’t hesitate to listen to you.

Jimin drags himself out, breaking your eye contact to look down at where you’re wrapped around him. You’re so wet, the velvet of your gummy walls are making him feel a little faint.

Then, he thrusts back in until his hips are to your ass, and then he repeats, just for a few slow moments before picking up the pace.

The hand on shoulder pulls you down to meet his thrusts, and you cry out.

“Shit, Jimin!”

“I know, I know – Fuck, you feel so good.”

His plowing is brutal, the tip of his cock spearing and bullying your g-spot with a pace that you can’t quite keep up with.

He releases your shoulder to grab each arm to help his leverage, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You’re sure you’re drooling, but you can’t find much shame in it because it feels so good.

You know that Jimin has ruined you for anybody else, mind, body, and soul, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to escape him now.

His grunts and groans are guttural, and you know he’s close. You encourage him by clenching around him.

“God – what happened to the shy girl I met in the living room, huh?” He pants. “All I see now a cock hungry slut.”

You let out a surprised moan at his words.

“Oh, yeah? You like when I call you that? Like when I let you know exactly what you look like?”

“Y-yes.” Is your garbled reply.

“Aw… is my baby too cock drunk to even respond?” Jimin tuts meanly. “That’s okay, because I’ve got you, right?”

He’s giving you whiplash with the mix of his words, and you miss the way he calls you his baby.

“Oh, shit I’m close.” He announces. “You gonna let me cum in this tight little cunt of yours?”

“Mhm! Mhm! Gonna –” You hiccup. “Gonna let you do whatever you want.

That seems to soothe something possessive inside of him because he finally cums, and the pulsing of him against that spongy spot inside of you grows to be too much, because you follow right behind him.

It’s quiet in the bathroom as you both stop to catch your breaths, but he pulls out after a few moments of silence, tying up the condom and tossing it into the trashcan next to the toilet without a care.

“You okay?” He asks as he makes to pull up his jeans, and you’re kind of just… stunned.

Is that it?

“Uh… yeah, I’m alright.” You try not to let the disappointment show on your face as you reach down and tug your pants on as well.

Your arms ache from the strange position they were forced into, as well as your stomach from where it had been digging into the ledge of the counter.

“Good.” Gently pushes you out the way so he can wash his hands.

You just stare at him flabbergasted, kind of at a complete loss at what to say.

Do you ask what you are now? Did this mean anything? Were you just another hookup? Were you –

You’re cut off by soft lips meeting yours, and your stomach flutters something pleasant.

Maybe he did like you back and this was a complete misunderstanding, maybe he –

“Call me if you’d like to have some fun again, yeah?”

He speaks against your mouth.

Somehow he’s managed to scribble down his number and hand it to you, which you take somewhat blindly.

He’s already out of the door before you can blink, sending you a cheeky wave as he disappears into the crowd once more.

Your experience with him already feels like a dream when one of your friends drapes themselves over you.

“Finally found you!” She says with a giggle. “Where were you? Me and Sana have been looking everywhere.”

You cringe as you remember your duty, but before you can respond, her nose scrunches up.

“God you stink. Did you have sex?” She asks in disgust.

“No.” You say with a few blinks. “It’s probably because of the party.”

“Oh… okay.” She giggles.

You’re ashamed to say you’ve met up with him a few times after that, finally having the courage to give him a call after a particularly hard day of finals.

He sure did fuck the stress out of you.

This wasn’t how you imagined yourself finding your way into his world, but if sex was the only way you could have him then so be it.

But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He still met up with other girls, still blew you off, still kept you as a secret from his friends. You were just another notch on his bedpost, and it made you almost sick to think about.

Time spent with him after sex was just… confusing.

Someday’s he would allow you to stay over afterwards, maybe even asking you to watch a movie with him, or sometimes he would talk around you leaving until you eventually caught the hint.

It was such a push and pull relationship, and you had no idea what all of this was for.

Were you friends? Acquaintances? Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits?

You had no idea what you were or who he wanted to mean to you, but it was slowly ripping you apart.

He had invited you to another party after a particularly long session, and maybe it was just the sleepiness in him talking, but it almost sounded as if he wanted you to be there.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder, the black of his hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat.

You nibble on your lip, tugging the duvet up to cover your bare breasts.

The tips of his fingers graze your arm gently even though his eyes were closed, and goosebumps rose under his ministrations.

It was moments like these that you grew fond of because of how few and far in between they were, when Jimin allows that vulnerable side of his to peek through. You found him beautiful.

You couldn’t stop staring at him, even when the muscles in your neck protested the awkward angle.

You could count every freckle on his cheek, every eyelash he had, and you had to bite back a smile at the sight of his crooked front tooth peeking out through his swollen plump lips.

“Mm.” He groans, and forces himself to crack an eye open.

Your eyes flutter in embarrassment at almost being caught, but he seems none the wiser.

“(y/n).” Jimin mumbles. You find a way to wind your arm around his neck, settling a hand in his hair, rolling the ends of the damp strands between your fingers.

“Come to this party ‘m throwing.” Jimin slurs.

You finally allow yourself to smile then. “Why? I’d like to think last time was a bit of a mess.” You tease. He just grumbles. “Never feels like a mess when I’m with you.”

Your smile quickly falls.

It was crowded once again, but you felt a sort of superiority at your fucked up relationship with him.

You went searching around for him; maybe you guys could actually talk this time! Maybe share a beer and talk about your favorite music!

Your body thrummed with all the different types of things you could do when you found him, but not in the way you wanted.

He had another girl pushed up against the wall, just like he had you in the bathroom on that fateful day.

‘But he wasn’t kissing her how he had kissed you’ You tried to reason with yourself, even as tears began to form in your eyes.

This was embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing.

You were so much better than this. You were a smart girl, you had things going for you, your life shouldnt revolve around a man who could not give any less of a fuck about you.

You find yourself stumbling away - backwards might you add - and you accidentally bump into someone, their liquor spilling over and down the back of your shirt.

You yelp, and it’s loud enough to catch Jimin’s attention, but you don’t notice because of how fast you spin around to face the person.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

You and the stranger speak at the same time, and you look up to find that he was quite… handsome.

He was tall, broad shouldered and obviously thick under that sweatervest he was wearing - which fuck it was too hot for that, even for you - and dimples settled into his cheeks and glasses that were raised high on his face, perched on his nose.

“No, no!” You wave away his apology nervously. “It’s fine! It’s my fault, I didn’t see where I was looking!”

“I shouldn’t have been carrying so many open drinks at the same time when I knew how crowded this place was, so it’s okay.”

You just watch as a genuine smile seems to spread on his face.

“How about this: we're both at fault, and we're sorry. Does that sound good?”

You find yourself nodding with a small smile. “Yeah… that sounds good.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, but then your eyes fall on a dark stain on his vest. His eyes seem to follow your gaze because he tries to wave you away this time.

“Hey, listen, it’s fine, it happens all the time! I’d say you took the brunt of it. How about you come with me, and I’ll get you a new shirt?”

Going with a guy that you’ve never met before to “get a new shirt” doesn’t seem like a good idea, but the image of Jimin plastered to that girl is all but tattooed on the back of your eyelids.

“Okay, yeah.”

The man’s smile gets bigger, but then falls as his gaze flickers to something behind you. Your brows furrow in concern, but before you can turn around, an arm slides itself around your waist.

“I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks man.”

You’re surprised to see Jimin next to you all but glaring at the tall man’s face, and there’s a prickle of irritation in your gut. The weight of his arm on you feels like a hot iron with the way it burns, and you step out of his grip just slightly.

The guy seems to notice, because his gaze narrows right back at him.

“Is this guy bothering you?” He asks.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the dog fight that might happen before you, and you just sigh.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure…” You let your voice die out, and the guy seems to make the connection.

“Namjoon. Kim Namjoon.”

You grin slightly. “(y/n).”

“Great. Bye, Kim Namjoon. Thanks for ruining her shirt.”

Jimin tugs you along behind him, and he’s silent the whole way to his room, and you’re half tempted to snatch yourself from his grip.

“What’s your problem?” You ask once you’re finally safe behind closed doors.

“What do you mean what’s my problem?” Jimin’s voice is hiding a thin layer of anger that you can hear clearly.

“You were such an asshole to him! And he didn’t “ruin” my shirt by the way. It’s just beer. It’ll get out.”

“That doesn’t matter. You were about to fuck off and go with some guy you didn’t even know!” He throws his hands up in the air like it’s obvious.

“Okay? It’s my business on who I go and “fuck off” with. The guy looked nice, so I trusted him.”

He scoffs. “Oh yeah, so you just trust any guy that asks you to leave with him? It’s so obvious he wanted to fuck you, and you were just going to do it with a smile on your face.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious right now.” You breathe.

“Very.” He says flatly.

You encroach in his space, getting in his face and settling him with a glare.

“I came to look for you at a fucking party you invited me to, and then I find you with your tongue down some random girl’s throat.” You sneer. “So forgive me if I’m a little peeved that you’re bothered by who I might go fuck.”

Jimin doesn’t know why he’s so bothered. ‘Doesn’t know why seeing you laughing and smiling with that guy makes something in his gut twist in disgust.

“I don’t like him.”

You lean your face away from his.

“That’s what you’ve taken away from this.” You let out an incredulous laugh, and the amusement behind your eyes is fake.

“I…” You shake your head. “I can’t believe this.”

“You are not who I thought you were.” Something in you wilts. “You are a grade A asshole, Park Jimin.” You spit his name like it’s a slur, and something inside him dies.

“What?” It’s his turn to scoff. “Don’t tell me you like me or something?” He knows he’s being mean, but he’s hurt, and he feels as though he has nothing else left.

“Excuse me?” You look like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guilty.

There’s a sickening pleasure that takes root in his heart knowing that you want him like that.

“You’re doing this whole weird, possessive girlfriend thing.” It’s his turn to step in your space.

“Well, sorry to say, but were just fuck buddies. I don’t want to be with you. All I want you for is a booty call, nothing more, nothing less.”

His words are like a knife to your heart and you deflate.

The tears burning behind your eyes finally fall, and your hand twitches at your side.

“I fucking hate you.” Is all you can say.

You push him out your way and he lets you, watches as you leave.

‘Good’ He thinks.

He tries to convince himself that the quicker he cuts this thing off, the easier things will get, because he doesn’t like you like that.

Right?

Right.

Your head was pounding by the time you had found your way back to your dorm, your shaking hands made it near impossible to get the key in the lock, but you managed it.

You hadn’t expected Sana to be there, bed engulfed by books and different studying utensils.

“Hey.” She greets mindlessly, flicking through papers in a certain folder before huffing and closing it when she clearly doesn’t find what she needs.

Your grip on your keys grows weak and they clatter to the floor, and she looks up in alarm, just as you take in a loud, pitiful sniffle.

“Oh, (y/n).”

She scrambles to get up and you fall forward, trusting her to catch you, and she does, even if she’s extremely confused.

You’re sobbing into her shirt, and your chest twists and everything just hurts.

Jimin’s words feel like a slap in your face, and your heart burns like you had actually been slapped. You would have preferred that if you were going to be honest.

“(y/n), please. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I liked him.” You sob. “I liked him so much, and, and, and –” You’re close to hyperventilating at this point, and Sana just seems to grow more anxious, because she pulls away from you and cups your cheeks.

“You need to breathe for me.” She says with a nervous albeit reassuring smile.

You attempt to take a deep breath.

“Good, that’s good, just keep trying.”

Eventually, your breathing evens out, and she leads you over to your twin bed, seeing as hers is a bit of an organized mess right now.

“Now, can you finally explain to me what happened?”

Your hands shake as you make to pick at your cuticles, but she catches the habit before you can get to it, encasing your hands in hers.

“There’s a lot of things that you don’t know.”

“Okay…”

“But you know I like Jimin, right?”

“Mhm, like… big time.”

“Well, do you remember that party that you and your friend forced me to?”

“Mhm.”

“Well… while I was waiting for you guys to be ready to go, Jimin approached me.”

“Oh my god?” She says excitedly, but you give her a sad smile.

“Don’t get excited just yet.”

“Anyways,” You continue. “He talked to me, then invited me to… you know, sleep with him.” Your cheeks burn as Sana stares at you dumbfounded, but you keep going. “The sex was great, don’t get me wrong, but he was so distant after everything was done.”

“He gave me his number and asked me to call him if I ever wanted to hook up with him again.”

“Douche.”

“Sana.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

You laugh a bit and she grins, relieved.

“Well, I did.”

“(y/n).” She sighs, releasing one of her hands to rub at her forehead.

“I know, I know! I also know I’m gonna sound really stupid when I say that I thought he actually liked me, but he… but he said some things to me tonight that really broke my heart.”

“Before we get to that, what made you think he likes you back?” She wasn’t trying to be mean by asking the question, you knew better.

“Because there’ll be moments after we are done hooking up where he’d be super sweet. Like, sometimes he would cuddle me, or ask me to watch a movie, just things outside of the common hookup aftercare.”

“But then tonight,” You sighed. “I went to the party he invited me to, and caught him making out with some other girl, and so I went to leave but then I bumped into this guy.” You smile a bit at the memory.

“His name is Kim Namjoon, and he was super sweet – spilled a fuckton of beer on my shirt though.”

“So that’s why you smell like that.”

“Yep.” You laugh. “And then Jimin came up and acted all… jealous and possessive and shit. Took me up to his room, we argued, he accused me of liking him and laughed in my face and called me just his fuck buddy after I didn’t deny that I did.”

You look up to find Sana seething.

“I’m going to call Taehyung.”

Taehyung was one of Jimin’s best friends, and he was currently groveling at Sana’s feet trying to be with her. Though she likes him, she wants to make him work for it just to see if he’ll lose interest, even though you know it’d kill her if he actually did.

“Why?”

“To break it off with him in solidarity.”

“What?!” You asked incredulously. “No, absolutely not. Taehyung is a good guy. You don’t need to do that for me.”

She regards you with a raised brow.

“Are you sure?”

You find yourself nodding. “Kinda need some roomie time right now.” Your eyes fall to her studying materials. “But if you’re too busy, I –”

“Nope. Let’s go.”

You laugh joyously as she begins to put her things away, and you make for the small fridge in your room where your sweet treats are held.

Maybe things are going to be okay.

The next week is like a living hell.

You’ve basically made it your life’s mission to avoid Jimin as much as possible. You had already blocked him after a few encouraging words from Sana.

She still ended up calling Taehyung in the end, putting him in the dog house until his friend got his shit together. You could almost hear his pout as he begged her not to. She hung up on him.

The weather was nice, with early spring wandering around, you could finally start to wear flowier clothing, as well as study outside again.

Your head is so immersed in your book that you don’t see someone approach your table until a finger gently breaches your line of vision and taps the page.

You startle a bit and look up, and you're greeted by Namjoon’s sheepish face.

“Sorry, I didn’t know another way to get your attention, you looked really focused.”

“That’s sweet, but it’s okay. You could’ve interrupted me.” He gestures to the seat across from yours. “Can I sit?”

“Yeah, yeah! Go ahead!” You begin clearing things out of his way, and he smiles gratefully.

“I didn’t see you again after you left.” With that guy, is what’s unspoken, but you caught it anyways. “Yeah… uh – something came up, so I had to leave early.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods. “I see.”

“Yeah.” You grimace.

“Well I –” Namjoon swallows nervously. “I wasn’t able to tell you, but I think you’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.” You breathe in surprise, and the man visibly deflates. “Unless that guy was your boyfriend, then I’m sorry! Oh, God, I should have asked first.”

“No, no! He’s not my boyfriend.” You reassure him. “‘M surprised, is all; and very, very flattered.”

You know you should reject his advances, but you’re hurt, and he’s just… so sweet. A complete contrast to Jimin, and you think he’s the change of pace that you needed.

“I think you’re handsome if that makes you feel any better.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you grin nonetheless when his cheeks warm an admirable red.

“I…” You meet each other's eyes, and look down at the same time, laughing shyly.

Maybe Namjoon could be good for you.

“You look pathetic, man.” Taehyung speaks through a mouthful of instant ramen disgustingly.

Jimin hits him upside the back of his head, and the poor boy winces.

“Ow!”

“Don’t forget you’re in the dog house too, idiot.” Jungkook mumbles from his side of the table.

“So what you’re telling me is that you want me to beat your ass?”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “Hyung fucked up, and now you’re being punished by association. No (y/n) means no Sana.”

Jungkook’s right.

Ever since that night, Jimin’s desperately been trying to forget about you, about how hurt you looked. He almost feels sick thinking about it.

He admits that he could have handled that situation a lot better, but it was like something had taken over him. As soon as he’d seen you with Namjoon, and how willing you looked, something inside him just… snapped.

“I’m just waiting for hyung to admit that he was jealous and go and fix it.” Taehyung says simply. “It’s obvious that he’s in love with her, and I have no idea why he won’t just go and tell her.”

“I’m not -” Jimin hissed, “In love with her.”

“Yeah man, you are.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed, but his attention was stolen by your laugh.

You were laughing because of him.

You looked so sickeningly demure talking to him, wringing your fingers together and kicking out your legs as a nervous tick. You usually only ever did that when you were with him.

Jimin liked the effect that he had on you.

He liked how your eyelashes fluttered when he complimented you, how you held on to him when he fucked you, how you kissed him back like you meant it. Sure, your body was nice, but so was your personality.

You were kind, studious, selfless, and he wasn’t sure what drew you to him the first night he had met you.

He thought that your hidden affections were all for him, but it proves that he was mistaken. That’s fine. You could be with anybody that you wanted to.

‘Just not him’ Is supplied unhelpfully.

The thought shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

It’s just… Jimin doesn’t do the whole commitment thing. The last time he had a partner, it blew up in his face, so he just finds that casual one night stands was just the easier way to go.

But things between you and him were never casual to begin with, huh?

“Listen,” Taehyung starts once more, and points his chopsticks at Jungkook. “Jimin-hyung, he'll realize what he wants when it’s too late. Girls like (y/n) don’t come around as often as they should.” Then, he dives back into his noodles.

Jimin’s eyebrows furrowed. Were they right?

He turns his head to look at them. “Was it ever casual between me and her?” He can’t help but ask.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wow, okay.”

“I mean, you let her sleep in your bed, hyung.” Jungkook basically scoffs. “You’ve never let any of your hookups stay the night, or cuddle with you; yet somehow she’s different.”

Different.

That was the key word here.

You were different.

The last few weeks with Namjoon have been nice.

The man was smart, and kind, and overall just a sweet, gentle giant that deserved everything in the world; but you knew deep down in your heart that you couldn’t be the one to give him that.

You saw it in the way that he looked at you, starry-eyed on his worst day, and heart-eyed the best. You can’t find it within yourself to feel flattered by it anymore, because you know that you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve his chivalry, his affection, and maybe - hopefully not - his love.

You’re ashamed to say that this whole rebound business blew up in your face like you went ahead and personally strapped the bomb to yourself.

You didn’t know how to tell him you didn’t like him like that, just how you had no idea how to tell Jimin you loved him after months of sleeping with him; exactly how that fateful night you said yes instead of no.

The words on the pages in front of you bled together like a big blob of ink, and Namjoon’s large foot snuck over to yours under the table and trapped it playfully.

You tried not to allow the grin you gave him to look like a grimace, even as he acted like he was reading as well. You were sure both of your reasons were entirely different.

You needed to put a stop to this, you needed to tell him you didn’t see him that way and you just wanted to be friends.

“Hey, Namjoon –”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Of course.”

Fuck.

The look that Namjoon gave you was beaming, and you felt tears sting at the back of your eyelids.

You said yes to a date like the stupid, idiotic, selfish, terrible person you are.

Namjoon had offered to walk you back to your dorm after your study session was over, but you couldn’t look at him anymore, the guilt crawling around in your stomach becoming something almost too much to handle.

“No thanks, Nammy.”

“Okay.” He pouts a bit. “But you be safe, alright?”

For the first time today, you gave him a true smile. “I will!”

The walk back to your dorm was slow, and heavy hearted, and you were so lost in your head, you couldn’t see that you were about to walk into someone until their hand shot out and caught you.

“Oh!” You squeaked, your head shooting up.

Your eyes widened at a very disgruntled looking Jimin.

He didn’t look as put together as he used to; his black mullet ruffled out of place and his black leather jacket rather wrinkly.

“(y/n).” He spoke.

It had felt like forever since you heard his voice, and it took you everything in your power to not shut your eyes and bask in it.

You swallowed heavily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“(y/n) please.”

You stare at him before huffing and crossing your arms. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” He breathes, and you finally notice how close you are, because you stumble back to finally put some space in between the two of you. If Jimin’s hurt by the action, he doesn’t show it.

You hate how much that bothers you.

“I fucked up.”

“No.” You instantly put a hand out to stop him. “You don’t get to say that to me.”

“What?”

“You started this whole thing, Jimin! I… I admit that I do like you, and I’ve liked you for a long time, but you don’t get to be the one to say you “fucked up” and regret everything you did.”

“Why not?” He asks, almost offended.

“Because you’ll never change!”

Jimin looks taken aback by your outburst.

“You’ll tell me you’re sorry, we’ll fuck, and then it’ll be this process all over again. You don’t get to just do that! I need full commitment, and that’s not something you’re able to give me.”

“Plus,” You continue, taking in a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone right now.”

Jimin fucking snorts.

“Don’t tell me you have a date with the Namkim guy.”

“It’s Namjoon, and yes, I am. He’s nice.”

“Oh, is that it? He’s just nice?”

“And… and he’s smart too!” You exclaim almost petulantly. “He gives me flowers and tells me how much he likes me all the time, unlike you, who’s so emotionally constipated that not even laxatives would be able to help you!”

“Wha –” Jimin laughs in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I’m gonna go on a date with a guy who actually likes me!”

You straighten your tote bag on your shoulder and brace yourself, straightening your posture.

“Now if you excuse me, I have a date to plan for, and homework to do.”

“What? (y/n)! Come back, I’m sorry!”

“No!”

You’re not going to lie and say you didn’t replay your entire interaction with Jimin for the rest of the week.

There was something about talking to him that gave you the energy to get through class, the haunting realization that maybe he was worth a damn.

Wondering what would have happened if you had allowed him to apologize instead of cutting him off, of accepting his apology and allowing yourself to be with him in that way.

But you know, you know that if you were to go back to your old routine with him, it’d kill you. It’d kill you to watch him flirt with other people, or watch him take them home.

You fiddled with the strap of your dress, staring at yourself in the mirror and feeling awkward at the fact that the material only looked good if you didn’t wear a bra.

You were going to a restaurant with Namjoon; it was a nice, original first date idea. You’d talk over food, and get along just fine!

Namjoon was a nice guy. He was sweet, and he wouldn’t try to fuck you on the first date.

Oh, God, would he?

You really hope not.

“Damn girl.” Sana whistles from her spot on her bed. “You look sexy! You’re gonna blow that nerd’s socks off!”

“Sana.” You warned. “Be nice! He’s not a nerd. He’s just studious.”

“Sure. Every Philosophy major is studious.” She giggles to herself.

“Oh! Do you think he’s a virgin?!”

“Sana!” This time it’s a whine, but your arguing is interrupted by a couple knocks on the door.

“Oh, God, it’s him!” You whisper in a panic.

You continue to mess with the front of your dress, pulling the hem up at the top to try and hide as much boobage as possible.

“Stop!” Your roommate hisses. “You look great!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Now go!”

You waddle over to the door and pull it open, your heart melting at the sight of a good looking Namjoon in front of you.

His hair was tastefully rumpled, a button up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks that hugged his thighs deliciously.

Wow, you were really hogging this man for yourself.

There was another stab of guilt when his eyes fell on your figure and he swallowed, his cheeks painting themselves an adorable pink.

“W – wow, (y/n). You look amazing.”

“Thanks.” You say shyly. “Should we go?”

“Oh! Of course, of course!”

He offers you his arm and you take it.

The conversation between the two of you was kept light, even as you got into the Uber that he had paid for.

“I uh – I don’t have my license.” Namjoon had sheepishly admitted to you one day.

He usually rode his bike to places, so you were surprised to see that he had splurged for today.

Shame burns in your gut once again.

(y/n): 0, Guilt and shame: the winner.

The restaurant was nice as you were led to your table, and very quiet.

You shuffled around in your seat, sheepishly ordering water as Namjoon looked over the menu.

“I’m so happy we're doing this.” Namjoon says after you get your drinks, and you sip on the freezing tap water.

“Yeah…” You speak after a few hefty gulps of your drink.

“I meant it when I said you looked gorgeous tonight.”

“Ah…” You fluster. “Where did all this confidence come from?”

“It comes from me wanting to ask you a question that you’ll answer truthfully.”

Instantly your heart falls into your ass, because you know exactly what’s coming.

“I might be a bit of a stick in the mud, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind, (y/n).”

“I can see that you haven’t really been in any of… whatever we have going on. And I’m not even going to lie, I don’t even think we’ve had anything to begin with.”

“What gave it away?” You ask with a grimace. “That.”

“That?”

“That thing you do with your face when you lie.”

You blink at him in surprise.

“Oh.”

“And you’ve done it every single time I’ve tried to flirt or compliment you. I’m surprised you even agreed to go out with me.”

“I…” You feel like you’re going to throw up. “I swear I didn’t mean to lead you on! There’s just been this thing, and I can’t tell you what it is –”

“Yes you can.”

“Pardon?” You ask in surprise.

“You know exactly why you can’t commit fully to this.”

“I…” You deflate in your seat, fiddling with the napkin. “You’re right.”

“It’s that guy, right? The one from the party?”

Namjoon’s words aren’t hurt, judgemental, or angry, they’re just factual. Like how he gets when he breaks down a piece of difficult text in one of his ancient little books he likes to read.

“I should start from the beginning shouldn’t I?”

“We’ve got all night.”

So you do. You start from that night at the party, over how you’ve felt these last few weeks, even as the food had come and gone, you two hadn’t stopped talking.

You had refused to let him pay at the end of the night, and you literally almost had to fight him over splitting the bill.

“This was supposed to be a date.” He speaks with a pout, and you just laugh.

You two worked well as friends, because you nudged his foot. “Yah! We can go on another date soon, okay?”

He just laughs with a shake of his head.

When you guys leave, you offer to pay for your shared Uber when you spot someone you weren’t expecting.

Jimin’s in the parking lot, leaning against his car and looking around. When his gaze lands on you, his slouched position straightens, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“This guy is like the fucking boogeyman.” You murmur, and Namjoon laughs once more.

“I uh… may have sort of called him here.”

Your head whips around and you stare at him in betrayal. “What?!”

“Listen. You and him have some shit to work out, and - bless your heart - we both know you don’t have a backbone, so I think it would be better if you both fixed this, or ended it for good.”

You can’t help but just stare at him. “Where did you even get his number?”

“Taehyung. The poor man’s been practically begging me to leave you alone and let Jimin fix this because he’s been sexiled.”

You sigh, glancing over at a waiting Jimin who’s watching you hopefully.

“You won’t be here for solidarity, will you?”

“For both our sakes, I think you know the answer to that.”

You swallow, turning your attention back to him. “I really am sorry about how everything went down between us. You’re a great guy, and I’m sure one day another person will be able to see that. I’m sorry it’s not me.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s alright, I need to worry about my studies anyways.”

You smile sadly at him, and he just chuckles and shakes his head, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“I mean it (y/n),” He starts when you separate, “It’s okay, but you need to go, because Jimin looks like he’s about to throttle me, and I’m not really interested in fighting someone tonight. I have a test in the morning.”

Your smile is a little less sad this time, and he waves you off.

The walk to Jimin feels like a walk to doom; it’s silent, tense, and you’re unsure about where you’ll end up at the end of the night.

“Hi.” You breathe awkwardly. You grasp onto your clutch purse like a lifeline.

“Hey.”

“Uh…” You begin, but Jimin just sighs, opening the passenger door, and gesturing for you to get in. “We need to talk.”

Your shoulders deflate. “Alright.”

Even though he said you needed to talk, the car ride is silent, even as you watch yourself being pulled into a parking lot, the man stopping and turning his car off.

“So, are you going to let me speak this time, or are you just going to cut me off again?”

You scowl. “Is that really how you want to start this conversation?”

“No, no, fuck I’m sorry. I’m already fucking it up.” His hands grip the steering wheel, twisting them around nervously.

“I’m not used to this.”

“Used to what?”

“Dating, feelings, that kind of thing. And I thought that if I hurt you, and never had to see you again, that those things would just go away, but they didn’t.”

He slumps back in his seat, casting his gaze out the window before turning his attention towards you.

“When I saw you with him –”

“Namjoon.”

“Yes,” He all but hisses, “With Namjoon, I felt sick to my stomach. Like something was wrong, like he was taking something from me.”

“But I was never yours to begin with.”

“Yeah,” He sighs. “I know, and that’s the issue.”

“You were right about me being an asshole, because I was. I projected all of my weird, little possessive feelings onto you and totally flipped out when I should have just talked to you.”

“But instead I pushed you away, said things I didn’t mean, and you still went with that guy, and I felt horrible.” Jimin hesitantly reaches out a hand – an olive branch of sorts – and waits for you to take it.

He hopes you take it.

You look at him and back down to his hand, before lifting yours and intertwining your fingers.

“What are you trying to tell me, Jimin? Because… because if we do this friends-with-benefits bullshit again, I think it’ll actually kill me.”

“I don’t think I could handle that even if I tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that seeing you with the other people that aren't me makes me feel sick to my stomach, and I’d rather have you all to myself like the nasty, greedy bastard I am.”

“Like a boyfriend.”

Jimin finally smiles.

That beautiful, eye closing smile that makes your heart skip a beat too many.

“Yeah, (y/n), like a boyfriend.”

“Does that make me your girlfriend?”

“I would sure hope so.”

You grin as well, happiness painting over your features as you watch him.

“What does this mean for us now?” He leans forward into your space, and this time you don’t move back, just gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes. “This means that you’ll hopefully let me kiss you.”

“Well lucky for you, I’m feeling nice tonight.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, yet connects your lips together. Your eyelids flutter shut.

Euphoria. That’s the only feeling you could describe after feeling the plushness of his mouth after so long. It’s felt like centuries since you’ve touched him, and every nerve in your body lights aflame.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and his hands cup your jaw, tugging you to him over the center console.

“I can’t go that far.” You pant with a chuckle, and he huffs a small smile.

“Backseat?”

“Please don’t tell me you want to have makeup sex in the backseat of your car in the middle of the park.”

“You want to have makeup sex?” His eyes glimmer. It’s your turn to snort. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Then no, we're absolutely not doing that here.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

874 notes · View notes

bytemee · 29 days ago

Text

KILLIN’ IT GIRL — yu jimin.

♫ playing… killin' it girl by j-hope.

synopsis. you’re an F1 driver who used to feel alive doing 200 down a straight with nothing but instinct keeping you from flying off the track. but after the crash, something in you just . . . flatlined. so you come back home—burned out, bruised, and pretending it’s just for a break. it’s not long before your best friend jeno drags you out to some dockside race to show you back to your roots.

you tell yourself you show up out of habit, not interest. and that’s where you meet a cocky street racer who supposedly has the skills to back up the talk—a girl with a matte black silvia and a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

suddenly, you’re chasing something again—but it’s not a trophy this time—it’s her.

pairing. f1 racer!fem!reader x street racer!karina

genre. romance, slow burn, street racing au.

disclaimer(s). mild language, they want each other sooooooooo badddddddd, ion really watch f1 chat so idek how that goes down … 💔, k-i-s-s-i-n-g, r is so whipped bru.. and let me know if there’s more!

word count. 12.6k

authors note. my ex liked cars. i like my ex. wait im getting off topic.. chat!! #byteback 😛 also i hate this oneshot but ive been teasing it so i shall give it to you guys.

"and now coming into turn seven, it's y/l/n, hugging the inside lane for position. oh my god, she's keeping pressure on the red bull car into the chicane. is she insane?" one of the announcers sounds impressed, while the other sounds absolutely terrified. "she's still pressuring the red bull into the chicane!"

you watch your own car tuck tighter around the corner than it should've been able to, chassis flexing hard, tires practically squealing against the curb, apex kissed so clean it almost looks planned. but you remember that moment; you weren't planning. you were chasing, chasing so hard you ignored the voices of your pit crew screaming through your headphones to back off, to not take that line, to give yourself room for error.

although, in your eyes, the car ahead pulled just wide enough, leaving an opening no wider than a heartbeat, and your body moved before your brain could argue. "she's going for it! SHE'S GOING FOR IT! into turn nine now! she's still right there—"

"there's no room—she's got no room! can she even hold that?!"

your breath catches right where it did the first time, even though you already know how it ends. the screen stutters slightly, the shaky camera from the rear wing of the red bull car picking up a flash of red surging into the shot—your ferrari nosing into a space so small it shouldn't exist. the crowd volume through the feed surges so loud it sounds like a wave, a deafening roar from 100,000 voices.

"she's taking it! OH MY GOD—she's inside! Y/L/N IS INSIDE INTO TURN NINE—"

that's when the back end lifts. not much, just enough. the front-left tire clips the curb, and the whole car shifts wrong. the front skids, dragging sideways as you try to catch it, but the angle's already broken and your speed's too much. your gut dropped like you missed a stair, fingers tightening around the steering wheel, and mind blanking for a split second.

"she's lost grip—rear end is sliding—she's—oh, no—NO—she's airborne—!"

the screen flashes white for a beat as the camera loses focus, debris scattering like ash across the track. the next angle is a long shot, brutal and slow: your car spinning mid air like a goddamn coin toss. your chassis clips the barrier, sending the back end fishtailing in the opposite direction, and then your car crumples against the curb with the sound of metal tearing and a crunch so loud you can feel it vibrating through the screen.

your body twists against the harness, your head snapping forward before being thrown back into the seat as the car slams to a stop. then the entire field is moving, the cars behind you slowing as they weave around the wreckage while your car continues to spin slowly to a halt in the middle of the track.

"y/l/n into the barrier—massive crash at nine! red flag immediately! that's a red—call the medics—call the damn medics now—!"

you pause it there. you don't need to see the rest. you remember the way that car felt as it wrapped itself around you. how your ears rang as you sat there, stunned, trying to get the seatbelt unbuckled so you could climb out. how you ended up flat on your ass on the pavement, helmet off, vision blurred from the smoke of the fire, and couldn't even find it in you to be mad.

the f1 car was a write-off; there was no salvaging anything from that mess. meaning the team will have to start from scratch, building a brand new machine for you to race next season.

your phone buzzes from the armrest. you pause the video and answer it without checking the id, too focused on what you were watching to care.

"are you still watching yourself almost die like it's porn?" jeno's voice comes through with a small chuckle.

you scoff, leaning back in your seat. "it's for analysis," you mutter.

jeno lets out a scoff himself in response, and you can hear the subtle eye roll in his voice when he speaks again. "you're on your mom's couch watching yourself crash for the fiftieth time. that's not analysis. that's depression, my friend."

your mouth tilts upward slightly. he always did know how to needle just right. you lean your head back against the couch cushion, letting your neck stretch and your mind idle. "what do you want?"

"i'm five minutes out," he says. "put on something pretty for me, yeah?"

you glance toward the hallway, where your bedroom door is half-open and your duffel bag sits untouched since the day you came home. it's only been two and a half days, but it feels like an eternity has passed since then. "what if i said no?"

"then i tell everyone ferrari's softest girl's too scared to show her face back where she started."

your brow creases slightly. that was a cheap shot, but it was also very, very effective. because you soon push off the couch, stretching out the stiffness that's taken up permanent residence in your shoulders. "fine. give me five."

"make it three."

you hang up.

your bedroom is exactly the same. posters of old tracks, yellowing at the corners, and trophies collecting dust on every available surface. a closet full of racing jackets you grew out of ages ago but never threw away. a stack of textbooks from when you were in high school that you couldn't bring yourself to get rid of, even though they're covered in years' worth of grime. even the sheets on your bed are the same—a faded red and white plaid that's been washed so many times the colors are starting to blend together.

the only thing that's different is the duffel bag open on the floor in the middle of your bedroom hallway. you still can't bring yourself to unpack it. can't even stand to look at it for too long before you feel the itch under your skin to leave again. it's not that you don't want to be here; it's that everything feels like a half-step behind where you need it to be.

the sound of a car engine pulling up outside jolts you from your thoughts. you grab your cap off the edge of your desk as you head for the door, tucking it over your messy hair without much thought. the night air bites as you step out, the streetlights flickering in the distance. jeno honks once, obnoxious as ever, grinning at you through the open window.

"took you long enough," he calls.

"had to mourn my dignity," you mutter, sliding into the passenger seat.

jeno laughs as he shifts into gear, taking off down the street so fast you fall back into your seat. you shoot him a glare before resting your elbow on the window and staring out as the houses blur past. jeno's talking—he always is, but it blends into white noise. you can only hear the rush of air through the open window, the rumble of the engine as he shifts, and the clink of metal on metal with every movement.

"you're brooding," he says, glancing sideways. "i thought you were supposed to be happy to be back. you missed this town, didn't you? maranello not hitting it for you anymore?"

"no," you say, shaking your head. jeno speeds through a yellow light, swearing under his breath as he hits the gas. "it's not that."

jeno scoffs, rolling his eyes so hard he almost turns into another lane. "if it's not that, then what is it, huh?"

you don't answer. just reach forward and turn the radio up, eyes never leaving his as you do. jeno sighs, lips pressing together as he focuses back on the road.

you can smell it before you hear it: the familiar stench of burning rubber and smoke. the sound comes next with a roar of engines and a commotion of voices—and just past the rusted chain-link gate, the scene spills open like a wound: people swarming, cars idling with their doors thrown wide, and kids hanging off the sides to get a better look.

"looks the same," you mutter.

"feels the same," jeno says. "that's what matters."

he swings the car into a spot near the perimeter, not too close to the action but close enough to be noticed. as he kills the engine, you shove the door open and step out, rolling your shoulders back, adjusting your hat so it sits low over your eyes. people are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, murmuring under their breath, or crowding around hoods. the engines are still warm, some still ticking. it smells like tire smoke, gasoline, and whatever someone's smoking down the lot. for a second, it almost feels like you never left.

there are a few glances in your direction as you make your way through the crowd, but they're fleeting, as if the person's eyes skim past you and then snap back once they realize who you are. jeno trails behind you, keeping his mouth shut for once as you weave between the bodies.

"jeno!" someone shouts from deeper in the crowd. a guy near a souped-up miata raises a hand, already grinning wide. "you asshole, i thought you were in dallas."

"was," jeno says, mouth tilting up. "thought i'd come take everyone's money at the races tonight instead."

he claps hands with the guy, and you get pulled into their circle by proximity. there's a little overlap of greetings: nods, chin lifts, and half-familiar faces from a past you mostly raced through. "wait," another voice cuts in, a girl with short braids and a vape in hand. "hold up. . . jeno, is this who i think it is?"

all eyes flick to you. it takes every inch of your racing nerves not to stiffen.

"damn," she says, grinning. "you really showed up in that loud-ass ferrari hat like you want people to recognize you. subtle's not your thing, huh?"

"fuck you," you say easily, a smile playing at your lips, "i'm blending."

"with what? a traffic flare?"

laughter ripples through the group, but it's not mean. jeno grins, wide and crooked and mischievous, and the group soon falls into a steady conversation that you really have no input in, so, naturally, you zone out. your eyes scan the spread of cars, your eyes falling onto a turbocharged civic that looks like it's been stripped and rebuilt by hand. it's an ugly hunk of metal, but if you squint hard enough, you can see the potential.

then your eyes drift more until they land on something else—something entirely different from the rest. a matte black silvia parked at a slight angle, almost like it's intentionally being antagonistic to the other cars around it. the light catches the black paint and makes it look iridescent, and it takes you a moment to realize that there's no one standing beside it, no one with their hands on the hood or admiring the interior.

the driver's seat is empty.

you step away from the crowd, letting jeno's voice fade into the background as you weave through the mass of bodies closer to the silvia. you walk up to it slowly, studying it. no flash, no decals, but the widebody is just aggressive enough to make a statement. god, you need to see what's under the hood. it's calling out to you.

you squat slightly at the side, inspecting the suspension with one hand braced on your knee.

"if you're gonna stare at her ass that hard," a voice calls out, "at least buy her dinner first."

you blink. straighten up slowly as you look around for the source of the voice. she's leaning against the side of the silvia, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression on her face. if you didn't know any better, you'd say she looks a little smug.

you raise an eyebrow, giving her a toothless smile. "i was more interested in her front end," you say, standing up. "but hey. to each their own, i guess."

she cocks her head slightly, eyes dragging over your cap. "f1 driver's got jokes?" she muses. she shifts her weight, uncrossing her arms to stuff them into the pockets of her jacket.

"how'd you guess? did the logo give it away?" you fire back, not missing a beat, your fingertips grazing the logo on the front of your cap.

"no," she replies. "the ego. and unfortunately i've seen your face before."

you laugh under your breath. you like her immediately.

you break eye contact, looking back at the car. "it's a clean build," you say, glancing back at karina. "i can appreciate that. but do you drive her or just stand around making assumptions?"

she pushes off the car, one hand sliding across the hood like it's a reflex. "i drive her. and i win."

you glance sideways at her. "then maybe i'll stick around," you murmur. "see what all the fuss is about."

you turn away from her, eyes falling onto another car, pretending not to watch the way she lingers. a supra this time. too much going on with the paint, too little done under the hood. you scan it absently, but your focus is half there, half on the girl standing behind you before walking over to another car.

your phone vibrates. jeno's name flashes across the screen, accompanied by a string of texts.

jeno Bro where'd u go Race is starting U see that supra? LMAO it's got a fake widebody 😭

you look up, already moving. jeno's not far; you see him posted near a group gathered around the line-up chart, his arms crossed, phone still in one hand. he sees you and straightens up. "there you are," he says as you walk up. "you miss me?"

you shove your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, letting out a hum that sounds like a laugh. jeno doesn't bother asking where you went, just jerks his thumb toward the small commotion ahead. your eyes follow the noise—some guy with a shaved head pacing near a couple of parked cars, voice raised, clearly pissed. he's got a phone in one hand, gesturing with the other like someone's supposed to magically appear and fix his problem.

then his eyes lock on jeno.

"yo! you," the guy barks, already walking over. "you running tonight or what?"

jeno holds up his palms immediately, backing off. "nah, i'm just here to lose money tonight."

the guy groans, annoyed, eyes shifting to you. "what about you?"

you shrug. "i can race."

he pauses. he looks you up and down, and you catch the twitch in his brow when it clicks. he knows who you are. of course he does. but he doesn't comment on it, just nods, running his fingers along the bottom of his chin.

jeno turns to you, eyebrow raised. "you serious right now?"

you don't even answer. just reach out your hand, and he sighs before tossing you his keys like he knew this was coming the moment you showed up.

"full tank. tires are fresh. don't make me regret it."

"no promises."

you're halfway to the car when he calls after you. "you remember how to drive without a radio guy screaming in your ear?"

you throw him a look over your shoulder. "guess we're about to find out."

the supra purrs to life under your hands. it's not like your ferrari. that thing needed finesse, tight hands, and the kind of control that came from years of hearing people yell in your ear through a headset. this car? this one wants to be thrown around. it wants to be taken on the kind of ride you only take once in a lifetime, the kind that leaves you breathless and bruised and feeling like you got hit by a truck.

your fingers flex against the steering wheel as you get to the line, and the driver next to you glances your way before shifting in his seat, hands settling just above the gearshift. she's loud, just a little bit messy, but fast in the way that makes your teeth itch. it's no wonder jeno treats this thing like his baby.

the crowd's tightening near the makeshift strip now, cones barely keeping people from stepping into the path of the cars. it feels like every eye in the place is on you, even though you know that it's probably true (not your ego talking here)—most of them are waiting to see if this chick with the fancy f1 cap actually knows what she's doing.

you pull the supra up to the line, and then, damn, you hear it before you see it. that low purr of the silvia as she pulls up right beside you, and when you glance over, you almost laugh. she's leaning back against the headrest like she's not even taking this seriously, and you watch as her eyes slide from the crowd to the line in front of her.

flag girl steps up.

then karina turns her head with a grin so sharp you can feel it against your skin and says, "you're actually running. that's cute." she says, her voice casual through the crack in her window.

you don't even blink. "mhm. hope you're ready to lose then? just take it well' because sore losers are kind of a turnoff," you shoot back.

karina's laugh is low and soft as she shifts her weight, rolling down the window slightly more so you can see the amused look on her face. "i'll show you a sore loser if that's what you're really after."

you raise an eyebrow. it's like she's forgetting who's got the bigger horsepower between the two of you, but you don't call her out on it because that's almost cute—how she thinks she's still got a shot.

the flag goes up.

you blink once.

the flag drops.

and you're gone. the world around you becomes noise with wind in your hair and your foot pressed down. the supra kicks hard under the wheel, vibrating in time with the rumbling roar of the engine. this part's easy, a well-oiled instinct: your eyes glancing up in the rearview, then the front view, your peripheral focused on the other cars on the line with you. you take note of how they position themselves and how much they push. how they want to play it.

karina's right there, holding. you can feel her more than you can see her, the pressure of her car riding yours, matching pace, not backing off. but when your ears catch what happens before your brain even registers what the sound is, you glance up, smiling.

there's a hesitation in the silvia's rhythm, a half-second where her engine note flinches, like karina came up just a little too fast on the clutch or didn't match the revs as cleanly as she meant to. it's the kind of thing most people would chalk up to nothing, but you know better, because you've lived in the cracks of moments like that.

she doesn't lose control. not even close. but the car pulls weird for a second, like it's trying to find its feet again, and in that exact moment, the door cracks open.

so you take it.

you downshift fast, drop to the inside, and push past her before she can close the space. it's close, your headlights almost kissing the tail of her car. but it works. she has to tap her brakes to avoid getting caught up in your draft. that buys you a few inches, and those inches become a few feet. but of course she doesn't let it slide. she pushes harder now, right on your tail again, refusing to let you walk away with it. you're both taking turns hot on the inside.

she's a goddamn terror.

there are two kinds of drivers: the ones who know they're going to win the race and the ones who won't be denied a victory. it's always obvious when a driver falls into one of these camps. some will stay in formation all the way to the checkered flag, biding their time and waiting for a mistake that never comes. they have a sort of patience to them. a restraint. that kind of racing is measured. controlled. almost surgical. it's about strategy, finesse, and execution.

then there are those who want to take a victory right from the jaws of a loss. they push to the edge of what they know, but never over it, and it's obvious why they do it. that kind of racing isn't about the end goal; it's about the rush of the journey. it's about knowing just how far you can push your limits and doing it anyway. it's about making the whole world hold their breath while you test them.

karina's not patient. she's reckless, aggressive, and absolutely fucking beautiful. she takes what she wants. she pushes as hard as she needs.

and she never stops. not when she's on a roll, not when her engine is struggling, and certainly not when you're both neck-and-neck for a third time tonight. anyone else would've lost grip by now, but she's got something to prove. you can feel it through the way her engine screams behind you, desperate to close the gap.

soon the final straight comes into view, and you push your supra hard, your car growling and bucking and struggling under your hands as you keep the revs as high as you can handle. the silvia is right on your tail, both of you locked in an intense battle for the lead, and for a brief moment you can feel karina's eyes on you through her side mirror.

you cross first. not by much—but enough.

your foot eases off the gas as you breathe again, letting the car slow down gradually so she doesn't stall. your head is spinning slightly with a cocktail of adrenaline and disbelief at the fact that this race was more fun than it should have been. this wasn't about winning—that part just felt good—this was about feeling alive.

and, god, you feel more alive than you have in years.

it takes a while before you finally roll the supra to a stop on the grass, the crowd spilling from the sidelines now. you sit there for a moment, head thrown back against the seat as you let your eyes close, just trying to breathe.

people are banging on your car now, congratulating you through the glass, and some are even walking over to inspect it, but you don't pay them much mind, too caught up in how you feel right now. you won. and you actually won it. no crash. no penalties. no one is telling you not to celebrate like it means nothing.

the driver's door wrenches open. jeno is there, grinning so hard his eyes almost close. "look at you," he says, clapping you on the shoulder. "fucking incredible, right?"

you laugh breathlessly as jeno puts his hands on your shoulder, tugging you forward. you let yourself be dragged out of the car and into jeno's arms, letting yourself breathe as you press your cheek into the front of his jacket, letting yourself just be there for a moment. you don't let yourself dwell on the feeling much; your adrenaline is too high for anything other than grinning so hard it hurts.

but you see her. standing off to the side of the commotion. hood up, head ducked under it. she glances at you for only a second before looking away again. your feet carry you over without asking your brain if that's a good idea, but you can't help it—the rush is making you bolder than you've been in a while, so you take it. you let yourself close the distance until she turns and looks you square in the eye, expression unreadable, fingers twitching at her sides.

"rough night?" you offer, a stupid, satisfied grin on your face.

karina exhales, breaking the contact, and closes her hood. "shut up," she says, avoiding your eyes.

"you misfired on third," you point out. "too quick on the clutch. she didn't catch."

"yeah, i know," she snaps, then sighs.

"i could take a look," you add.

she narrows her eyes.

"i don't need help."

"never said you did," you smile. "but i'm bored, and my ego's already full."

she raises an eyebrow, eyes flickering down to your lips as if she doesn't even know she's doing it, but then she catches herself. "you're a pain," she says.

"so i've been told."

she grins. "i bet you have," she says. "although, i have a mechanic. thanks, but i'll pass."

she turns, hair whipping, and you watch her leave without a word. you're still standing there, just like that, staring like she hung the damn moon. you don't know if it's because of the race, because of the high, because of her, or maybe it's a combination of everything. whatever the reason is, it leaves you grinning stupidly, standing alone by her car with nothing to say.

it's hot in the garage. like, if the devil lived somewhere, he'd probably choose somewhere that felt exactly like this. to make it worse, your shirt's clinging in places, and your hands are permanently stained with grease no matter how many times you wipe them on the rag tucked into your waistband. you've got half your body leaned under the hood of some beat-up genesis that jeno swore he'd fix up before graduation . . . he graduated years ago. so now you're left with the mess.

your dad's inside handling customers like he always does. very friendly, too friendly, because he talks too much, and his voice echoes through the small space like an air raid siren. he means well, truly. you're not really paying attention until the bell over the front door jingles and you hear him call out, voice lit up with recognition.

"jimin! you're early—bring the car?"

jimin?

your brow creases. who's jimin?

"thought i'd beat the heat. hope that's okay."

you freeze. blink once. then pull your head out from under the hood just enough to see her standing there. in the flesh. karina. she looks different out of the racing scene, somehow. you're not sure how, exactly, but it's definitely the case. it's something about how she's wearing her hair loose, something about how the lines on her face seem to relax without the adrenaline to hold her up.

you quickly get from under the car, a panic in your joints as you busy yourself with... absolutely nothing. karina...jimin? she doesn't see you yet—your back's to her, and you don't speak because you know you'd start to ramble if you opened your mouth.

"one of the kids outside can pull it in if you want," your dad says. "mine's under that genesis right now."

karina squints. you don't move.

"your kid?" she asks, curious.

your dad jerks a thumb toward you. "right there."

you turn slowly, dragging the back of your hand across your jaw. "hey."

karina stares, blinks. for a beat, she doesn't say anything. she just takes you in, looks you over, like she didn't expect you to be the person standing behind that genesis. which, fair—you hadn't exactly expected this either. but other than that, it's more of your appearance: the white shirt, the old hat, the dark stain of engine oil on the front of your chest, and the sweat clinging to your temples. it's definitely different.

her lips part like she's gonna say something slick, but she fumbles it. it's almost funny. "you're... you're his kid?"

"didn't expect that, huh?"

she recovers fast, folding her arms with a smirk. "explains the attitude."

"explains the driving," you shoot back, wiping your hands off on the rag. "didn't know you brought your car here."

"didn't know you were here; would've never thought you knew how to get your hands dirty."

you shrug, "i didn't think my dad was your mechanic."

"he's been good to my car," she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. "better than you were last night."

your laugh comes out as a sharp laugh, and you finally step back, moving away from her to create space for one of the workers to pull the car into a free space in the garage. you take another step back and turn your head to the side, trying to calm your racing pulse as you watch the two men guide her silvia into the spot right beside the genesis and lock the brakes.

karina watches quietly as well, arms folded over her chest as she follows their movements like a hawk, and she doesn't even move once they get off, like she's afraid to breathe on it wrong. it almost makes you laugh if you weren't so goddamn charmed by it.

"started pulling left in third," she says finally, stepping in beside you. "feels like it's dragging."

you crouch again, grabbing a flashlight and a few tools and lying flat on the creeper as you slide under her car without missing a beat. "you hit something?"

"just your ego."

you let out a quiet snort, tightening a bolt. "still intact, thanks."

there's silence from above, then a low laugh. "you always this hands-on?" her voice is closer now, almost above you.

you reach up toward a bracket without thinking. "depends. you into that?"

"a little too into it," she says, and the smirk is audible. "watching you handle a wrench like that kinda makes me wanna climb into the passenger seat. or your lap. whichever's closer."

your brain short-circuits. you stop moving for a second—just a second—but it's enough. you turn your head a little too fast to look at her, and—clank—your skull connects hard with the edge of the frame.

"ow—shit!" you yank back instantly, hand flying to your forehead. "god—damn it—"

"oh my god," she laughs, but she's already crouching next to you. "did you seriously just knock yourself out because i said i'd sit on your lap?"

"technically," you mutter, squeezing one eye shut as you wince, sliding out from under the car as quickly as you can without giving yourself whiplash or a concussion. you prop yourself up on one hand as you run the other through your hair with a wince. "it was the delivery that got me."

"you're ridiculous."

you hum for a second, eyes trailing over her before you look up with a grin. "i love how much you feed into my degrading kink," you teasingly mutter.

ignoring your comment her eyes drop to your forehead, where you can already feel the beginnings of a knot forming just under the hairline, her eyes softening. without warning she leans over, hand on the creeper and fingertips brushing your skin, and you have to bite back the groan of pain that almost leaves you as she inspects it, tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration.

"and you're bleeding a little," she points out, reaching for you without hesitation. her fingers brush your temple, gentle, warm. your heart stutters a bit. curse pretty girls.

"you check all your mechanics this close, or just the ones under your hood?" you mutter, trying to sound amused, not affected.

she scoffs, pulling her hand back, but not before her thumb lingers for just a second longer than it has to. "just the ones who slam their heads like amateurs."

"cute coming from someone who nearly stripped third gear last night."

that earns a real reaction. her eyes flash as her mouth twitches into a half-smile. she looks happy. and it's like you just saw the sun set for the first time in years. "you really want to go there?"

"do you?" you're grinning now.

she shakes her head, rolling her eyes to the point they might actually fall out of her head. "if i pour brake fluid on you, do you think that'll fix your attitude?"

"i mean, i've heard worse foreplay."

there's a pause. you hear her exhale sharply through her nose, biting down a smile before she finally steps back, head shaking. "fix my car."

"yes, ma'am." you wink, leaning back again and getting back under her car before she can see your red face.

she stands there for a second, clearly caught off guard and a little more flustered than she's willing to admit, but she covers it up with a glare and walks off toward the front of the shop where your dad is and goes to talk to him instead of dealing with the fact that she just tried to make you choke on your own tongue.

it doesn't take long to fix up her transmission. the drag isn't bad, and the knocking she's been feeling isn't something she should be worried about. still, it's easy money. your dad comes around the corner while you're tucking the rag into the side pocket, wiping your hands on the bottom of your shirt.

"she's all fixed, no charge."

karina narrows her eyes immediately. "i'm paying," she insists.

he chuckles. "no, no—we're calling it an early birthday present."

you snort, taking your rag out of your pocket and tossing it onto the workbench. karina rolls her eyes, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket and smiling a little. it's a real smile.

"thanks," she says.

"of course. don't hesitate to bring her back, okay?"

she nods. you're not sure if she even hears the question. he turns and goes back inside.

it's quiet for a few seconds.

you kick the leg of the creeper with the toe of your boot, sliding the tool out from under her car. she watches as you slide the tray back under the genesis, the same genesis you spent an hour fumbling with earlier, and the entire time you're silent, just listening to the click-clack of her heel on the floor.

"that's an old genesis." she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"my friend left it here years ago. kinda had no choice but to try and do something with it."

"your friend the same person that bet 30k on you yesterday night?" she muses.

"what can i say? he believes in me."

she lets out a chuckle, tilting her head and squinting as she takes you in. "you ever think about what you'd do if you weren't racing?" her voice is softer, more curious than challenging.

you glance over, caught off guard for a second, but you meet her eyes without hesitation. "not really. this is who i am, i guess."

she makes a noise like an agreement. it's so low, it could be a purr. she's quiet after that, but the silence isn't awkward; it's almost thoughtful, like she's still processing it or maybe just deciding on the words.

she glances at her feet, then back to you, then to her feet again. "there's a car meet happening at the beach tonight."

you tilt your head a bit, curious. "yeah?"

she nods, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. "yeah. no racing, just people showing off their rides, stuff like that."

"i've never seen a car meet without at least one street race."

she grins. "there'll be beer and bonfire food. we can play some music and pretend to get drunk, then stumble home."

you narrow your eyes a little. "i don't remember saying i was going."

karina shrugs, her hands still stuffed in the pockets of her jacket as she leans back against her car. "you didn't," she says, tilting her head just enough for her hair to catch the light, "but you're not saying no either."

you huff, the corner of your mouth twitching despite your best effort to keep your expression flat. "confident."

a shrug. her grin is crooked. it makes your heart pound. "gotta have some kind of ego if i wanna drive the way i do."

"sure. i can meet you there, right?"

"don't make me wait."

"never," you whisper, giving her a half-hearted salute.

"mmm, don't flirt with me."

you let your smile drop, your hand dropping from your forehead. "i'm...trying."

"see ya later, hotshot." she tosses a smirk over her shoulder as she climbs into the driver's seat, leaving you staring.

the silvia roars to life. she pulls out of the garage and drives off.

you stand there a moment longer. staring. trying to get a hold of yourself. then you turn on your heel and head inside the office, wiping the grease from the corner of your lip and shaking your head.

you end up taking a taxi, telling yourself it's just to get some air, just to pass time. but when you get dropped off a block away from the meet and hear the bass from the beach thumping through the pavement, you know exactly what you're doing. it's the kind of energy you'd follow anywhere.

the parking lot is empty, but the stretch of sand isn't. cars, bodies, and firelight span as far as your eyes can see. the smell of gasoline and weed permeates the air, mixing with the distant sounds of crashing waves and the pulsing bass coming from the speakers parked near the road. it's been a while since you've seen a gathering this big, but somehow it feels like the exact thing you need tonight.

you wander. taking everything in. you've only been to the beach twice, but it's changed since you were a kid. it's like there's a sense of familiarity and distance at once—like it's yours but also isn't—and the thought of being somewhere between a place and a memory makes your chest ache.

you're halfway through the crowd when something familiar stops you.

that silvia.

it stands out in the mess of cars, black paint sparkling like stars in the glow of the fires, and suddenly your palms start to sweat, heartbeat skipping, a feeling that's become increasingly common since last night. you move forward, letting the crowd close the distance behind you, until finally your footsteps crunch against the sand.

you glance around, half expecting to see her leaning against it, smug smile and all. but there's no sign of her. you move past a group of people crowded around a vintage skyline, still looking. a couple of them eye you as you pass, maybe recognizing you, maybe wondering who the hell you think you are walking through the lot without an invitation.

you're too preoccupied with finding a pretty face in the middle of all the pretty cars to even notice.

there are a few dozen faces around, laughing and drinking, but no one you want to look at.

"you lost or just looking for me?"

you turn, and there she is, standing a few feet back with a bottle in her hand, eyebrow raised, wearing the kind of smile that tells you she knew exactly how long you've been here, looking for her. she steps in closer and offers you the bottle, her gaze dropping to your mouth.

your throat is dry, suddenly. "depends. you hiding from me?"

she takes another step closer. you're close enough to see the fire reflecting off the silver rings on her fingers. close enough to feel the heat rolling off her skin. "why would i do that?" she murmurs.

you swallow. hard. a shrug, nonchalant, and you reach for the bottle in her hand. your fingers brush, fuzzy and tender, and the touch is electric. your skin feels alive.

"come on," she says.

you go.

and you're not exactly sure how long you and karina end up walking side by side, weaving between rows of cars and half-tipsy strangers showing off their mods. you don't say much; you mostly just walk next to each other, close enough that you could bump shoulders.

she glances up at you. you glance at her. and it goes like that: the two of you trading glances until you get to a pink nissan 350z, and you take a step closer, trying to mask your curiosity by keeping your expression passive, neutral, and bored.

but your eyes flick over it, unintentionally admiring. there's a small chip in the front bumper and some minor damage on the side. still, it's a beautiful car—the kind of beautiful that can't be denied. "that's..."

"giselle's," karina says, amused by your awe.

"you didn't tell me you knew her," you murmur, crouching just slightly to take in the angle of the spoiler. "jesus, this thing is ridiculous."

karina's eyes flick sideways. "you like it?"

"i'd marry it."

she laughs. the sound is different from the sharp, low noise you heard her make the first time you saw her. it's soft and melodic. you didn't think a laugh could ever make you feel this warm inside.

karina's still smiling when you stand again, brushing your hands on the sides of your jeans.

you try to keep your breathing steady, but her gaze is distracting.

you stretch your neck a little, trying not to overthink it. "what?" you ask.

"nothing." her voice is light. playful. she's lying.

you roll your eyes. she snorts, grabbing you by the wrist. and you follow, letting her pull you back toward the beach, her palm pressed flat to yours.

the breeze picks up, pushing you gently forward. she doesn't let go. her fingers slot perfectly between yours, and when she pulls you into a circle, the warmth spreads through you, sinking deep into your bones.

"you're secretly soft." you break the silence with a hushed whisper, as if not wanting to shatter the moment.

karina arches a brow, a smile tugging at her lips. you can see a challenge glimmering in her eyes, like she wants to prove you wrong but also prove you right.

she tightens her grip.

tilts her head.

and her voice is barely a whisper as she leans in closer and says, "you wish, hotshot."

and then she turns, still holding your hand, guiding you through the thinning crowd. you don't ask where you're going. you don't care. you'd follow her anywhere right now.

eventually, you stop beside the silvia, parked on the edge of the lot, closest to the sand. her windows are cracked. the scent of ocean air floods your senses. karina turns toward you, letting her eyes slide over your face, her gaze lingering on the bridge of your nose, then dipping to your mouth, before moving back up towards your eyes.

"you wanna drive?"

you blink. "what?"

she nods toward the silvia. "wanna drive?"

your heartbeat skips, but you keep it under control. "you're joking."

"i'm not."

you stare at her for a second, speechless. you could swear she's enjoying herself. you shift, stepping away and taking in the sight of the car again. the black paint, the lowered stance.

"yeah." you pause. look her in the eyes, almost scared that if you don't hold her gaze, this will all turn out to be a dream. "yeah, i wanna drive."

the smile on her face is instant, her dimples making her cheeks look full, her eyes glinting. she tosses you the keys, and you catch them with both hands like they might shatter if they hit the ground.

getting into her silvia feels weird—personal, intimate, like stepping into a home that isn't yours. but when she slides in beside you, settling into the passenger seat with a satisfied hum, all that worry fades away.

she looks at you, leaning back in the chair with her arms crossed and a knowing grin playing on her lips. "let's see what you got, hotshot," she muses, turning to stare ahead.

it doesn't matter that the silvia's a few years old or that her leather is starting to peel. the engine is powerful and responsive. she runs so clean you'd swear she just rolled off the factory line. when you open her up, you hear the v6 rev, a throaty, sexy sound.

"oh shit, is that a coyote?" you murmur, your foot easing off the accelerator and tapping the brakes.

she scoffs, almost sounding offended. "what? like you weren't already in love."

"never said i wasn't," you say, the corner of your mouth lifting. "just didn't expect you to actually have a proper engine in this thing. figured you'd have some gerbil running around a wheel, getting fat off all those rotations."

her brow twitches. she looks amused. "is that really how you're gonna talk while sitting behind the wheel of my baby?"

you grin.

she narrows her eyes. "watch it."

you flex your fingers around the leather-covered steering wheel, still staring straight ahead, trying to resist the urge to tease her just a little bit more.

"okay," she says after a beat, glancing out the window like she's debating something. "take the next right."

you do, no hesitation.

the street curves, narrowing between trees and low apartment buildings. it's quiet, a bit too quiet after the meet, and you pull to the curb slowly, shifting the car into park. your foot lingers on the brake.

you don't move. not right away.

she glances at you, brow raised.

"what, waiting for applause?" she teases, already unclipping her seatbelt.

you shake your head, grinning as you kill the engine. "just soaking it in. that might be the most fun i've had all week."

karina hums like she doesn't believe you, but the way she looks at you says otherwise. she lets her fingers slip under the door handle and pushes it open, one knee popping out. and then her body follows.

you follow behind, walking her to the building, hand curled loosely around her keys, and when you stop, she turns to face you.

she holds her hand out. "keys."

you oblige, dropping them into her palm with a grin. "thanks for trusting me."

she smiles a bit. shakes her head.

there's a stretch of silence where the two of you are just sort of smiling at each other, neither of you wanting to look away or say anything, until you give her one last smile before pulling out your phone and plopping down onto the curb, unlocking it and clicking on your contact book.

karina cocks her head curiously.

"what are you doing?"

"calling a taxi," you mutter, not even looking up from your screen. "or an uber...maybe."

she stares at you like you just told her the earth is flat. karina blinks. "you're serious."

you glance up, thumbs still hovering over the screen. "uh. yeah?"

she lets out a quiet breath—somewhere between a scoff and a laugh—and takes a step closer. "you just drove my car like you were born in it, said it was the most fun you've had all week, and now you're gonna call a taxi? you're really gonna sit here like a sad little valet?"

you lower your phone. "okay, first of all, that's rude."

karina watches you for a beat longer, then sighs—exaggerated, dramatic—before jingling her keys and nodding toward the building.

"come up."

you hesitate.

"i'm not going to ask twice." her tone is firm.

you can't argue with her. so you take the bait and get up from the sidewalk, slipping the phone back into your pocket. she steps toward the entrance and pulls the door open, glancing over her shoulder just long enough to give you a look that tells you to follow, which you do.

the lobby is dark. she leads the way without stopping.

you end up following her up several flights of stairs, only letting out a small grunt once when the third-floor landing comes into view, the number stenciled onto the wall in silver. she doesn't hear you.

once you reach the landing, you can't help but glance around the space. it's nothing impressive: white walls, blue carpets, and light-colored lights blinking above, the hall empty save for the two of you. karina keeps going, doesn't break stride, and you match her pace without a word, not daring to disturb the quiet.

she stops at the door near the end of the corridor and reaches into her pocket. a jangle of metal, and she pops the key in the lock, twisting and turning, then nudging it open and stepping inside.

it's nice. nothing like your old place or the studio apartment you're renting now, but nice. homey. there are pillows on the sofa and books on the shelves. the scent of coffee lingers, and the table has a cute little flower-print runner. you've never been to a home that looks like this, not that you've been to many, anyway.

she doesn't stop to talk or even look back. she moves forward and slides off her jacket, tossing it on the countertop.

"so this is it," she murmurs, hands bracing the edge. "kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, balcony." she gestures. her nails are painted, chipping slightly.

"cute place," you say, not moving from the spot you're glued to. "suits you."

she scoffs. "is that a compliment?"

"maybe," you grin, scratching the back of your neck and rocking on your heels. "can't quite figure you out."

her eyes stay trained on the ground as a soft, dry laugh leaves her throat. "not hard," she shrugs. "i'm not that complicated." liar.

your eyes trail over the side of her face, trying to find something you're not sure even exists.

that's when something soft brushes against your leg.

you look down.

a fluffy black cat is winding itself through your legs, purring softly and blinking its golden eyes at you, as if welcoming you home.

"that's clementine," karina says, dropping her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door. "she's sassy."

you crouch slowly, hand out. clementine doesn't hesitate. she presses her little head into your palm like she's known you her whole life.

karina glances back and stares. "wow. okay. she never likes people that fast."

"guess she likes me."

karina makes a noncommittal noise as she walks to the kitchen and disappears around the corner.

you end up sitting on the couch with clementine stretched across your lap like a spoiled queen. she purrs so hard your thighs vibrate, her paws kneading at the hem of your hoodie, and you don't even realize how tired you are until your eyelids start to droop.

you shift a little, stretch your legs out, and blink slowly. you don't mean to let your eyes close, but your head tilts back against the cushion and your body goes heavy before you can stop it.

karina leans in the doorway, sipping from a glass she barely remembers filling. she takes one look at you, then glances over to the window and lets her eyes slide shut. she wants to tell you to go.

instead, she's trying to figure out when exactly the mood changed. you look too comfortable. it throws her off. and maybe she wants to be that comfortable, too.

karina lets herself look at you again, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, your hands curled loosely on clementine's sides. she should probably wake you, maybe even offer to buy you a ride home or something—

but, somehow, her feet carry her into the bathroom, where she moves through her routine on autopilot—brushing her teeth, washing her face, and tying her hair back. it's quiet, but her mind is loud, full of thoughts she doesn't want to name.

when she flicks off the light and walks barefoot toward her room, the house feels smaller somehow.

she slips under the covers, pulls the blanket up to her chest, and stares at the ceiling.

clementine's not at the foot of the bed like usual.

karina sighs.

"god," she mutters, shoving the blanket back and swinging her legs over the edge. she stands for a second, half-expecting herself to just grab a throw blanket and toss it over you. but the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth. so she heads for the living room instead, one hand reaching out toward the wall to keep herself steady in the darkness.

karina pauses by the couch, peering at you. you're still asleep, one arm now tucked behind your head. she knows that if she wakes you up and tells you to leave, you will. if she says anything to you at all, really, you will.

so, karina doesn't bother with pretense.

"hey," she says softly, standing over you. "wake up."

you blink, squinting. "what..."

she crosses her arms. "you're not sleeping out here."

you make a noise—something between a yawn and a groan—and start to sit up. "sorry. i didn't mean to—"

karina cuts you off, picking up clementine from your lap and stepping to the side. you push yourself upright, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and mumbling another apology.

karina shakes her head, already turning toward the hallway. "c'mon."

you blink after her, still groggy. "huh?"

she looks at you like it was obvious. "to the room," she says, motioning for you to follow her.

the way she says it makes you wonder if maybe there's some double meaning that's getting lost between your brain and her words. you blink, feeling suddenly awake and nervous all at once.

but karina doesn't give you time to think about it, because she's already disappearing into her bedroom.

it's dark.

when she doesn't hear any footsteps, she flicks the lights on, illuminating her bedroom. a single bed rests against the wall, and a small dresser is pressed against the opposite wall.

"there's not really another room, or else i'd just give it to you, but...well," she says, setting clementine onto the bed, the black cat instantly curling up, as if making herself right at home.

she looks at you, and it's the first time tonight where she really seems to be considering the situation. you feel weird. you know you should say thanks or offer her some sort of gratitude, but all the words seem stuck in your throat.

"well," karina sighs, putting her hands on her hips. "you gonna stand there or...?"

"no, sorry," you quickly say, glancing at the floor before looking up and meeting her gaze, her eyes seemingly more relaxed than before. you let out a breath of relief, nodding.

"i, uh. thanks." you offer, the word seeming pathetic, even to you, but her expression stays the same.

she waves her hand in dismissal, then turns, pulling back the covers and slipping under them without looking at you.

you slip in beside her, and she reaches up, hitting the light.

she turns slowly, eyes half-lidded. her voice is quiet. "you're so quiet. what? worried we won't fit?"

you let out a small snort. "no... it's just." you trail off. her gaze shifts down, landing on your lips.

you lick them.

"i like you."

karina doesn't move for a second. then, a slow blink. "you just met me."

"i know."

she tilts her head just slightly. her voice drops. "you think you really mean that?"

you stare at her for a few seconds and nod. once. slowly. "yeah, i do. you make me feel happy and...alive, and, fuck, i don't know how else to explain it, but—just...yeah."

it's silent. you don't say anything after that, letting the silence engulf the room, but when you can't help but let the question escape your tongue, it feels like everything stops.

"do you like me?" you ask, voice hushed, as if not wanting the walls to hear you.

karina swallows. "look where you are."

and, damn, the way she says that. it sounds like a yes. a huge grin breaks out across your face.

you scoot forward a bit. not enough to touch. just enough that she can feel your presence.

she doesn't look at you. instead, her eyes slide shut, and her lips press together. like she can will away the butterflies in her stomach. like she can stop the heat rising through her chest. like she can stop the smile creeping across her lips.

her heart is pounding, but the warmth of your skin makes her feel safer somehow.

and, honestly, this isn't so bad.

morning comes. the sunlight hits karina's face. but the smell of something buttery and warm is the thing that gets her.

she stretches once, then blinks, her hand patting the bed beside her before her eyes even open. the sheets are cold. empty. clementine's gone too. that's the second thing she notices.

she rolls, head poking up just enough to look toward the window. she squints, pushing the blanket off and shuffling toward the door, hair a little messy, still blinking sleepiness away.

when she turns the corner, she finds you standing at the stove, barefoot in yesterday's hoodie, one hand balancing a plate while the other flips something onto it with practiced ease.

you don't hear her at first, too focused on plating.

you're humming something under your breath, probably not even aware you were doing it. karina watches. she sees you reaching into a cupboard for plates and hears the clatter of metal on tile, and the way you don't seem fazed by the noise makes her feel a certain kind of warmth that's impossible to describe.

"you can cook?" she asks, sounding almost skeptical.

your eyes flicker over.

you shrug. "bacon and eggs aren't exactly difficult, but sure."

a laugh. "is that an insult?"

"wouldn't dare."

she smirks.

you walk over, balancing the plate in one hand and holding it out. it's a breakfast sandwich—eggs, bacon, cheese, the works. karina takes it with a blink, clearly surprised, but says nothing.

you head back to the counter, grabbing your own plate, and then do the unthinkable: you plop down next to clementine on the rug, cross-legged, watching her eat her own meal.

karina stands there for a second. looks at the table. looks at you.

then sighs and joins you on the floor, sandwich in hand.

"i have a whole table."

you grin. she rolls her eyes.

you swallow the bite and wipe your mouth. you didn't think this morning would feel this casual, or that karina would be eating beside you, but you can't say you mind.

"i hope you don't mind the eggs," you add.

she looks up at you from the sandwich. "why would i mind?"

"not many people like eggs over hard. even less like over easy."

"over hard?"

you point to her plate with your finger. "cheese melted. yolks still kinda hard."

"you cooked it over hard? what the hell is wrong with you?"

"excuse me," you scoff. "it's a delicacy. don't pretend like you don't like a good over hard."

she tries to look offended, but a chuckle leaves her throat. "i think you're crazy."

"you're the one sitting on the ground with me," you quip. "just eat it, you won't care after a couple of bites."

karina stares at you. blinks. takes a bite. chews. she looks up, swallowing. "oh."

"good, right?" you smile, leaning slightly into her shoulder. she hums. but doesn't shrug you off.

it's quiet for a beat. karina's still picking at her breakfast, and you've finished yours already, leaning your weight onto the palm of your hands, clementine curled into your side.

"i leave tomorrow. to italy." you say suddenly, your head turned, watching her carefully.

she nods. she doesn't seem bothered, not at all. her lips press together, then purse a bit, then curve upward. "good. you're being too nice."

"really? i'm too nice?" you mutter.

she pauses, setting the sandwich back on the plate. she's thinking. you can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "yeah." she smiles, just a little. "yeah. this was nice. you're nice."

"just nice?" you grin, feeling the relief seep out of every pore in your body, making you a bit lighter, a bit happier than you were seconds ago.

karina raises a brow, picking up her food again. "you looking for a review, hotshot?"

"always. gotta build up my rating."

a soft laugh leaves her throat. she takes a bite. shrugs. swallows. then looks you dead in the eyes and says, "two out of five stars."

"that's a shit rating."

"what can i say?" her tone is nonchalant. "the egg was overcooked, and the chef had terrible manners."

you roll your eyes and push yourself to your feet, swiping her now empty plate from her grasp. "so rude."

karina gives a long-suffering sigh, pressing the pads of her fingers together. she's not quite smiling, but her dimple gives her away.

you put the plates into the sink, already turning to wash them, but your phone is buzzing in your back pocket. you slide it out, your body tensing and lips thinning out at the screen.

karina glances sideways at your sudden stillness.

you swipe to answer and bring the phone to your ear.

"hello?"

"don't 'hello' me," your manager snaps, his voice crackling through the speaker. "you think i wouldn't hear about you participating in a street race? are you out of your mind? you're under contract, you—"

you take a deep breath, ignoring the heat in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your jaw. you don't bother asking him how he knew. there were cameras everywhere, and you weren't exactly low-key. this was inevitable. you're not naive.

"sorry. won't happen again."

he doesn't even acknowledge it, just barrels ahead. "you're supposed to be resting. not doing... whatever the fuck this is. if you got caught, you'd be suspended. what the hell were you thinking?"

"nothing," you snap, then pinch the bridge of your nose.

the room feels heavy. your heart sinks, and when you glance up at karina, she's staring back at you. she knows, just by the way your body is shifting and the frustration on your face, that something is wrong.

"i wasn't thinking," you mutter. "it just happened."

"jesus. you're not in some underground film; you're a professional racer. this isn't how champions act."

you want to throw the phone across the room.

"okay," you bite.

"okay?" he sputters, taken aback by your short response.

"okay."

silence.

"well," he mutters. "fine."

there's a click. you hang up.

for a few seconds, all you do is breathe. the water keeps running in the background. your chest aches, the air seeming a bit more difficult to drag in.

you hear the sound of wood creaking and footsteps behind you. and then, karina.

she places a hand on your shoulder. light. reassuring.

"everything alright?"

you shake your head. you're too exhausted to lie. she nods, her other hand finding yours and slipping her fingers between yours. she squeezes gently.

"wanna go for a drive?"

you shake your head. "i should probably prepare. leaving tomorrow."

her gaze meets yours. a bit worried but not pitying. "okay." she doesn't ask anything else. doesn't expect more than what you give her.

when you make your way to her door after fifteen minutes of small talk and exchanging numbers (after you had to slightly beg), you step out into the hallway of the apartment building and pause.

"guess this is me actually leaving," you say with a half-smile, trying to keep it light.

she hums. "guess so."

it's a few moments later, both of you not moving, until karina tilts her head a little, a slight frown pulling on her mouth.

"call me after, okay?" she says. it's a question, but the tone of her voice makes it clear there's not an option.

you let a small, relieved exhale out through your nostrils. you stare for a bit, smile widening. "okay... can i get a kiss goodbye?" you ask, tilting your head, trying to sound casual about it—even though you're 80% joking and 20% hoping she surprises you.

karina doesn't miss a beat.

she steps forward like she might close the distance—like maybe she's thinking about it—and then with a grin that's way too smug for this early in the morning, she reaches around you... and pulls the door closed.

"bye, hotshot," she says sweetly before gently shutting the door in your face.

you blink, stunned.

following that, you snort and knock on the door three times, earning a huffed chuckle.

"tease," you say.

"bye!" she sings through the door.

jeno insisted on you coming over to his for breakfast before your flight. even though he doordashed the breakfast ten minutes before you arrived, it still feels very him. he's one of the only people you trust with everything, even the most boring or trivial things. you can tell him absolutely everything, and it wouldn't be awkward. he's just a really good person like that.

you're sitting cross-legged on his couch with a mouthful of waffles, scrolling aimlessly through your phone while something plays low on the tv—some racing rerun neither of you are actually watching.

"dude," jeno says around a mouthful of food, "you know you have an international flight in, like, five hours, right?"

you glance at the clock on your phone. 9:42 am. your flight's not till two, but he's not wrong. "yeah," you mutter, chewing. "i know."

he raises a brow. "so why do you look like you're about to fall asleep right here?"

you shrug. "didn't really sleep."

he hums. "because of the race?"

you pause. trying to come up with a lie. then, with a sigh, admit the truth. "yeah. i guess. maybe. a bit."

he chuckles, his shoulders lifting just a fraction as the corners of his mouth tilt upward. it's quiet for a beat, the sound of chewing filling the space.

then he shifts, setting his plate on the table, and clears his throat. "is that all, or...should i assume it has something to do with karina?"

you freeze, the last of your waffle halfway to your lips, eyes snapping up to meet his.

he grins, already looking way too satisfied.

you sigh, dropping the fork and slumping back against the cushions, shoving the phone in your pocket. "it's not—i don't...how the hell did you even know?"

his eyebrows shoot up. he blinks at you. once. twice. three times.

"we share locations. you've been out and about... without me. me! for two days. so, i have a couple of guesses. first, and this is a stretch, but it's not outside the realm of possibility—" he takes a dramatic breath. "you finally got some."

you scoff.

"nailed it!" he crows.

you glare. "wrong."

"c'mon, i'm never wrong." he shoves his arm into your chest, teasing and lighthearted. "but fine, second guess? she took you for a drive in that silvia we both love so much, and you got all heart-eyed, and now you're missing her. i've seen this play out before."

your glare wavers, but you refuse to smile, giving him an exaggerated eyeroll. "if i wanted advice, i'd call jaemin."

he presses his hands to his chest. "that's fair," he muses. then, softer, he leans his shoulder against yours, head tilted. "you're nervous. that's fine. but it'll work out, or it won't, and you'll survive either way."

"easy for you to say. you're in an eight-year relationship. this isn't the same."

he chuckles. "why not?"

"because!" you sigh. "because i just met her and already feel like—" you shake your head, suddenly irritated and overwhelmed, and drop your plate onto the coffee table.

jeno is patient, but you can see him grinning at your reaction.

"like what?" he pushes, nudging you with his foot.

"like..." you trail off.

he gives you a minute. then two. then three. and then the words are spilling from your mouth without warning, "i like her."

jeno laughs. soft, sweet.

"good. keep it that way."

you groan, pulling the collar of your hoodie up over your face, wanting the warmth of it to melt you into the couch. "this is awful," you groan, voice muffled by the fabric.

...

"can i borrow your car?"

his head whips toward you. "no."

you blink. "what?! why?"

"i'm not letting you use my baby just to go on a goodbye tour."

you sit up a little straighter. "i'm not joyriding. i just—" you hesitate. "i want to see her before i leave. one more time."

jeno stares at you for a second, expression unreadable, before he sighs and grabs the keys off the counter. he dangles them in front of you.

"if she scratches my bumper with her tight-ass driveway, i'm billing you."

you grin and take them. "you're the best."

"yeah, yeah," he mutters. "just don't do anything gross in my seats."

you park a block away, just like last time. when you climb out of the car, you stand and take a second to appreciate the neighborhood. you didn't get to really pay attention before.

it's not as fancy as you'd thought. most of the buildings look a little worse for wear. paint's chipped, tiles are cracked. some of the grass looks dead, or hasn't been mowed in a few days. but you still can't help smiling as you pass the kids playing hopscotch. it's charming. quaint. homey.

you shoot her a text.

you you up? come outside

it only takes a minute. you can feel the phone buzzing against your palm, and when you glance up, karina's stepping onto the sidewalk.

she doesn't say anything. she doesn't wave or

run up and hug you. just waits until you're standing across from each other, breathing in the morning air and pretending like it isn't the strangest goodbye you've ever had.

you rub the back of your neck. "so..."

her lips twitch. "you gonna tell me why you're here, or do i have to guess?"

a small laugh leaves your throat, and you try to think of the right words. you'd spent the whole walk over practicing in your head. now that the moment's here, they seem to have vanished.

"just...wanted to say thanks."

karina tilts her head, curiosity flitting across her features.

"thanks for letting me in, for making me feel less shitty. and for taking me on a ride that made my top ten favorites list." you give a shrug. it's a dumb gesture. not enough, somehow. but it's all you can come up with.

the corners of her mouth curl up into a half-smile. you can't figure out how you're managing to stay so cool and collected right now, but the thought makes something warm flare up in the pit of your stomach.

"not bad for a beginner," she teases.

you snort, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jeans and rocking slightly. you look around.

karina walks over to the car with her sweats and a cropped tee, hair tied half up, expression unreadable except for the faintest tug at the corner of her lips. she hops up onto the hood of jeno's car, stretching her legs and leaning back, elbows resting on the metal.

you turn to face her fully. "really, though. i needed a good distraction and a good drive, and you gave me both."

her eyes drift closed. she breathes in and out. you stare. the sun shines on her eyelids, and you notice how soft they are. how peaceful she looks.

when her eyes open, you almost gasp. the way she's looking at you now. it's different than before. her gaze has an intensity behind it, an urgency, like there's something else she wants to say, and she's holding back.

but after a second, she glances off and pulls a strand of hair loose, wrapping it around her finger.

"stop being sappy," she murmurs, pushing off the hood. "i'm sure italy has a million good drivers."

you shake your head. "nah, no one could top you."

"you seriously wore the hat?" she asks, legs swinging slightly as she looks you up and down, grinning.

you lift your brows. "it's my hat."

she giggles. "you're such a dork."

you shrug. "it's my last day before italy. i'm allowed to be sentimental."

"what times your flight?"

"two," you say, watching her carefully.

she nods, slow. "that's why you're here."

"partly," you admit. "jeno's taking me to the airport, so i've got time. figured if i left without seeing you again, i'd regret it."

her face softens, just for a second. she looks away before it stays too long.

"you gonna win?" she asks, nudging you with her elbow.

"i'm gonna try."

and subsequently, without saying anything, you reach up, pull the cap off your head, and gently place it on her own. she stares at you like she's never seen someone this weird.

"so, um...i have something to ask."

"oh?" she looks up at you, an eyebrow arching slightly, a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

"um, well…" you trail off. there's not a doubt in your mind about how ridiculous you must seem right now, stumbling over your words while trying not to freak out.

"well...?" she prods.

"fuck."

she laughs, and the sound is sweet and real. "god, just ask."

your cheeks are on fire. this is awful. why did you think this was a good idea? "fine! umm...i want you to come to my race."

"you think i'd actually fly out just to watch you show off?"

"yeah. because you're a competitive little shit and love the sport as much as i do. don't try to deny it; you love cars just as much as any other racing enthusiast. plus," you add, feeling braver, "i just gave you my good luck hat, so if you don't show up wearing it, i'll probably lose. just come, please."

her eyes flit between yours.

there's a beat.

and then, "you're a weirdo, you know that, right?"

"but?" you grin, already knowing where she's going.

"but..." she trails off. smirks. "i'll see what i can do."

her smirk lingers like she's got one more sarcastic jab lined up—but it never comes. you're close now. closer than you should be with someone you've only known for a couple of days, but it doesn't feel wrong.

it feels inevitable.

you look at her. her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her eyeliner is messy, and her dimples are showing. it hits you suddenly how pretty she is. how lucky you are to have found her, even by chance.

you don't think before leaning in. your arms slide around her waist, and your nose brushes hers. and, god, when her lips touch yours, everything seems to stop.

the world fades away, and you're in some kind of trance, caught up in her, not thinking, not breathing. you're moving slowly, but the heat of her is overwhelming.

and then you kiss her.

her lips are soft. warm. her breath is minty from the tea she's drinking, and her tongue tastes like strawberries. she lets out a muffled groan when your hand finds her jaw, cupping it and tilting her head a bit. her skin is smooth. it makes your pulse spike and your knees go weak.

you've never wanted anything more than her.

not now. maybe not ever.

"go." she murmurs.

you lean back, staring into her eyes. she's a bit dazed, but regardless, her gaze is sharp and steady.

"what?"

"go before you start getting clingy." she mumbles, smiling, hopping off the hood, hands on your hips as she gives you one final quick kiss.

you can't help the smile on your face, feeling slightly lightheaded, and press a small kiss onto her cheek before sliding into the car and turning on the ignition, waving to karina as you pull off the curb.

she's still there when you reach the end of the street, arms folded, watching as you turn and drive off, disappearing from her vision.

"goddammit, hotshot."

519 notes · View notes