#magic!jimin x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minxmut-cafe · 5 months ago

Text

HEXED HEARTS | part 1.

Pairing : Slytherin Jimin x Huffle puff Reader

Word count : 18k words

Authors note : I AM BACK!!! Ik it's been a LONG time since I posted LMAO but my exams are going on and I really need to focus lol. This had been in my requests for a long time lol. Also I haven't really watched Harry potter. So my apologies if there's something inaccurate in it. But I hope you enjoy it. ALSO this was originally supposed to be one part but it got too long T T. So it's now a 3 part story because of the word count limit.

PART 2 | PART 3

Warning : Smut, spell, mentions of poison, Sexual penetration, PWP, cunnilingus, intercourse, oral sex (F receiving), bullying, threats, enemies to lover???, masturbation, accidental voyeurism.

Synopsis :

Jimin, a cocky Slytherin, relentlessly bullies the sweet, naive little Hufflepuff. After accidentally hitting her with a charm, she becomes love-struck and overly vulnerable. Despite her efforts to hide it, her innocence makes her an easy target for his teasing and the manipulations of others, leaving her trapped in confusion and desire. In an attempt to revert her back to normal...things take an interesting turn.

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Jimin leaned against the cold stone wall of the Hufflepuff common room entrance, his usual smug grin plastered on his face as he watched the young Hufflepuff girl approach. She was just about to pass him, her arms clutching a freshly bought butterbeer from the Hogwarts kitchen, when he blocked her path with a lazy flick of his wand.

"Got something for me, love?" he teased, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he eyed the bottle in her hands.

The girl, her name was Y/N, tried to sidestep him, but Jimin’s other hand shot out, snatching the bottle from her grip effortlessly.

"Hey!" she squeaked, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. “Give it back!”

Jimin didn’t even flinch, instead, he raised the bottle just out of her reach, savoring the discomfort he was causing. "Oh? Why should I?" he taunted, eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle. "You’re so innocent, aren't you? Too sweet for your own good."

Y/N huffed, her breath shaky as she tried to stand her ground. She didn’t know what it was about him—how he could mock her so easily, take her things, laugh at her expense—and yet, she couldn’t ever seem to stay mad for long. There was something about him that made her heart race, even when she hated what he was doing to her.

Jimin saw the telltale flush creeping up her neck and smirked. Too easy. But then, an idea sparked in his mind. He flicked his wand again, just for fun, and whispered a quick incantation. A flash of light and—whoops—the charm hit her square in the chest.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, he noticed it.

Y/N blinked, her gaze locking on his, a soft, dazed look clouding her usually clear eyes. She bit her lip and swayed slightly, almost as though the world around her had lost its balance.

What the hell did I just do? Jimin thought, a cold shiver running down his spine. He’d only meant to play another prank, not... this.

"Y/N?" he asked, voice lower now, suddenly unsure of the situation.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her fingers tightened around the edges of her robes, and her breath came out in shallow bursts.

“Are you alright?” he pressed, though the devilish grin hadn’t left his face.

Y/N’s response wasn’t quite what he expected. She blinked at him again, as if seeing him for the first time, and said softly, “You’re... beautiful.”

Jimin’s smirk faltered.

He watched, almost fascinated, as she stumbled over her words, her hands fidgeting at her sides. Whatever he had done, it had affected her in ways he didn’t understand.

Well, this could be interesting.

But as she stood there, clearly confused by whatever magic had just altered her perception, Jimin couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong.

This is getting really interesting—Jimin's slow realization of how much he messed up, combined with his initial indifference, adds a lot of tension. Here’s how the next scene could play out:

Jimin had never thought much about the aftermath of his teasing. He’d throw a snide comment here, steal a butterbeer there—nothing too serious. The little Hufflepuff was easy to rile up, her reactions far too amusing for him to stop. But lately... something had changed.

Over the past few weeks, Y/N has become strange. More sensitive to his taunts, more flustered than usual. It was almost too easy now. A simple smirk in her direction had her stammering, and sometimes—Merlin forbid—she would look at him with wide, starry eyes, as if he had just saved her from a dragon instead of, say, hexing her quill to scribble nonsense on her parchment.

He didn't think much of it. Maybe she was just being her usual naive self. Maybe she was just going through a phase.

But then, the whispers started.

Jimin had always known she was an easy target—too trusting, too kind for her own good—but lately, people were taking more advantage of her than before. The usual teasing had shifted into something uglier. More cruel. A few times, he caught her looking startled when a group of boys brushed past her too closely in the halls, or freezing up when someone flicked their wand and sent her books tumbling.

Still, he ignored it.

At least, he did until that night.

Jimin had been heading back to his dorm, barely paying attention as he strolled through the dimly lit corridors of the castle. The halls were mostly empty—curfew was approaching—when something made him pause.

A soft sniffle.

He turned the corner, brows furrowing, and what he saw made his stomach clench.

Y/N. Sitting on the cold stone floor, knees drawn up to her chest, her hands curled weakly around them. Her robes were slightly disheveled, her usually bright expression replaced by something hollow. The candlelight flickered against her skin, highlighting the bruises on her knees, a few more scattered on her hands and calves.

Jimin didn’t move at first.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that sudden, uncomfortable pang in his chest, but it was there, unwelcome and nagging.

Y/N sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

Jimin should have walked away. Should’ve pretended he didn’t see.

Instead, he exhaled sharply and took a step forward. "Oi."

She flinched, her head snapping up. For a second, her dazed eyes met his, and he saw it—the hesitation, the lingering effect of whatever stupid charm he had hit her with.

"...Jimin?" she whispered, blinking in confusion.

He clenched his jaw.

"Tch. What are you doing sitting on the floor like a pathetic little lost kitten?" he muttered, crouching down to her level. His voice was sharp, but his movements were careful.

Y/N swallowed thickly, lowering her gaze. "I—I just... tripped," she lied, a weak attempt at brushing it off.

Jimin's eyes flickered over her bruises. Liar.

For the first time in weeks, his teasing words didn’t come. His usual smirk felt foreign on his lips.

Because deep down, a part of him knew—this wasn’t just some random accident. And the worst part?

It was his fault.

Jimin stayed crouched in front of her, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something unreadable. His sharp eyes scanned the bruises on her skin, the way her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the fabric of her robe.

He clicked his tongue. "Who did this?"

Y/N blinked at him, eyes glassy from unshed tears.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something firmer. "I’m serious, Y/N. Who? Was it those Ravenclaw pricks? Or was it Jeongmin again?"

She sniffled.

Jimin’s patience was wearing thin. He had seen the way people treated her lately—hell, he’d contributed to it—but even he had limits. This wasn’t just a bit of teasing anymore. Someone had hurt her.

“Y/N,” he pressed, a little softer this time, watching her lower lip wobble. “Tell me.”

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her robes. Then, instead of answering, she let out a tiny, pitiful noise—half a sniffle, half a whimper—and pouted up at him, her wide eyes shimmering under the dim torchlight.

“Why is everyone so mean to me?”

Jimin froze.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had been ready for a name, for a snarky excuse, maybe even a dismissive I’m fine. But this? This small, defeated question?

It made something in his chest twist—tight and unfamiliar.

Y/N sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “I don’t—I don’t even do anything bad,” she hiccuped, voice cracking. "But—but they keep taking my things, and laughing, and—" she bit her lip, looking down. "Even when I say stop, they just laugh harder."

Jimin felt his fingers twitch.

For the first time, he actually looked at her. Not just as the gullible little Hufflepuff he loved to torment, not as the girl who got flustered too easily or tripped over her own feet.

But as someone who was genuinely hurting.

And the worst part? A good portion of that was his fault.

Jimin ran his tongue over his teeth, inhaling sharply. His pride wouldn’t let him soften completely, but for once, the usual amusement in his voice was gone when he muttered, "Tch. They’re idiots. They don’t know any better."

Y/N pouted harder. "But why?"

Jimin clenched his jaw. Why? Because you’re too trusting. Because you never fight back. Because you’re too soft for a school full of people who don’t deserve your kindness. Because—

Because I started it.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off his robes.

"Come on," he muttered, holding a hand out.

She blinked up at him. "Huh?"

"You heard me, Hufflepuff. Get up."

She hesitated, but when she finally placed her smaller hand in his, Jimin was hit with a sudden warmth. He ignored it, gripping her wrist and tugging her up to her feet.

She wobbled slightly, her balance off, and before he could think, Jimin’s hands found her waist to steady her.

Too close.

His breath hitched. Y/N was staring up at him again, wide-eyed, lips parted in surprise.

For a second, Jimin forgot why he was supposed to be mad. Why he was even here. All he could focus on was the way her fingers were gripping his sleeve like he was something safe. Like she trusted him.

Like he wasn’t the reason she was like this in the first place.

His grip on her waist tightened before he quickly let go. "Tch. Stop looking at me like that," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Like what?" she sniffled.

He rolled his eyes, turning on his heel. "Never mind."

But as he walked away, jaw tight, he knew one thing for certain—

This was his mess to clean up.

Jimin wasn’t the type to lose sleep over guilt.

But that night, as he lay in his dorm, arms crossed behind his head, he found himself staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Y/N had sniffled up at him with wide, heartbroken eyes.

Why is everyone so mean to me?

He scowled, turning onto his side. Tch. Stupid girl.

Still, when morning came, Jimin found himself paying more attention than usual.

She was easy to spot—Hufflepuffs were loud, and her friend group had the energy of overeager puppies. But even as she chattered away with them, he could tell she wasn’t fully herself. Her movements were stiff, her usual sunshine-like warmth dimmed.

And she was still too damn trusting.

Jimin’s wand twitched in his sleeve as he watched from a distance. A small hex here, a charm there—little things. Subtle things. When she nearly walked into a swinging suit of armor, an invisible force nudged her just enough to avoid it. When a group of Ravenclaws whispered too loudly about her, their quills inexplicably snapped in half. And when one particularly brave Slytherin tried to jinx her from behind?

Well. Jimin had ways of making sure the hex rebounded.

He wasn’t sure what exactly had changed overnight. All he knew was that watching her flinch at every little thing left a bad taste in his mouth.

So, when lunchtime rolled around, and he caught sight of a certain someone sneering in Y/N’s direction, all thoughts of subtlety went out the window.

Jeongmin.

The arrogant bastard was lounging at the Ravenclaw table, shooting Y/N a knowing smirk while she hurried past him, clutching her books a little tighter.

Jimin tilted his head. Interesting.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he was paying attention, he saw it—the way Jeongmin’s friends elbowed each other, laughing under their breath. The way Y/N ducked her head, trying to disappear.

Jimin flexed his fingers. So, you’re the one.

He stood from his seat, rolling his shoulders lazily. He wasn’t impulsive per se—every move he made was calculated. But some things required creativity.

A hex would be too obvious. A fight? Too much paperwork.

No, if Jimin was going to deal with this, he’d do it the smart way.

The Slytherin way.

Later That Evening…

Jeongmin never saw it coming.

One minute, he was on his way back from the library, minding his own business. The next, the torches in the corridor flickered, and a chilling voice murmured from the shadows—

"Going somewhere, Jeongmin?"

The Ravenclaw barely had time to react before he was shoved—hard—against the cold stone wall.

Jimin leaned in, his wand pressing just under Jeongmin’s chin.

"Funny thing," he mused, voice eerily calm. "I heard something interesting today."

Jeongmin swallowed, trying—and failing—to push back. Jimin barely exerted any force, but the weight of his presence alone kept him pinned.

"I heard," Jimin continued, tilting his head, "that you’ve been running your mouth. That you’ve been having a little too much fun at someone else’s expense." His eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight. "That true?"

Jeongmin wet his lips. "I—I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

Jimin clicked his tongue. Wrong answer.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Jeongmin’s knees buckled, forcing him down.

"Try again," Jimin murmured.

Jeongmin gasped, but Jimin crouched, keeping their eye level dangerously close.

"You know," he continued conversationally, "there are certain spells that don’t leave a mark. No proof. No trace." He hummed, tapping his wand against his palm. "Ever heard of the Cold Shiver Hex? Makes it feel like insects are crawling under your skin for days."

Jeongmin’s breath hitched.

"Or the Whisper Curse? A tiny spell—nothing major. But it does make sure you hear the same voice in your head, over and over." Jimin smiled, slow and sharp. "My voice. Repeating one little word."

He leaned in. "Run."

Jeongmin trembled.

Jimin exhaled, letting the silence stretch.

Then, just as suddenly, he stood, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

"Stay," he drawled, stepping back. "Out of her way."

With one last, lingering glance, he turned on his heel, disappearing down the corridor.

Behind him, Jeongmin slumped against the wall, shaking.

Jimin didn’t look back.

But as he made his way toward the common room, a smirk finally tugged at his lips.

Messing with Y/N? Big mistake.

Y/N barely had time to register what was happening before she found herself being dragged through the corridors, her feet stumbling over the cold stone floor.

“Jimin—wait—!” she yelped, nearly tripping.

“Stop whining.”

“Where are we going?”

“The library.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

She puffed out her cheeks in protest, huffing as she tried to keep up. He had grabbed the back of her coat, practically hauling her along like a misbehaving cat.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” she mumbled, pouting. “You’re always mean, but today feels extra mean.”

Jimin’s eye twitched.

She was the one pouting? She was the one acting like he was being unreasonable? After all the absolute bullshit he had to clean up because of her ridiculous condition?

He inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm.

She wasn’t wrong, though. He was grumpy.

For one, he had spent half his day making sure no one dared to lay a hand on her again. And two, he was pissed at himself.

Because now that he was paying attention, the signs were obvious. The dazed, dreamy looks. The way she got flustered way too easily. How she stared at him all starry-eyed when he so much as breathed in her direction.

And the worst part?

This wasn’t normal.

Not for her.

Y/N was naturally soft, sure. But she wasn’t—or at least, she hadn’t always been—this stupidly, pathetically love-struck.

Which meant… he had caused this.

Somehow.

And that was why they were marching to the library.

Jimin threw her into a chair.

“Sit.”

Y/N let out a tiny squeak, blinking up at him in bewilderment. “You didn’t have to be so rough, you know.”

Jimin ignored her, already scanning the shelves for what he needed. His fingers skimmed the spines of several books—Obscure Charms and How to Break Them, Hexes, Curses, and Accidental Magic, The Unspoken Dangers of Misdirected Spells.

He pulled out three, dropping them onto the table with a thud.

Y/N flinched.

Jimin took a seat across from her, flipping open the first book.

“Alright,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re going to sit there and not whine while I figure out what the hell is wrong with you.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You. Are. Acting. Weird.”

“I am not!”

Jimin shot her a look.

She wilted. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

He scoffed. A little?

“A lot,” he corrected. “And considering the fact that I may or may not have hit you with an undetermined spell—”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“—we need to fix it before you do something stupid.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms. “I don’t do stupid things.”

Jimin gave her a flat look. “You almost walked straight into a cursed tapestry yesterday.”

“…Oh.”

He smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

She fidgeted. “Well… maybe I am acting a little different,” she admitted, voice soft.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “A little? You’ve been looking at me like I personally hung the stars for the past two weeks.”

Y/N flushed. “I have not—!”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You swooned when I insulted you.”

Y/N gasped. “I did not swoon!”

“You did.”

She buried her face in her hands, groaning. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah, it’s bad.” Jimin flipped a page, scanning for anything useful.

Y/N peeked at him through her fingers. “W-What if…” she hesitated.

“What?”

“What if…” she fidgeted. “What if I like it?”

Jimin froze.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the book, staring at her like she had just grown a second head. “What.”

She squirmed under his stare. “I-I mean… it’s not that bad, right? It’s just a little crush—”

Jimin slammed the book shut.

“Nope.” He stood. “Nope. Absolutely not. We’re fixing this tonight.”

Y/N pouted. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am not—” he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N. You don’t even like me.”

She blinked.

Jimin continued, voice strained. “Before this stupid charm, you hated me.”

Y/N hesitated. “I didn’t hate you…”

“Oh, really?” Jimin drawled. “So you enjoyed when I stole your butterbeer? When I relentlessly mocked you? When I made fun of you in front of the entire class?”

She bit her lip. “…No.”

Jimin pointed at her. “Exactly.”

Y/N slumped in her chair, deflating. “…Then what do we do?”

Jimin sighed, sitting back down. He flipped open another book, eyes scanning the pages.

“We figure out how to reverse it,” he muttered. “Before you start writing my name in hearts on your notebook.”

Y/N let out a tiny squeak, quickly shoving her notebook under the table.

Jimin’s eye twitched.

Merlin help me.

Jimin was trying to focus.

Really, he was.

But it was proving to be exceedingly difficult when Y/N was sitting across from him looking like an actual water nymph, her chin resting on her hands, lips pouting, legs kicking lazily under the table.

She wasn’t even doing anything. Just… being cute. Like it was effortless. Like it wasn’t completely ruining his concentration.

He flipped another page, trying to ignore the way she sighed dreamily, her fingers tracing aimless patterns on the table.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

It wasn’t helping that she kept staring at him, either. Not with her usual wary glances or that signature Hufflepuff softness. No—this was different.

This was… hungry.

Jimin froze.

Wait.

No. No way.

He narrowed his eyes at her, scrutinizing her expression.

Was that—was she looking at him like she wanted to eat him?

His stomach did a weird flip. He immediately shut that thought down.

No. Nope. No way in hell.

This was Y/N they were talking about. The same wide-eyed, Bambi-looking, butterbeer-loving Hufflepuff who probably cried over injured Bowtruckles.

There was no way she was—

Jimin shook his head. She doesn’t even know what horny is.

Right?

…Right?

His eye twitched.

He refused to entertain the thought.

With a deep sigh, he returned his attention to the book, doing his best to block out her utterly bewildering presence.

“Jimin,” she suddenly murmured.

He gritted his teeth. “What.”

She tilted her head. “Why do your hands look so nice?”

Jimin choked.

“What—?”

“They’re so veiny,” she mused, blinking owlishly. “I like them.”

Jimin snapped the book shut.

That was it. He was finding the cure

Jimin flicked her forehead.

“Ow—!” Y/N huffed, rubbing the spot as she pouted at him.

“Stop staring at me like that and help me find the damn spell,” Jimin scolded, flipping the book open again. “Or at least describe what you're feeling so I know what I’m fixing.”

Y/N blinked, looking up at him with big, thoughtful eyes. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

She fidgeted. “Um…”

He sighed impatiently. “Spit it out, Bambi.”

Y/N’s lips wobbled. “I-It’s just… my heart feels like it’s gonna explode, and there’s butterflies, and my knees feel all weak and wobbly, and—and—”

She swallowed, face heating.

Jimin narrowed his eyes. “And?”

Y/N squirmed, avoiding his gaze.

“…T-Tingles.”

Jimin’s brow furrowed. “Tingles?”

She gave a tiny nod.

He frowned. “Where?”

Silence.

Jimin watched as she slowly, very suspiciously, started sinking lower in her chair, face turning redder and redder.

Realization hit him like a Bludger to the chest.

Oh.

Oh, fuck no.

Jimin slammed the book shut.

“We are fixing this right now.”

Y/N jumped at the slam of the book, her already wobbly knees knocking against the chair legs.

Jimin glared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "You're telling me—" he sucked in a sharp breath, "—that I hit you with some random-ass charm that makes you all soft and useless and, and—" His eyes flicked down at her shifting thighs before darting back up. "Tingly?"

Y/N swallowed hard. "W-Well, I wouldn’t say useless…"

Jimin gave her the flattest look.

She fidgeted under his stare, nervously playing with her sleeves. "I just… I feel warm all the time, and everyone seems so much meaner lately, and I don’t know, Jimin, my head's all fuzzy, and my body is—"

"Okay, stop!" he hissed, holding up a hand. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply like he needed patience from the heavens above.

Y/N pursed her lips, eyes glistening. "Why are you mad at me?" she mumbled.

Jimin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I’m not mad at you,” he gritted out. "I'm mad at my own dumbass for hitting you with whatever the hell this is."

Y/N blinked. "Oh."

Then, very softly—"You're not a dumbass."

Jimin’s eye twitched. He shot her a sharp look, only to find her staring at him all dotingly again, her lashes fluttering, her lips slightly parted like he was the most dazzling thing she'd ever seen.

Merlin’s bloody socks.

He had to fix this. Now.

Jimin abruptly stood, yanking his tie loose. "Alright, come on."

Y/N blinked in confusion as he grabbed her coat and dragged her out of her chair.

"Jimin—"

"We're finding this spell and reversing it," he grumbled, tugging her toward the Restricted Section.

Y/N stumbled behind him, half-tripping over her own feet. "Wait—"

"Not waiting, Bambi."

"But—"

"Not but-ing either."

Y/N let out a small, defeated whimper as he marched her through the aisles, her little feet barely keeping up.

Jimin, on the other hand, was fighting for his life to ignore the way she was pouting up at him, her fingers clutching his sleeve like some lost little fawn.

He clenched his jaw.

This spell had to go.

Immediately.

Jimin’s fingers tightened around the book.

His eyes scanned the page once, twice—then a third time just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Aquire the object of your desire.

The words stared mockingly back at him.

His throat went dry. "No way."

Y/N, still swaying slightly beside him, tilted her head. "What does it say?"

Jimin didn’t answer. His mind was racing.

It wasn’t a love spell.

Not some stupid, artificial enchantment forcing her feelings. Not some external force turning her into a love-drunk fool.

It was an amplifier.

The charm didn't create her feelings—it just intensified what was already there.

Jimin sat back, the realization hitting him like a goddamn truck.

Jimin stared at the book. Then at Y/N. Then back at the book.

His brain was short-circuiting.

The charm was an amplifier. It only enhanced feelings that were already there.

Which meant—

She’d already felt like this before.

The stolen glances, the nervous fidgeting, the way she melted when he so much as breathed in her direction. The way she looked at him now—

Like she wanted to devour him.

Jimin swallowed, jaw tightening.

There was only one way to fix this.

He shut the book with an audible thud.

Y/N blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Did you find the cure?”

Jimin exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

She perked up. "Oh! What is it?"

He turned to her, looking her over slowly—her flushed cheeks, the way she was still swaying slightly, her pupils way too dilated for her own good.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips.

"Well…" he drawled.

Y/N tilted her head. "Well…?"

Jimin leaned in, his voice low and unbelievably smug.

“We’ll have to fuck it out.”

Y/N froze.

Silence.

Absolute, earth-shattering silence.

Then—

"WHAT—?"

Y/N’s entire body seized up.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening to the size of saucers. "E-EXCUSE ME?!"

Jimin leaned back against the table, crossing his arms lazily. “You heard me, Bambi.”

Her mouth opened—then closed—then opened again, but no words came out. Her face burned so hot, she swore she was about to spontaneously combust.

Jimin, on the other hand, looked far too pleased with himself. He tilted his head, watching her with a lazy smirk. “I mean, unless you wanna stay like this forever—getting all weak and breathless every time I so much as look at you.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jimin chuckled, low and deep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Her hands flew to her face, her brain scrambling to process what was happening. “T-That can’t be the only way—”

Jimin shrugged. “It’s the fastest way.”

She gawked at him.

He grinned. “What? You’d rather wait weeks for the effects to wear off?” He leaned in again, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or do you wanna fix this tonight?”

Y/N squeaked.

Jimin chuckled again, dark and satisfied. He loved this. Loved watching her squirm, loved how her breathing quickened when he got too close.

And now that he knew she wanted him?

Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

“So?” he purred. “What’s it gonna be, Bambi?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. Her whole body buzzed—with heat, with want, with something overwhelming—but underneath it all, a small, quiet voice whispered: Not yet.

She didn’t know why.

Jimin was right. This was the fastest way to get rid of the spell. She wanted him—hell, the spell made sure of that—but something in her gut twisted at the idea of just… giving in like that.

She wasn’t ready.

Not like this.

Y/N licked her lips, her gaze flickering away. “I… I think I’ll wait.”

Silence.

When she finally dared to look at him, Jimin was just… staring.

Brows slightly furrowed. Lips parted just the tiniest bit. Like she had just spoken in Parseltongue and he couldn’t understand a damn word she’d said.

"You’ll what?"

Y/N felt her chest tighten. “I’ll wait. Until it wears off.”

Jimin’s head tilted. He genuinely looked confused. “Wait.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“Even though you’re, like, two seconds away from melting whenever I so much as breathe near you?”

Y/N whimpered, looking away again. “Y-Yes.”

Jimin blinked, then scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

She frowned. “It’s not!”

He let out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re miserable, Bambi! I see it! You can barely focus, you freeze when someone so much as bumps into you, you can’t even look at me without turning into a puddle!” He gestured at her with both hands. “This is your chance to fix it!”

Y/N flinched.

Jimin stopped.

The frustration in his eyes faltered for just a second.

Then—

Y/N abruptly scampered away.

Jimin didn’t even have time to react. She shot up from her chair, mumbling something about needing to study or sleep or something before she practically ran out of the library.

Jimin was left standing there, staring at the empty space she left behind.

His jaw clenched.

What the fuck just happened?

Jimin wasn't having it.

The moment Y/N ran off, something inside him snapped.

He wasn’t even thinking—his feet just moved, following her out of the library, down the dimly lit corridors, ignoring the ridiculous pounding in his chest.

By the time he caught up to her, she was halfway to the Hufflepuff dorms, walking with her head down, her arms hugged tight around herself.

Jimin grabbed her wrist. “Hey—”

Y/N jumped, eyes wide as she spun around.

“Jimin—”

He exhaled sharply, scanning her face. "What’s wrong?"

Y/N’s lips parted slightly. "I—I told you, I just want to w-wait—”

Jimin’s jaw tightened. "Yeah, and that’s bullshit. You’re burning up, you can barely look at me without your knees buckling, and yet you ran the moment I gave you an actual solution."

She flinched, gaze darting away.

Jimin took a step closer. "So what is it? What’s stopping you?"

Y/N inhaled shakily. She bit her lip, as if debating whether to say anything at all.

Then, finally—

“…Don’t get mad.”

Jimin stiffened.

Something about the way she said it—soft, hesitant, like she was genuinely afraid of his reaction—made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “I won’t.”

Y/N hesitated for a long moment. Then, she sighed.

“…I do have feelings for you.”

Jimin’s breath caught.

She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. "And, yeah, I’m all… hot and bothered and it’s so embarrassing, but…"

She fidgeted with the sleeves of her robe.

"You’ve always been mean to me, Jimin." Her voice was quiet. "You tease me, you steal my stuff, you embarrass me in front of everyone. You’ve never been nice to me before. So how am I supposed to trust that after we… you know… you won’t just go back to treating me like a joke?"

Jimin froze.

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because fuck.

He hadn’t thought about that.

Jimin stared at her.

For the first time in his life, he was completely speechless.

Because—fuck—she was right.

He had been mean to her. He had bullied her. He had made her life at Hogwarts miserable whenever he got the chance.

So why the fuck should she trust him now?

His fingers twitched around her wrist, his grip loosening.

Y/N bit her lip, gaze dropping to the floor. “…See?” she whispered. “You can’t even deny it.”

Jimin’s chest tightened.

His mind raced, searching for something—anything—to say, but for once, his usual sharp tongue failed him.

And then, before he could even try to stop her, she gently pulled her wrist from his grasp and took a step back.

"I need to go." Her voice wavered, but her expression was set. "Please don’t follow me this time."

Jimin didn’t move.

He just stood there, watching as she turned away—her shoulders slumped, her steps small and unsure, her hand brushing against the wall as if she needed to steady herself.

He clenched his jaw.

Something ugly clawed at his chest.

The same feeling he got when he saw her with those assholes. When he saw her bruised and sniffly and small.

He hated that feeling.

And he hated even more that he was the reason she looked like that now.

Jimin exhaled sharply through his nose, his hands clenching into fists.

Fine.

She wanted him to prove he wasn’t the same asshole who had tormented her for years?

Then he fucking would.

Jimin stood there, his chest tight, mind spiraling. The further Y/N walked away from him, the more the words rattled in his brain.

You’ve always been mean to me, Jimin.

He clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack.

Fuck.

He had always known he was a bit of an asshole. He liked pushing people, making them squirm, seeing how far he could go before they cracked. But with her?

It was different.

Something about her made him… possessive.

He wasn’t proud of it, but it was true.

Sure, he bullied her, mocked her, made her life hell—because she was fun to mess with. She was soft, sweet, and naive, too easy to rile up. He loved how she’d get flustered, how her cheeks would heat up when he teased her.

But there was always this little something that lingered under the surface. The moments he couldn’t explain away.

Like that time in third year when he saw some idiot bump into her in the hallway and she dropped her books. He’d been about to walk away, but when she bent down to pick them up, the way the guy looked at her—hungrily—made his blood boil.

He remembered stepping in, elbowing the guy aside with a sharp glare, picking up her books for her, all without a second thought.

And there was the time when he noticed her limping after a quidditch match, her ankle twisted. He’d called her a “freaking idiot” but then cursed under his breath and healed her leg, making sure to be extra gentle as his fingers brushed against her skin.

He'd never said anything, but it bugged him. Every time she looked at him, she saw him as a monster, a bully.

But deep down, he always felt this strange protectiveness. Like no one else was allowed to touch her, to hurt her.

Only he was allowed to hurt her.

And now, realizing the weight of those little moments, he felt it, really felt it.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He had been pushing her away, tormenting her for what? For fun?

A sick feeling churned in his stomach. He wasn’t the same person he used to be, but fuck if he wasn’t still a huge part of the problem.

He cursed himself again.

She’d given him the perfect chance to fix this, to make it right, and instead, he’d acted like a goddamn asshole.

He glanced back toward the direction she’d gone, his hands trembling with frustration.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. No more. He wasn’t going to let her slip away again.

He wasn’t sure what exactly it was yet—whether it was the spell or just how real everything felt now—but he knew this:

He wasn’t done with her. And if he had to destroy his own pride to prove it, then so be it.

CONTINUATION | PART 2

#bts smut #bts x reader #park jimin #jimin smut #namjoon #bts army #bts jin #bts jungkook #fantasy #fluff #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin #hufflepuff #wands #magic #so fucking hot

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taevbears · 2 months ago

Text

Magic Shop - 14

When the path ignites a soul, there's no remaining in place. The foot touches ground, but not for long.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, OT7 + Jimin focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 8.7k ⤑ warnings: character deaths, implied murder, slight angst. ⤑ note: it's literally been a year since i last updated this story lmao. where has the time gone? i did start writing like, half of this chapter for the jimin-focused one, but i also wanted something inbetween his story and Namjoon's. thus, this bonus chapter is here!

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

On a road less-travelled – a narrow path of tangled roots and thick undergrowth – you have a sinking feeling that you’re lost. Somehow, you’ve strayed too far from the others and have gotten yourself turned around.

Black, barren trees surround you. Indistinctive rocks and thick ferns all start to look the same. Your feet are sore and your clothes are tattered and ruined as you endlessly navigate around thorny brambles and over fallen branches. Time seems to stretch unnaturally as a quiet but heavy panic starts to rise in your chest.

Then, within the dense and eerily quiet forest, you hear it.

Their voices. Their laughter. Your seven glimmers of hope.

Without hesitation, you follow the sounds. You no longer care about the ache in your steps or how worn you are. You just want to go home. You just want to be with them.

You’re led to a clearing in the middle of the dense and dark woods. A long table is set up with eight chairs. Silver plates, black candle holders, and golden utensils are evenly spread over the white cloth. The skies look straight out of a painting. Vibrant with bright hues of pinks, oranges, and gold in an everlasting twilight, heavily contrasting against the black and barren trees and shadows that surround you.

“You’re here!” Hoseok exclaims when he sees you. His whole face lights up with his smile as he places a hand on the small of your back and leads you toward the end of the table. “We’ve been waiting for you, pretty girl.”

Next to you, Jungkook smiles fondly. “You look like a princess.”

When you glance down at your torn clothes, your attire is completely different. A beautiful, vintage dress, adorn with white lace and ruffles. The charm necklace that you always wear is replaced with a black laced choker. And your hair is styled prettily, as if you hadn’t just been wandering around in the forest for hours.

The boys are all gathered at the table, dressed in white tops and black trousers. Seokjin is at the other end of the table, across from you. Next to him is Taehyung and Jimin. In the center is Namjoon and Yoongi. And to your left and right is Hoseok and Jungkook.

“To us,” Seokjin begins, standing up from his chair and holding up his glass. The others follow suit, raising their glasses as well. There’s a pretty smile on Seokjin’s face as he looks at you. “To our pretty wife.”

Your eyes widen at his words.

This isn’t an ordinary banquet.

It’s a wedding banquet. Your wedding banquet.

But… something feels off.

The serving bowls and platters are empty. The candles are unlit. On some of the eight plates is a single, red apple – a fruit of temptation. And in all the cordial-shaped glasses is a mysterious liquid.

Glasses clink together, followed by loud, celebratory cheers. You push your anxieties away and smile.

This is good. This is what you wanted. You should be happy.

You touch your glass, intending to join in.

But something doesn’t feel right.

The dress is too heavy. The bodice around you is constricted too tightly. The choker around your neck makes it hard to breathe.

You can’t move. You can’t lift your arm.

“Hoseok,” you whisper, trying to get his attention. With effort, you reach for his hand.

Hoseok doesn’t notice. Carelessly, he laughs and brings the glass to his lips, drinking the liquid. Your hand tightens around his, trying to stop him.

But it’s too late.

Shortly after, everything goes wrong.

Time stretches unnaturally as a deep, quiet panic weighs in your chest. Hoseok slumps back on his seat, choking before his eyes roll to the back of his head. To your left, you hear Namjoon coughing out blood. Plates rattle and crash on the ground when Seokjin grabs the tablecloth as he faints. You hear one of the boys faintly whispering for you not to drink before everything is silent.

Tears stream from your eyes as you dare not move. You dare not look at what’s become of the others as you stare at Hoseok’s limp form.

Then, you hear someone chuckle.

One of them casually gets up from his seat and walks up to you when he realizes you’re having trouble with your drink. You’re still sobbing uncontrollably as he places his hand on the back of your neck.

“How could you do this?” you manage to ask, full of hurt and betrayal.

You don’t hear his answer. Instead, you catch a glimpse of his smile as he presses the cup of green poison to your lips and forces you to drink.

You wake in cold sweat and tears.

Another nightmare, you realize. But this one felt too real.

Namjoon is snoring beside you. He doesn’t have his shirt on, even when you’re all camping in the middle of the woods. But your eyes linger on the cloth bandages wrapped around his torso, and the healing injuries that you caused under the Hawthorn necromancer’s influence.

Jungkook is next to him, sleeping just as soundly. He’s sprawled out like a kid with one of his legs thrown over Namjoon. On your other side, Taehyung manages to sleep through all the noise. He’s curled up against Yoongi, and you’re certain your familiar protested against it before finally giving up and falling asleep in Taehyung’s arms.

Your gaze lingers on each of them as they blissfully dream around you. The anxiety and uneasiness from your nightmare dims as you see – with your own eyes – that they’re all okay. They’re all safe.

Just outside the tent, you hear Seokjin’s voice. Followed by Hoseok’s laughter.

Carefully, you pull away from the others and slip out of the tent. The nightly breeze hits your skin and causes you to shiver, but you’re equally greeted by the luring warmth of the campfire and two of your boys chatting with each other.

Seokjin is the first to notice you. His gaze shifts away from Hoseok’s face to yours, eyes still bright against the warm glow of the fire. You see his handsome face visibly soften and a small smile curve upon the corners of his plush lips, causing Hoseok to turn around mid-sentence to see what’s distracted him.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Hoseok stands as he greets you. His entire face lights up when you’re around. “Did we wake you?”

“No, I just—” you trail off. Fresh tears sting your eyes as you look at Hoseok and remember your terrible dream.

Hoesok’s smile fades when he notices. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

He meets you halfway as you hug him tightly. Hoseok holds you in his arms, swaying you a bit as he murmurs comforting words to your hair. You close your eyes and take a moment to breathe him in, feel his warmth against you, and reassure yourself that he’s okay. That it’s only a bad dream.

“Come sit with us, beautiful,” Seokjin warmly suggests after a few minutes, patting the seat beside him. You finally let Hoseok go and accept the invitation. Hoseok places a hand on the small of your back and guides you to the spot between them.

Neither of them pry. Instead, they welcome you with a warm blanket and offer what they’re drinking. Their conversation picks up from where it was left off. Hoseok’s comforting touch never leaves you as he rubs your back and puts his arm over your shoulders. Seokjin brightens up your mood, slapping your thigh at something that made all three of you laugh, and resting his hand there.

It feels silly and childish to be shaken up by nightmares. Usually, you try not to concern the guys at all with your restless nights and plaguing thoughts. Not when the reality you wake up to is so good, and the ones you love are always around you.

But after a while, as a comfortable silence falls upon the three of you, you quietly admit, “I dreamt about losing all of you.”

You never talk about these dreams, not even with Yoongi. These nightmares often pick at your every insecurity – making you doubt your power, your competence as a mage, that you’re even deserving of such a warm and loving reality.

But this dream of death and betrayal is new.

Especially since you’ve almost lost Seokjin once at Blackstone Tower, and then almost lost Namjoon at Hawthorn Village by your own hands.

“You never have to worry about that,” Hoseok assures you, tightening his hold around you a bit. “All of us and Jimin are meant to find each other. We’re family.”

“We’ll stick together no matter what,” Seokjin adds, wiping a stray tear from your eyes. “We love you too much to want anything else.”

Every person’s map is different.

Some roads are scenic routes and shortcuts. Ideal to travel upon, cutting through the inconveniences. Sometimes, through the means of money, power, and fame. Ways paved for them, but built by the foundations of others.

Some roads are windy and confusing, with many ups and downs and twists and turns. At crossroads, one path can lead to that desirable, scenic shortcut. The other could lead straight to a deadend. Navigating through the difficult journey with blood, sweat, and tears to reach that happy goal.

Some roads are unpaved, new territory. Dangers of the unknown lie ahead. The strayed path can be a foolish venture to follow, risking failure and demise. Or, if lucky, it could lead to the most beautiful moment worthy of it all.

For Park Jimin, that luck bastard’s road to life is a clear, straight, flowery path to guaranteed success.

For generations, his family received many accolades for their skills in combating Wicked creatures and unworldly forces. They’ve built a prestigious reputation from the ground up for successfully tracking down and annihilating dangerous, rogue mages. Their influence even reached notoriety in the capital city, hailing them as hometown heroes of the Devoted.

Since he was a young boy, Jimin was raised under the mentorship of the best hunters in his family – his father and grandfather. He’s captured dozens of Wicked mages with impressive ease and efficiency. His future of carrying out his family’s legacy is bright and promising.

He has everything laid out before him to become a heroic hunter.

“I didn’t see you at the church on Sunday,” Daniel mentions when he visits the flower shop. He idly browses through the selections without the intention of buying anything.

“I had an early delivery that morning,” Jimin tells him. He wraps a simple bouquet of flowers for a waiting customer and hands it to them with a smile, exchanging it for silver coins.

“I haven’t seen you at the church in a while,” Daniel clarifies as soon as the customer leaves. The chime of the bell rings after their departure. It’s just the two of them now. His eyes are fixed on the florist, but Jimin’s face remains neutral. “I haven’t seen you at any of the meetings either.”

“I’ve been busy,” Jimin simply explains. Daniel, like Jimin, is also a mage hunter.

He’s also a childhood friend, and Daniel knows Jimin well enough to tell when he’s hiding something from him. Still, he merely chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief.

“You know, when you moved back to New Haven and took over your family’s shop, your grandfather personally asked me to keep an eye on you. Make sure that you’re sticking to the path he set out for you,” Daniel reminds him, now standing face to face with the florist. Only the counter separates the two men. “It’s that girl again, isn’t it? Is that why you’ve been so busy?”

The corner of Jimin’s mouth twitches when he mentions you. “Among other things.”

Daniel notices. “I thought you weren’t interested in a serious relationship.”

One of the biggest burdens of becoming a mage hunter is how dangerous the job is. Every night – especially during the witching hour – they’re out there, risking their lives. One mistake could be fatal. If they’re not careful enough, they could be the next victim of their target’s hexes and curses, and it’s not uncommon for the Wicked to attack a hunter’s loved ones as well.

That’s the fate of his parents: when a female mage went after and tortured his mother to seek revenge on his father. Jimin became an orphan that same night, and had been raised by his grandparents since.

Although he’d occasionally indulge and pursue the affections and company of other women, they’re not like you.

There’s something sweet about the way you’re captivated by the little things. The way your eyes light up when he’d take you around the town he grew up in, watching street entertainers and musicians at the square, tasting new flavors at the market, or finding small trinkets and snacks to gift your housemates. He sees how hard you work each day, welcoming customers to your shop and serving them hot meals and refreshing drinks. He sees how you love so wholeheartedly, fiercely protective and caring toward each of them.

“This one is different,” Jimin reasons, now busying himself with wiping the counter down. His expression softens a bit when he thinks about you. And how much he misses you.

“You should introduce me to her,” Daniel suggests, noticing that as well. For someone he’s been courting for this long, Jimin seldom mentions you. “I’d love to meet this mysterious woman.”

“She’s out of town right now. I don’t know when she’s coming back.”

Convenient. But Daniel isn’t letting him off the hook that easily.

��Then bring it up to her when she comes back,” he says with a forced grin. “It’s only natural to introduce your girlfriend to your friends, right?”

Jimin doesn’t seem to like the idea. “We’ll see.”

“You can’t hide her forever,” Daniel replies, insistent. Curious, too.

He and Jimin used to tell each other everything, bonding over their rigorous training and disciplined lifestyle. THey’d hang out with their friends after meetings and see each other often around town and during hunts.

Now, Jimin has secrets that he refuses to tell. He’s become more private, more distant. He’s actively missing out on meetups and avoiding grounds where they’d normally run into each other.

Now, Jimin seems to be straying off that clear, straight, flowery path that his family had graciously paved for him, stupidly throwing it all away.

All because of you.

“We’ll see, Daniel,” Jiin repeats, his voice firm.

However, Daniel relents. He turns away and pushes open the door to exit the shop. But not without commenting, “She’s changed you, Park.”

“Are we okay?” Namjoon checks with you, a bit quiet and nervous. You weren’t with him when he woke up the next morning.

“When aren’t we?” you question back, sipping on a vial of potion that Hoseok brewed for you. It makes the soreness and pain on your body barely noticeable.

But you wish the remedy would work faster. You can’t imagine what Jimin would say if he sees you’ve gotten hurt on this quest.

Still, the guilt in Namjoon’s eyes are clear. “Just want to make sure, baby.”

“We’re good,” you reassure him, standing on your toes to kiss him once you’re done. Your hands rest on his chest, and you feel the cloth bandages under his shirt. Your smile fades as you think about that dream and Namjoon wanting to stay back in his hometown. “I’m sorry, Joon.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It isn’t yours, either.”

The two of you leave it at that.

But with a shy, dimpled smile, he offers his hand. And once you place your hand over his, he brings it to his lips and kisses your knuckles. You return his smile, and your heart skips with the comfort of knowing that things between you and Namjoon will be all right.

So far, the trek back home has been uneventful. All the trees and foliage start to look the same, blurring together in a mass of greens and browns. The path ahead feels never-ending. But the Oathkeepers seem used to long travels like this, mingling with you and the boys and keeping things entertaining.

Just ahead, you can hear several conversations and loud, boisterous laughter from everyone in your party. And somehow, that makes your homesickness grow.

You miss the cobblestone paths and bustling streets of New Haven. You miss your little, cozy shop and the smell of Hoseok’s homemade brews and Seokjin’s delicious cooking. You miss listening to Yoongi play the piano, re-enacting dramatic plays with Taehyung, folding laundry with Jungkook, and reading books with Namjoon.

Most of all, you miss Jimin terribly. You wish he was here with all of you.

Until you tell him the truth about what you are, everything must remain hidden. But you swore to yourself that as soon as you return – each step toward town is closer to home, closer to him – you’ll finally tell him.

“There’s someone ahead,” Taehyung suddenly warns. His golden eyes are locked onto a small party camping out in a clearing in front of you. They seem to have spotted you guys as well.

“Sorry! We’ll go around you guys!” Seokjin shouts out, not wanting to bother them. He’s about to turn back when someone from the camp calls out to them.

“Kim Seokjin? Is that you?”

Your heart stops.

“Who’s that?” Jungkook asks, frowning as a group of five walks closer to your party.

Seokjin doesn’t answer. Instead, he frowns and whispers, “Stay here.”

He gives a meaningful look to his guild friends before he steps forward into the clearing. A couple of them flank his side while the rest stand with you and the others protectively.

The one that called out to Seokjin looks familiar, and panic runs cold in your veins when you realize why.

The man smiles. “I thought it was you. I haven’t seen you since we were wardens at Blackstone Castle.”

Yoongi immediately gestures for you to stay behind him, blocking their view of you. Taehyung whispers for Hoseok to do the same without taking his gaze off the group, seeming ready to confront them as well. But Jungkook subtly tugs Taehyung back and reminds him of his golden-colored eyes before checking back on Namjoon.

You could barely see over Yoongi’s shoulder, but Seokjin seems to keep his composure as he asks, “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“There are reports of a dangerous mage causing havoc to a small village called Hawthorn,” he explains, clearly talking about the necromancer. “These hunters and I are planning to check it out.”

Tension fills the air as you glance at the others in his party. You don’t recognize any of them, but you see the hunters studying each of you. One of them leans over and whispers to another.

Beside you, Hoseok protectively drags Taehyung further back. A worried frown is set on his lips as he watches Seokjin. And behind you, you could practically feel the heat of anger radiating off Namjoon. He glares back at the hunters with a steady gaze and a clenched jaw.

“Ah, we were just coming from there,” Seokjin explains with a forced laugh. “Someone must’ve taken care of it. The village was clear of dark magic when we passed by.”

“Are you sure? Their situation seemed pretty dire.”

“We’re sure,” Jaehwan answers for him. “That target has been vanquished and the villagers are working on rebuilding what they’ve lost now.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame.” The man sighs, shaking his head. “Say, where are you guys headed? The closest town from here is New Haven. It’ll be nice to catch up with you after everything that’s happened.”

“Sorry, we must be on our way,” Seokjin declines. He wants to get you guys away from them as quickly as possible.

But the former warden isn’t going to let him go that easily. “Come on. What’s the rush? You aren’t hiding anything, are you?”

His gaze shifts to your group. The hunters are watching you all too, no longer paying attention to Seokjin.

“We had a long journey. We’re just trying to get through these woods,” Seokjin calmly reasons. He tries to end the conversation there.

But the former warden continues.

“You’ve always had such a soft spot for those abominations,” the man replies with a haughty smirk. “After Blackstone fell, many of us wardens joined the hunters. You won’t believe how many of those vile creatures and their devils have integrated themselves in our society. How they’ve threatened the order of the Devoted and all things good, trying to gain sympathy from stupid traitors.”

“I have no interest in joining the mage hunters, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” Seokjin firmly states.

“Why not?” the man asks, crossing his arms. “Because you’re the one that freed those monsters that night?”

Your eyes widen. Hoseok curses beneath his breath.

“As you can see, he’s already spoken for,” Junghwan quickly intervenes. “He’s in our guild, and we don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“Very well. I won’t take up anymore of your time,” he relents, finally letting you all go through the clearing. Your group grab onto each other – you slipping your arm around Namjoon and holding Taehyung with your other hand – and keep your head down as you cross their campsite. You feel their eyes on each of you, but if the former warden recognizes you, Namjoon, or Hoseok, he doesn’t say. His attention is stuck on the guild leader as he adds, “I’ll see you around, Seokjin.”

It sounds more like a promise than a goodbye.

None of you let go of each other, even when you’re out of ear-shot and a good distance away. You’re on edge, constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure they aren’t following you guys. You check on the others too, and they seem just as worried as you are.

“What do we do now?” Jungkook asks, breaking the tense silence. “They recognized Jin-hyung.”

“Is there a way we could make them forget they ever ran into us?” Taehyung asks.

“Theorietically, we can,” Hoseok answers with a frown. He’s done it before with the leader of the New Order and his men, but he had time to prepare for it. “It’s just… very complicated. Any magic involving memories are.”

“Those hunters will track us down,” Namjoon warns, clenching his jaw. “If they reach Hawthorn, he might recognize Jackson too.”

“What are you suggesting, Namjoon-hyung?” Jungkook asks, his eyes widening.

“We do what we always do. We stick together. We don’t let our guard down. We survive by taking care of each other,” Hoseok reminds you all. Unspoken rules that all the mages had followed since within the walls of Blackstone Castle. “Taehyung, can you fly back and warn Jackson?”

Taehyung nods and pounds his chest. “You can count on me, hyung.”

With that said, Taehyung kisses you goodbye and promises to catch up with you guys soon. Then, he shifts into a raven and flies off, backtracking to Hawthorn as fast as he could. You watch as Taehyung leaves until you’re not able to see him anymore.

When you turn back to your group, most of them have gone ahead. But Yoongi is with you. Neither of you said a word about the hunters and the former warden.

“What do you think?” Yoongi quietly asks you. But he already knows how you feel.

You’ll do whatever it takes to keep your nightmares from becoming a premonition.

Your eyes meet his as you answer, “I’ll make sure they aren’t able to follow us.”

True to his word, you hear Taehyung cawing for your attention only hours later. He shifts mid-air, hopping a bit as he lands and nearly throws himself on you.

“I’m so exhausted,” he pants against your neck, sweat clinging to the soft curls of his dark hair as he leans on you.

Hoseok laughs and helps carry some of his familiar’s weight off of you. “Good job, Taehyung. You worked hard.”

“How did it go?” Namjoon asks, handing him a canister of water.

Grateful, Taehyung takes it and chugs it down with huge gulps. He then reports that Jackson has been keeping low as he settles into the village. Rumors at the pub have been spreading about other guilds and hunters coming into the town, but they quickly turn back once they realize the necromancer has been vanquished and the village is trying to rebuild. Some stay to help with the restoration efforts, so that their travels aren’t a complete waste of time. But luckily, everyone in Hawthorn has been quiet about their saviors, simply saying that a guild had already completed their quest.

“Sounds like Jackson has it all handled,” Hoseok remarks as Namjoon nods, both relieved that their friend is doing well.

“There’s one more thing,” Taehyung adds, straightening up with a serious look on his face. “Those hunters that we ran into – they’re gone.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I went to check on them on my way back. Their campsite and all their supplies are still there, but it’s been abandoned. Like they suddenly vanished in thin air.”

Mixed feelings of relief, confusion, and concern follow Taehyung’s report. Suspiciously, you and Yoongi are awfully quiet. The two of you also volunteered to scout around for a while, separating from the others before they could protest.

“How is that even possible?” Namjoon asks as their gazes fall on you.

This witchcraft was not taught in Blackstone.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your hand, covering how the tips of your fingers are blackened from magic overuse. You shrug your shoulders and reply, “I don’t know.”

The mysterious, unnamed shop across the street looks desolate since you and the others have left for Hawthorn Village.

Without its residents, it no longer has its warm, inviting presence that lures curious customers toward it. Instead, it feels cold, empty, and abandoned. Spooky enough that even the loyal regulars are repelled by it.

Jimin watches as a piece of the roof collapses upon itself.

Dramatic, Jimin thinks with a roll of his eyes. He uses a copy of the key that you hid under one of your garden pots and lets himself in.

Everything is how it should be. Nothing has been moved or touched since you all left. Jimin comes just to water your plants, stack up your mail, dust the shelves, and tidy things up a bit for your return.

The silence around him is deafening. He’s gotten so used to this place being so loud and lively.

By now, Yoongi would be playing the piano and Jungkook would sing along to the melody as he does his share of chores. Seokjin and Namjoon would bicker about something trivial, like if a tomato is a fruit or vegetable or if the chicken came before the egg. And Hoseok and Taehyung’s loud voices and laughter would carry throughout the whole shop as they experiment with mixing drinks.

Of course, you’d be in the mix of it all as well.

The melody that Yoongi plays quickly turns into a serenade the moment he notices you’re listening. Jungkook sings more sweetly as he stops what he’s doing and pulls you closer to him, only to pass on the broom or featherduster for you to finish the task he started. No matter how ridiculous Seokjin’s point is, you’d always side with him just so you could argue against Namjoon. The debate usually becomes entertaining enough for everyone to listen in and see who’ll win. And somehow, both Hoseok and Taehyung are even more animated and louder when you join their conversation, using you as their guinea pig and carefully observing your reaction to their concoctions.

Jimin misses you. But strangely, he misses the others too.

Whenever Jimin stops by to check on the shop, he only stays downstairs where the business-side of things are. Upstairs are all private rooms, one for each resident.

Plus, that extra room. One so plain and unassuming, it stands out among the colors and characters of the other seven.

However, since he’s seen part of the roof fall with his own eyeballs, he might as well check the damage. Unless, somehow, the building magically fixes itself.

As he ascends, the lanterns placed along the steps light up on their own. Four doors on each side of the narrow hallway. Seven of them lead to a room curated for each of you and your housemates.

But Jimin’s gaze is set on that extra room.

Although he comes to the shop quite often, he’s never really up here. Each time he is, however, he feels drawn to this particular room. Like it belongs to him.

His hand touches the doorknob, and he slowly turns it open.

Across the street, his own bedroom above the flower shop is plain and minimal, only holding the basic essentials. There aren’t any personal touches or sentiments that most living spaces have. Jimin merely uses it as a place to rest and store his things.

For this room, he imagines a similar setup: a bed with dusty covers, an empty bureau and storage chest, a simple chair and table. Perhaps there’s a painting that one of the boys made that’s hung up on the wall. Perhaps one of the many bouquets he’s given you is placed inside to brighten up the room.

But for a brief second, as he pushes the door open, he’s hit with the strong, floral perfumes of his shop. An elegant, white couch sits in the center of a room full of beautiful, blooming flowers. The warm colors of the plants contrast with the chic furniture, and the sight of it all makes him catch his breath.

Just as quickly as he sees the interior of his dream room, it vanishes.

Inside is just an empty room. No furniture or art pieces like he expected. No evidence of roof damage or even decay like he came to investigate. The late afternoon sunlight pours in from the curtainless windows.

Yet, his heart hammers as he thinks about that vision – that claim of having this room as his. Full of the many flowers he’s given you, and the delicate beauty of things that matches his personal style. That, maybe soon, he’ll finally be a part of something more meaningful with you and the others.

By now, he knows that this building is full of magic. He’s seen with his own eyes the way it comes to life when the residents are home – and how it quickly deteriorates when they’re not. Inanimate objects move on their own. Rooms appear larger than they are and defy all physics and logic.

And, apparently, it can gaslight him into thinking you have a giant hole on your roof.

After searching for half an hour, he’s given up. He can’t say he’s surprised. Stranger things have happened within these walls before.

Just as he’s about to leave, fishing out the key to lock up the shop from his pocket, something catches his eye.

When you first walked into his shop, you picked out some flowers to use for your teas. He stuck a purple rose in the mix – a color of storybook, love-at-first-sight romance. Cupid’s arrow struck him the day he met you, and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since.

Weeks after, he figured out you were a mage when that same rose started to change its colors: the light purple of first love fading into the pink shades of innocent romance, with a silver budding of red that symbolizes true love. Enchanted with magic so it never wilts. Because you haven’t stopped thinking about him either.

Now, that very same rose sits prettily in a vase. Its petals are now a combination of peach, pink, and cream – colors that express missing someone.

Jimin can’t help but wonder if that rose represents your feelings for him, or if they’re his feelings for you.

Suddenly, a small rumble shakes the shop.

Alarmed, Jimin dives under a table as the building seems to come to life. He hears the creaks and groans of wood, the swing of light fixtures on the ceiling, and the clatter and rattle of bottles, vases, and decorative pieces around him. Furniture moves before his very eyes – books fly around like leaves caught in the wind, picture frames tilt and spin, candlelight flicker with dancing flames.

“What the hell…” Jimin utters in disbelief, just as the long curtains draw back to let sunlight shine through.

Truly, this place is just fucking with him now.

Slowly, Jimin starts to crawl out of his hiding spot when he hears voices just outside the shop. Voices that are familiar. Voices that he really missed.

When the front door opens, it all makes sense why the shop reacted as it did. Why the colors around him seem so much brighter, more vivid. Why any traces of ruin and abandonment disappeared. Why feelings of warmth and welcome seep back into the once cold and empty place.

“Finally!” Namjoon exclaims, being the first to step inside. “We’re home!”

“What do you want for dinner?” Seokjin asks, looking at the others behind him. His guild friends throw in their suggestions, and Jungkook bashfully smiles and asks for pork belly.

“Should I get started on the drinks, then?” Hoseok wonders out loud, neatly placing his belongings down by the door.

“Do whatever you want,” Yoongi casually replies with a yawn, clearly tired from traveling all day. “I’m gonna take a bath first.”

Lastly, you and Taehyung enter together with your arms linked around each other, playfully hopping over the threshold and giggling when his feet land ahead of yours.

“Oh? Jimin, you’re here?” Taehyung asks in surprise. He’s the first one to notice him coming out from under the table, and his golden eyes flicker nervously around the shop, hoping he hadn’t seen anything unusual before their arrival.

“Jimin, you’re here!” you echo with delight.

Before Jimin has a chance to straighten up, you throw your arms around him. He smiles as he pulls you tighter. He closes his eyes, breathes you in, and savors the warmth of your skin in his embrace.

“I missed you,” he murmurs honestly. It’s been so hard since you’ve been away.

“I missed you, too. How have you been?” you ask, your voice just as soft. You pull back to look at him, but he frowns at what he sees. Clearly, the quest at Hawthorn wasn’t easy. You look exhausted, worn from travel and the lack of sleep. There are bandages around your neck and arm, indicating that you got hurt as well.

“Me? I’m fine, but…” He holds your arm and carefully looks at your injuries. It doesn’t look too bad now, but your smile drops when he examines your fingertips. It’s faint, but it’s stained with black. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story. But I’m okay. Promise.” You’re quick to draw your hand back, curling it into a light fist and clasping your other hand over it. From the other room, you hear the boys shouting and kitchen utensils being used as everyone starts to settle in. With a smile, you change the subject. “We’re throwing a small party tonight. Can you stay?”

Jimin stares at your hands.

As a hunter, he knows that means you’ve either used too much magic in a short span of time or had cast a risky spell that could’ve been dangerous.

But you don’t know that he knows this. You don’t know that he’s been aware of your magic for a while now.

There’s so much that you both keep hidden from each other.

Behind you, Jungkook spots you two and loudly shouts, “Yo, Jimin-ssi! Are you joining us tonight?”

The others are equally surprised to see him, but they welcome him nonetheless. It doesn’t take a lot to convince Jimin to stay.

His lips quirk to a slight smile and he answers, “Sure.”

Your smile returns. As you take his hand and lead him to join the others, Jimin catches a glimpse of the rose and notices it has changed its colors again.

White at the base, pure and innocent. A blank page and a promise of a new beginning. Yellow at the tips. A way to welcome someone after a long absence. A color of joy, hope, and most importantly, trust.

“It’s good to be home again,” Namjoon states, bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips. His eyes meet yours with a meaningful look, and the two of you share a secret smile.

Just hours ago, you’ve all made it back to New Haven without running into any other incidents. The wonder and concern about the former warden and his group slipped to the back of your minds as soon as you stepped foot onto the familiar, cobblestone paths of your busy, little town.

It hadn’t hit you how much you missed it. The liveliness of the town square as guilds meet, the faces of travelers browsing through goods at the marketplace, the quieter sides of town where you and the others like to escape to – such as the riverside and where your own shop is set up.

But none of that comes close to how much you missed Jimin.

The reunion is too brief before you’re both pulled to prepare for the party.

After a bath and a quick stop to the market, you prepared the side dishes and cut the vegetables. Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook put together the main dishes. Their chests puffed with pride when everyone was in awe at how it tasted as delicious as it looked. Namjoon and Taehyung helped with the clean up, pausing every now and then to dramatically quote lines of poetry to each other. And Hoseok and Jimin brought out a variety of alcoholic liquor, and passed out each person’s drink of choice.

At one table, Seokjin and his guild friends are playing card games. Losers of each round are penalized by taking a shot of hard liquor, and the longer the game goes on, the rowdier their group seems to get.

Equally loud and drunk, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook sit at their own table. The three of them take turns doing party-tricks for each other, shaking up and popping open bottles. The way they hype each other up draws attention and laughter from the rest of the room as they continuously pour drinks after drinks.

Your table with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok is calmer by comparison.

The four of you share a bottle of whiskey. You and Hoseok clink glasses and compete on who can take a shot without making a face. You feel Yoongi’s hand on your back as you bring the glass to your lip and tip your head back. The liquid burns down your throat as you set down the glass and look at Hoseok – but the red blush already coloring his face and the disgusted grimace he couldn’t hide nearly made you choke.

Namjoon and Yoongi burst into laughter as they watch you two. While the two of you struggle, they’ve been commenting on the notes they somehow taste and refill their drinks like it’s water.

“What do you think happened to those guys?” Hoseok asks, nursing on his next drink. You visibly stiffen, turning to him nervously, but he’s looking at the way the ice melts in his glass and dilutes the taste.

Namjoon groans and sets his glass down a little harder than he intended. “I don’t want to talk about them anymore. Whatever happened, they deserved it.”

“That’s the thing that worries me. We don’t know what happened to them.”

“It is strange that they just disappeared,” Yoongi plays along. Underneath the table, you feel his hand on your thigh, his thumb stroking you reassuringly.

Only you and Yoongi know what became of them.

They share the same fate as those guys that tried to assault you in Blackstone Tower.

Their bodies, destroyed. Their souls, devoured.

You’d do it again if it meant protecting everyone in this room.

“What if whatever got to them comes after us?” Hoseok worries out loud.

“They won’t,” you answer tersely. Namjoon and Hoseok turn to you with surprise. But there’s a determination in your eyes as you add, “I won’t let them.”

Endearment strikes all three of their faces when they hear your promise. Hoseok laughs and places his hands on his reddening cheek. “I think I just fell for you again, pretty girl.”

When Jimin came to the shop that afternoon, he didn’t intend to stay long. He only meant to stop by really quick, collect your mail, water your plants, tidy up a bit, and be on his way. His own shop across the street calls for his attention, cold and lonely despite the beautiful flowers that fill it.

But like many things that happen since he’s met you, something unexpected happens.

Strayed paths. Magic. A broken rooftop.

Suddenly, he finds himself four drinks in with Taehyung and Jungkook. The alcohol paints his cheeks rosy as he watches as Jungkook unabashedly flirts with you from across the room, exaggerating smoldering looks and dramatic flying kisses before immediately folding over and giggling when you’d smile at him and blow a kiss back.

“Cute,” Jimin muses, grinning at the interaction between you two. He glances over at Taehyung, who meets his gaze with an unreadable expression.

Perhaps the liquor makes Taehyung sleepy, even if he didn’t drink nearly as much as him and Jungkook. But even before the drinks were poured, there’s been this curious look on his face since he returned home.

“You know everything, don’t you?”

For a brief second, the chaos around him fades in the background. Jimin only hears the thrum of his own heartbeat as he looks at Taehyung with wide eyes.

“What?”

Taehyung keeps eye contact with him a moment too long. His face is unreadable, but his golden eyes are silently assessing him. But his gaze breaks when his attention turns to your table.

Yoongi is the first to retire to his room. He staggers a bit when he stands up, but kisses the top of your head and clumsily pats your shoulder as he wishes you goodnight. He leaves just as Namjoon gets drunk enough that he starts to serenade you, and Hoseok is still sober enough to cover your precious ears and plead for him to stop.

Namjoon’s voice cracks mid-highnote that sends you, Hoseok, and everyone else watching you guys into fits of laughter. Jungkook suddenly stands up, feeling left out of the fun. “I’ll be back.”

He easily slips next to Namjoon, throwing his arm around him as they drunkenly sing together. Hoseok is laughing so hard, he’s nearly on the floor as he clings onto you. You’re torn between bashful blushing and giggles, hiding your face from second-hand embarrassment, and accepting your fate and swaying to their song.

“Should we stop them?” Jimin asks, and again sees Taehyung giving him a quiet and curious look.

But he simply smiles and says, “Sure, Jimin.”

Before either of them could move, you manage to slip away on your own. Jungkook takes over your spot, pouring more drinks for Namjoon and Hoseok. You seem to be making your way toward them, eyes bright with determination as the liquid courage gives you the push you need to reveal all your secrets to him.

A hand grabs you before you could make it to their table.

“Honey, who do you think is the most handsome man in the room?” Seokjin – with red ears and in front of an anticipating audience – seems to be dared to ask. In the center of the table is a large cup mixed with every liquor in the shop. He leans a little closer and whispers, “Please say it’s me and not Taehyung.”

“What about me, hyung?” Taehyung asks him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Get out of here,” Seokjin complains, but his friends invite him to sit with them. Even Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jungkook join in shortly, too curious to hear your answer and who’ll end up drinking the cup in the center.

It seems that the Oathkeepers have become friends with you all after the trip.

And Jimin, left alone at his table, has the sombering thought that he’s been wrong about everything he knows about mages and magic. All his life, he’s been taught that magic is the root of all evil, and anyone who wields it is bound to be Wicked. From a young age, he’s been trained to see you as the enemy and hunt you down – for the safety of the non-magical and as a duty to the Devoted faith.

Laughter and yelling erupts with a scandalous question that someone asks. The answer seems to cause an even bigger riot, and one of the guild members sink under the table in shame.

And in the midst of the chaos, Jimin watches as you kiss Seokjin’s cheek and whisper something affectionate to him. He watches as Seokjin mouths that he loves you.

Protecting mages is grounds for treason. Falling in love with one is a forbidden sin, often thrown with words like temptation, seduction, and magical manipulation. The Devoted would claim you’d only love a mage if you’re cursed by one.

Yet, the Oathkeepers exist to protect you guys.

Seokjin, a former warden, chooses to put his life on the line for you. He chooses to be with you and the others, despite being only human. Despite what society tells him.

And Jimin…

“Are you okay?”

He snaps out of his train of thought to see that you’re standing before him, concerned when you notice he’s just sitting by himself. Over your shoulder, he sees the others motioning for him to join you guys – always welcoming him into something heavier than warmth and comfort.

It’s far from the path that Jimin only walked on – far from the flowery road that his parents and his grandparents paved for him. The promise of a pedestal legacy with a hefty price of loneliness and bitterness isn’t what Jimin wants for himself anymore.

So, he takes your hand and smiles. “I’m more than okay.”

Because he trusts that the path you lead him to is home.

Hours later, the night finally begins to die down.

Seokjin stays just long enough for the last of his guild to leave. Then, he retreats to his room with his social battery completely drained, swearing off any long missions for a little while. More than eager to finally sleep on his own bed after nights of camping on the cold, hard ground, he makes it halfway up the stairs before he suddenly jogs back down and asks you for a goodnight kiss.

Jungkook refuses to let anything go to waste, being the only one left eating and finishing up the last drops of alcohol until he becomes too full and sleepy. There’s a childish pout on his face as he follows you around while you’re cleaning up, torn between wanting to be with you and heading upstairs. You laugh when you catch a glimpse of his slow blinks and tired face, and send him to bed.

Hoseok, Jimin, and Taehyung help you with the cleanup: storing leftovers, picking up empty bottles, washing dirty dishes, wiping down tables, and sweeping the floor. It doesn’t take long to tidy up the shop again, and both Hoseok and Taehyung bring Namjoon upstairs after he passed out on the couch. They both say their goodnight as they fling Namjoon’s arms over their shoulders and carry him to his room.

That just leaves you and Jimin.

And a secret that you’ve been wanting to tell him all night.

Your heart feels full after making it back home, after celebrating the return with friends and your loved ones. The people you want to protect are all safe.

No hunters. No former wardens. Nothing that warrants any of the nightmares that haunt you.

Or so you think.

Jimin leans against the archway as he quietly watches you dim the lights and close up the shop.

What marks your talent as a spellcaster is how seamlessly you use your magic. Any normal mortal would’ve missed the way your hand presses on the door as your other hand manually turns the locks. How the incantation slips with your breath, your head angled where he can’t see the movement of your lips. How you’re able to control the blue light seeping into the wood so it’s barely noticeable, yet still able to keep the nightly protection spell intact.

You feel the weight of his gaze before you finally look at him. The quiet, simmering desire within his siren eyes that makes your heart flutter.

“I should get going,” he teases, making no effort to move from his spot.

“Or you could stay?” you suggest, closing the distance between you and him. “There’s always a place for you here.”

You mean it, too. That extra room upstairs has always belonged to him.

“You want me to?” he quietly asks, his fingers gently cradling your face.

“Please stay,” you whisper. Your hands are on his shoulders, and glide down to his collarbones and chest. “I missed you.”

All too easily, he pulls you toward him. All too easily, you melt in his touch. He kisses you like he’s been wanting to all night, impatient and starving. You match that eagerness and hunger, wrapping your arms tightly as he holds you close – as if afraid you’d disappear if he were to let you go.

A night of drinking still lingers in the taste of his lips and tongue, and without breaking the kiss, he pulls you into the shadows of your shop until your back is pressed against the wall. You’re already breathless as he pulls away, and there’s a tenderness in his touch as he strokes your cheek and looks in your eyes.

“I missed you too.”

Sometimes, the quiet and stillness of the night brings a comfort that daylight can’t. Sometimes, that’s enough to reveal a new side of things – a new side of him.

Tonight, when Jimin looks at you, it’s like there’s an unspoken promise behind his eyes. One that vows to cherish you and keep you safe. One that holds a love that feels both unexpected and meant to be. One that hints at a hidden sorrow that catches you off guard.

“Jimin? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling softly at you. He dips his head to kiss your neck. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

“I love you too. So much,” you confess, closing your eyes as he trails kisses down your throat. You feel yourself trembling a little as you grab a hold of his hands. The next words come out of your mouth quickly, before you could take them back. “Which is why I have something important to tell you.”

He pauses at your words, and draws back to look at you again. “What is it, love?”

Sometimes, the quiet and stillness of the night brings out another side of you too. It reveals secrets kept in the dark. The truths that are finally being told.

“Please know that this doesn’t change anything,” you preface, squeezing his hands. “I’m still me.

Rather than tell him, you decide to show him.

Nearby, there’s an old bouquet of roses that he had given you, sitting in a vase on an end piece table. The flowers are wilting, browning and curling at the petals, its colors fading. Wordlessly, you extend your hand toward them, and with a simple curl of your fingers to your palm, the flowers rejuvenate with a new life. The stems straighten, the colors bloom more vibrantly, and the petals suddenly perk up and open like they’re greeting the warmth of the sun.

Jimin stares at the flowers like he can’t believe what he just saw. Then, after a moment, he turns to you and meets your eyes.

In the distance, the toll of church bells ring in the hour: once, twice, three times. The witching hour is upon you. The hour where your magic feels the strongest, where the Veil between words is the thinnest, and when your biggest confession falls from your lips.

“I’m a mage,” you finally tell him.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #bts x you #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin x you #bts magic au #bts fantasy au #ot7 x reader #ot7 x you #bts witch au

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darkpuppysuit · 6 months ago

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*Me(the author)minding my own motherfucking business*

Y/n(somewhere in the back of my head): Post it.

Me: Excuse me?

Y/n: Post it coward.

Me(anxious): But what if they don't like it?

Y/n(sharpening knife): Who cares, fucking post it.

Me(anxiety through the roof): PU-PUT THAT AWAY YOU PSYCHO! Jesus- fine I'll post it goddamn...

Dreaming of a Silver Moon~ Coming Soon to a Tumblr page near you🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🔮🧿

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jimxnslight · 1 year ago

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Chapter 6: I'm Sorry Too

Summary: Elitist Academy is exactly what it sounds like: an academy that focuses on teaching students from elite classes of the magic community. When Y/N is thrown into the academy to learn alongside 8 men, she realises she’ll have to learn to work with them, whether she likes it or not.

Pairing: Reader x OT7 (Choose Your Own)

Genre: Magic School au, mystery, angst

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: domestic abuse, additional warnings might be added as story progresses

A/N: The difference between the way Y/N treats Amelia in comparison to the guys actually makes me laugh like she rlly can't stand them lmao

Taglist: @florabloomgirly @shawtylilsalty @11thenightwemet11

The sound of the whistle sparked you all into action.

You jumped up from your crouching position and sprinted to the middle of the field, managing to snatch a dodgeball barely a second before Taehyung could. The moment your hand enclosed around the rubber ball, you backed away, immediately scanning your surroundings.

Yoongi and Jungkook were each holding a ball of their own, moving away from the centre the same way you had, while Hoseok was the only person on the other team that had grabbed the last one.

There was only a moment of silence before dodgeballs started flying everywhere, each one aimed at the opposing team with precision. But as precise as the throws were the dodges.

“We should aim to get Hoseok out first,” Namjoon said as he picked up a ball from the floor, making sure to keep an eye out for the other team’s throws, “he’s the biggest threat at the moment.”

Jungkook nodded, “agreed, though I’d keep an eye out for Taehyung as well.”

You hated to agree with him, but he was right. Despite his earlier apathy, Taehyung was a lot more athletic than you had initially thought, with some of his throws being mere millimetres away from getting a few of you out.

You sneaked a glance at the rest of your team, noticing Jimin and Yoongi’s distracted faces. Jimin’s expression seemed worried, his gaze constantly finding Seokjin every few seconds. You couldn’t blame him, considering physical activity didn’t seem to be his strong suit. He was constantly hiding behind Cheonsa, occasionally picking up a ball to throw it weakly at your team’s side of the field.

Yoongi, on the other hand, seemed beyond irritated as he gave the ball in his hand, the field around him, and the coach a subdued glare. You didn’t exactly know what the reason for said irritation was, but if you had to guess, you’d say that he seemingly wasn’t a fan of the game that had been chosen. Why might that be? You didn’t even have a guess for that one.

With a new game plan in mind, the five of you spread out across the field, trying your best to target Hoseok and Taehyung while they manoeuvred away from each throw.

“Make sure the ball doesn’t touch anywhere under your shoulders!” Hoseok called out, taking a few steps back as he surveyed the field meticulously, “and try to catch the ball as it’s coming towards you.”

“If you manage to catch it, whoever threw it automatically gets out.” He turned his head to meet his teammates’ eyes as he spoke.

It was an opportunity, you realised, as you noticed Hoseok’s focus was distracted for just a moment. But before you could act, you watched Jungkook smirk, clearly noticing the mistake as well, before grabbing a ball from the floor and hurling it at Hoseok’s leg.

You couldn’t have expected what happened next even if you were made to relive this moment over and over.

Almost in slow motion, you watched the ball leave Jungkook’s hand, flying in the air for a moment, before it connected with Hoseok��s bare leg. It was only soft rubber, the most it should have been able to do was leave a light pink tinge on his skin, but instead, as the red sphere made contact with his leg, a strangled groan escaped Hoseok’s lips as he immediately crumpled to the floor, clutching his leg with one hand while the other kept himself upright.

You might have scoffed at the exaggerated expression, reducing it to another instance of men being dramatic, but the look of pure pain on Hoseok’s face and in his voice made you hesitate in jumping to that thought. Everyone paused, an eerie silence falling over the field as confusion spread through everyone’s mind.

It wasn’t until Hoseok’s hand raised from his leg that you realised why he had sounded so hurt, your own eyes widening at the view.

Hoseok’s leg was a bloody mess.

It was as if someone had taken a knife, searing hot iron, and toxic acid to the initially clear skin multiple times. From a distance, you could make out some deep-looking cuts scattered around his calf, as well as a giant purple and blue bruise. You grimaced as you picked up on a sickening sizzling sound that seemed to really complete the picture.

But then you watched in horror as the bruise and cuts began to spread up his leg, until his entire thigh was bleeding as well. It was enough to make your jaw drop.

Taehyung walked up to him slowly, assessing Hoseok’s leg with an expression that matched your own before he suddenly whipped around to face Jungkook.

“What the hell did you do?!” He yelled furiously, icy eyes ablaze with pure rage.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Jungkook tried to explain, but his surprise seemed to bar him from finishing the sentence while his gaze stayed glued to Hoseok’s leg.

You couldn’t blame him. How could such a flimsy rubber ball have caused such a major injury? It was impossible… unless it was-

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Mr. Son laughed -laughed- as he crossed his arms in delight, “I’ve magically altered the balls to ensure that if they hit you, it’ll hurt like hell, so I suggest you start taking the game more seriously.”

He then uncrossed his arms to casually place his hands on his hips, “now continue playing, I didn’t say to stop.”

Instead, your gaze went to Taehyung, who had begun helping a limping Hoseok to the sidelines, but they came to an abrupt stop when Mr. Son’s words rang around the field.

“What do you think you're doing?”

Everyone’s head whipped back to him, “I told you to continue playing.”

“Um,” Hoseok started, looking confused, “aren’t I out sir?”

“You are only out when you are physically knocked out,” he said much too casually for your liking, “otherwise, you continue playing.”

It was Taehyung that stepped in, his earlier anger replaced by surprise, “but sir… he’s injured.”

“Then he needs to learn to stop being a baby and get over it.” He turned towards the rest of the students on the field, “now I said continue the game!”

No one could move a muscle, too shocked at the lack of care being shown by Mr. Son. Tough love was one thing, but this had to be straight up abuse.

You all stood with wide eyes, hesitating as the dodgeballs hung limply from your hands.

Mr. Son didn’t seem to like that one bit. His brows furrowed as he scanned your reluctant forms, the edge of his lip turning downwards in displeasure.

“Either you start playing the game, or I give you a real punishment to cry about,” he snapped, making sure to meet his fiery gaze with each and every one of you, “this is what real life is going to be like, so either you suck it up, or you face the consequences. It’s your choice.”

If this was him trying to teach you, then you couldn’t imagine what an actual punishment from him would look like- and you doubted that he didn’t already have some messed up punishment already planned for all of you.

So slowly, with the even worse punishment in mind, you bent down to grab a ball that had rolled by your feet. Everyone’s eyes were on you now, watching you take the bright red ball in your hand hesitantly. You turned to the other side of the field, and with a shaky breath, gave it a half hearted throw.

Another moment of shock spread throughout the field as the ball made contact with Taehyung, who doubled over with a pained groan. Even though you had barely thrown the ball, it had shot out of your hand like a bullet, almost pushing you off your own feet and slamming into Taehyung’s torso.

There was a moment of silence as you all watched Taehyung push himself upright, a slight wince overtaking his features at the effort. Distantly you wondered if there was a nasty bruise spreading through his stomach under his shirt at this very moment.

Then Yoongi stepped forward, plucking a ball from the ground and chucking it to the other side of the field where it came in contact with Cheonsa’s arm.

You all watched him grimace.

And just like that, the game continued once again. Every hit had someone groaning or doubling over in pain or giving Mr. Son the nastiest glare in existence.

By the end of it, everyone was covered in blood and bruises. You almost dropped to the ground with a relieved sigh when you finally heard the bell go off, immediately dropping the dodgeball in your hand as if it were made of hot iron. You could feel nasty cuts and bruises spreading up your torso and left arm, the pain making you wince.

After surveying the field tiredly, you confirmed that everyone else at least looked alive. Well… aside from Seokjin. He had been hit the most, with purple bruises and blood scattering almost every part of his body that you could see. You watched Jimin check over him worriedly as Seokjin rested his hands on his knees with a pained grimace.

“You,” Mr. Son suddenly said, causing everyone to flinch. When you turned to face him, you realised with horror that he was pointing one of his fingers in your direction.

It was embarrassing to admit just how much you tensed at the attention. But really, what more could he possibly want from you?

Mr. Son nodded his head in Seokjin’s direction before looking down at you once again, “take that five year old over there to the nurse.”

You briefly looked over at Seokjin, an anger flaring throughout your body. Of course Mr. Son would make you, the only girl, take Seokjin to the nurse instead of his literal brother standing right next to him. But as much as you wanted to stand up to Mr. Son and give him a piece of your mind, you had no intention of pushing him past his limits. You had seen enough today, and all you really wanted now was to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

So without another word, you walked up to Seokjin and grabbed his sleeve, afraid that grabbing his wrist might hurt him even more, before you dragged him towards the nurse’s station.

Mr. Son turned to the remaining boys, “get yourselves cleaned up.”

“And if I hear you got blood anywhere in the classrooms, dodgeball will be the least of your worries.”

You’d spent the entire journey to the healing bay dragging a wincing Seokjin behind you, your mood completely ruined by Mr. Son. Seokjin didn’t say anything, just quietly letting you drag him along.

That left the two of you sitting in the healing bay, Seokjin sitting on one of the beds and you leaning against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest, while you both waited for the healer to arrive. You’d reasoned that since you were already here, you might as well get some healing potion for your own cuts and bruises, even if it meant having to be in his presence for a bit longer.

A sudden vibration from your pocket caught your attention, making you reach into it and pull out your phone. You inwardly groaned at the name that appeared on the screen, not because of who it was, rather what it likely meant.

Confirmation that your suspicions were right came when you skimmed the string of texts from Jisoo quickly, your lips downturning into a grimace.

Jisoo: Hey kid, your father wants me to pick you up after school. You’re going to be spending the weekend at home.

Jisoo: I’m sorry, I tried to get you out of it but you know how stubborn your father is…

You dropped your phone into your pocket with a tired sigh, crossing your arms over your chest once again. You were hoping that you could spend the weekend at your dorm, far away from your home, just the way you liked it, but it seemed like that had only been wishful thinking. Of course your father would never leave you alone, that would be asking for too much.

At least you would get to meet your mother.

The thought brought a smile to your face, even if it mostly was a sad one. It pained you that the thought of your mother had become so bittersweet, yet that was the reality you lived in. A familiar anger had your hands curling into fists by your side as you thought of the reason why.

But you immediately unfurled them while shaking your head, attempting to calm the mixture of feelings cluttering around your mind. Instead, you tried to focus your thoughts on something else, gaze straying around the room to aid you in the effort.

They ended up landing on your arm, and you couldn’t help but rotate it slowly to observe the angry blotches of purple and blue scattering the once unblemished skin.

How could Mr. Son treat his students like that? And not only did he do it, but he seemed to enjoy it as well. Your arm dropped to your side as a breathy scoff left your lips. He was just another example of a man abusing his position of power. And you were no stranger to those, having grown up surrounded by them constantly.

Out of the corner of your eye you suddenly noticed Seokjin’s gaze studying you, and you got the feeling he’d been doing it this entire time. But the moment you met his gaze, he was quick to look away and instead focus on the ground before him. It made you narrow your eyes.

“What?” You asked, causing him to widen his eyes in surprise, “if you have something to say to me, just say it.”

His gaze dropped to the floor once again, and it was then that you remembered that he couldn’t speak.

You watched him shift in his seat before taking out his phone, his fingers working expertly over the screen to type something. Your eyebrows furrowed when he seemingly finished whatever it was he was writing and passed the phone over to you.

‘I’m sorry,’ it read. You looked up from the screen to take in his nervous expression.

“For what?” You asked.

He took his phone back, typing over the screen once again.

‘For not thanking you when you saved me yesterday from those students.’

That made you pause. You’d quickly forgotten about the incident that happened yesterday, but now that it was being brought up again, in this way, it surprised you.

‘I’m really grateful that you stood up for me when no one else did,’ he continued.

You shifted in your place as an odd feeling began to spread through your chest. It was entirely unfamiliar, too filled with warmth and guilt. You tried to shove it away, wanting nothing more than for it to be gone.

“Do you always let everyone walk all over you?” You commented, but it didn’t have nearly as much bite as you had wanted it to.

Instead of getting offended, Seokjin just shrugged, ‘I don’t have much of a choice. It’s hard to stand up for yourself when you can’t even speak up.’

“Men are always so keen on getting aggressive all the time,” you countered, raising an eyebrow at him, “why didn’t you just lay one on them?”

Seokjin wrinkled his nose, as if the thought made him uncomfortable, ‘I don’t know about others, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.’

You hated the pang of sympathy you felt at his words. If he didn’t want to be aggressive, then he didn’t exactly have many other ways to defend himself. If he used his phone to tell them off, then it would just be a new target for them to make fun of. If someone else stood up for him, then they’d think that he was hiding behind others like a coward. It really was a difficult position to be in.

‘Anyways,’ he texted, noticing your sudden silence, ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was ungrateful.’

It was an odd sight, seeing a man actually be apologetic towards you. Most of the ones in your life were arrogant to the point that sometimes you wondered if they even saw you as human. Honestly, you didn’t even know it was still possible for them to even say it, yet here Seokjin was, so casually apologising to you when, when you really thought about it, it wasn’t entirely his fault since he couldn’t speak.

A silence followed as you tried to come up with something to say, but all you could do was hold his gaze in the dimly lit healing bay. He was still sat on one of the beds, knees spread slightly so that his hands could rest easily between them. For the first time since you met him, you noticed that there were miniscule specks of pink swimming in the violet of his irises, just barely visible even with the proximity created by the small size of the healing bay. It made his eyes seem like they were sparkling, even under the room’s dimness.

There was something else in his eyes too, a look that the logical part of you couldn’t seem to decipher. But a small, naive part of you emerged from the forgotten depths of your mind, attributing the look to genuine remorse. You refused to believe that, yet you still couldn’t help feeling guilty.

Your lips moved before your mind could approve.

“I’m sorry too.”

This time the silence was deafening, but only because your shock seemed to weigh down on your lungs.

Why the hell did you say that? Sure you felt a little guilty, but apologising… to him? What were you doing?

If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed Seokjin’s wide eyes and the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. However, the only thing you were paying attention to was pushing yourself off the wall. Forget the healing potions, you’ll come back some other time, when Seokjin wasn’t sitting there making you say things you would normally never even dream of saying.

Without giving him a glance, you quickly scurried out of the room, not noticing Seokjin’s tiny smile, before entering into the main hall. The sight of the Tree of Life was becoming more familiar by the day, just like the students that were chatting with each other as they started making their way to the dining hall.

The openness of the hall compared to the small room you had just emerged from seemed to calm you, making it a lot easier to breathe and think clearly about the last few moments. You couldn’t believe you had just apologised to someone like him. Perhaps it had something to do with the expression he’d given you, one that looked suspiciously akin to guilt, which had in turn contagiously spread to yourself as well.

But why had he even apologised in the first place? There was no way someone like him was genuinely apologetic, you weren’t so dumb as to fall for something like that. So what exactly was his intention behind that move?

You toyed around with different ideas as you strolled across the hall, playing with the strap of your bookbag and casually watching the students milling around. Your form manoeuvred through them expertly, just barely missing one student’s flailing hand and another’s ill-placed shoe.

But just as you sidestepped to avoid an especially excited student, you came to an abrupt stop, a thought striking you all of a sudden.

What if he was trying to manipulate you?

What if he had only apologised to soften the walls you’d spent years building between yourself and the opposite sex? The reason for that could be endless: to hurt you, to get in your pants, etc. You were disappointed in yourself for falling for it, for even going so far as to give him an apology back. What had you been thinking? How could you have crumbled so easily?

You turned your head to the side, crossing your arms in frustration. Well if he thought he’d succeeded, he was dead wrong. You made a mental note to stay extra cautious in Seokjin’s presence, making sure you would never fall for his facade again.

A shoulder suddenly bumped into yours, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyes immediately landed on the girl responsible, who apologised instantly before walking towards the Tree of Life and plopping down on the stone at its base to chat with her friend. Your gaze automatically dropped to her shoes, which were sitting atop the exact place where the trap door Cheonsa had shown you was. The door itself blended into the floor, so well that even you, who knew where it was, could just barely make out its edges.

The sight of it reminded you of last night with Cheonsa, which made you further remember its disastrous end. You wondered what Ms. Kari had even been doing down in the lab in the first place. From what you could remember, she’d spoken on the phone about planning… tasks? And then she’d also said something about needing a layout of some sort? You couldn’t be certain of the context of anything she’d said that night, but what you were certain about was that it had been a miracle that she hadn’t recognised you or Cheonsa. You had been terrified walking into her class this morning, but she had greeted you both in the same manner as everyone else, so it didn’t seem like she was onto you.

“And why the hell would I care?” You heard a familiar voice say, interrupting your thoughts.

Speak of the devil…

Your eyes travelled around the hall, searching for the infamous purple-haired twin who owned the familiar voice. You eventually found him standing near the intricately designed wall a few metres away from you, facing Hannah with a challenging brow raised in her direction. Hannah simply glared at him, a ring of scattered books and papers surrounding her feet.

“You’re the one that bumped into me and dropped all my books,” she snapped, having to stare up at him since she was at least a head shorter, “the least you could do is pick them up you jerk.”

Cheonsa simply tilted his head, seeming almost bored, “and what if I don’t feel like it, hm? What’ll you do about it, shortie?”

“Shortie?!” She repeated, indignant, “Excuse me?! You’re not so tall yourself Park Cheonsa!”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but at least I don’t have to look up to people when I talk to them.”

You rolled your eyes at his clearly inciting words, remembering last night once again. He had done the same to you, prodded you left and right just to rile you up with an amused smirk. He clearly found teasing others fun. But there was something different about the way he acted now. Last night his expression had been full of sly grins and teasing chuckles, but now, as he faced Hannah, his expression was devoid of any such things. Instead, his eyes were narrowed at her while his lips were pulled into an unamused line.

“How dare you-?!” She began, and you knew she was about to give him a piece of her mind. But then another voice cut her off, this one more calm and lower in pitch.

“Cheonsa,” Jimin spoke, walking over to the two. And to your surprise, his expression lacked any of the mirth he usually tortured you with, replaced entirely by a serious scowl. It was particularly directed to Cheonsa, and even you could read the message it held loud and clear: ‘cut it out.’

Wow, who knew your roommate had a serious side?

“Park Jimin?!” Hannah marvelled incredulously, eyes almost popping out of their sockets as she looked him up and down like he was a seven course meal. She was starstruck for a few moments, just standing there and taking him in, before she seemed to realise the position she was in. In a matter of a second her tough exterior crumbled, her initially furrowed brows and downturned lips crumbling along with it.

“I’m so glad you’re here! I didn’t know what to do!” She whined, suddenly completely helpless, “he’s the one that bumped into me and now he’s making fun of my height!”

Cheonsa rolled his eyes, evidently unfazed by her complete change of character, “you didn’t seem to have a problem with telling me off a second ago.”

“You little-” She began to counter angrily, but then her gaze snapped to Jimin and she quickly switched back to her helpless facade, “I mean- how could you say that?! You’re so mean to me, Park Cheonsa!”

Jimin’s lips formed a thin line, gaze travelling between his twin brother and the grey-eyed girl before him. He sighed, choosing instead to bend down and pick up Hannah’s scattered books and papers.

A smile spread on her lips at the gesture, “thank you, Jimin, you’re so sweet!”

Cheonsa was also smiling, but his was a mixture of malice and amusement, “you missed a spot. Tell me, how much is the school paying you to be their janitor, Jimin?”

If looks could kill, Cheonsa would have been a pile of ash from the dirty glare Hannah was drilling into his head. That was until Jimin stood once again and handed her the books and papers he had collected, turning her glare into a bright and appreciative smile.

The action was followed by an awkward silence, as if she was expecting him to say something more, but both Jimin and Cheonsa stood silently, almost entirely mirror images of each other. When Hannah realised that neither of them were going to speak, she shifted uncomfortably with an embarrassed laugh.

“Well, I should get going. I’ll see you later, Jimin!” She said, giving him a small wave before she turned around and began walking away, and thanks again for the help!”

Neither brother spoke even when she had left the hall, opting instead to study the other with unamused expressions. Eventually, it was Cheonsa who broke the silence.

“Park ‘I can do no wrong’ Jimin,” he said sarcastically, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, “thank god you were here in time before my big bad self could harm her.”

Jimin just sighed tiredly, “first the incident in the dining hall earlier today, and now this. I wonder if you ever feel even a sliver of empathy for the people you hurt.”

“Hmmm,” Cheonsa pretended to think, placing a finger on his chin to really sell it, before he shrugged nonchalantly, “nope, I sleep like a baby every night.”

Jimin’s jaw ticked.

“Of course you do. Hurting others comes naturally to you after all.”

“The same way being a doormat comes naturally to you,” Cheonsa countered without missing a beat.

The twins stared each other down, Jimin’s gaze fiery while Cheonsa’s was full of amusement. They stood like that for a moment, before it was Jimin’s turn to break the tension with a heavy sigh.

“Whatever, I didn’t come here to fight with you,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment, “just leave others alone, you can’t just go around and hurt whoever you feel like.”

Without waiting for a response, Jimin turned around and disappeared behind the giant double doors. You watched Cheonsa stand for a few seconds, gaze fixed on the doors Jimin had disappeared behind with an unreadable expression, before he disappeared in the opposite direction.

Well… that was quite the show. You never knew that the Park twins were on bad terms, but that piece of information didn’t seem to surprise you. They were so different from each other, unlike the eerie similarities in their appearances, that their enmity towards each other kind of made sense.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called.

Your gaze dropped on Amelia, who was walking into your line of sight with a big smile that you returned.

“Oh hey, Amelia” you greeted, adjusting the strap of your book bag, “did you want to go get lunch together now?”

“Of course!” She said, nodding her head enthusiastically, “I’ve been thinking about it all throughout class.”

That made you raise an eyebrow.

“Oh? So you’re telling me you haven’t been paying attention in class?” You teased, raising a textbook you’d snagged from your bag to feign hitting her on the arm, “what would your parents say, huh?”

“Please,” she waved you off with a laugh, “missing one lesson won’t kill me.”

Then she grabbed your arm, looping it around hers before she began dragging you towards the dining hall.

“Now come on, I’m starving.”

Your break with Amelia had ended up being filled with smiles and laughs, the two of you seeming to click almost instantly. She’d told you about how her father was a CEO of some kind of tourist company and stories of travelling the world because of it, while you had in turn told her about your own parents. To your relief, she didn’t seem to make a big deal out of it, instead nodding her head with a surprised expression on her face before moving the topic along.

You were glad to have made her a friend, especially considering you didn’t have any friends your age in general.

“What’s got you smiling so widely?”

You groaned inwardly, your smile instantly melting off your face at the unfortunately familiar sound of Namjoon’s voice. You turned around to find him walking onto the field you were currently standing on, eyeing you with a raised brow.

After spending your break with Amelia, the rest of the day had gone by in a blur. Had it been your choice, you would have locked yourself in your dorm’s bedroom watching a funny TV show and eating some nice buttery popcorn, but after the text Jisoo had sent you earlier, you’d been forced to pack a bag with your school work and trudge reluctantly to the field you had played dodgeball in earlier that day.

“What are you doing here?” You asked with a frown, refocusing back on him, “don’t you have someone else to bother with your porcupine hair?”

“You’re one to talk,” he scoffed instantly, “not even a rat would make a nest out of whatever's on your head.”

“What do you want, Namjoon?”

His gaze strayed to casually scan the rest of the field, as if he were searching for something, “believe it or not, I’m not here for you. I’m waiting for Suho, he’s going to pick me up.”

Your gaze instantly snapped to him, a sinking feeling in your chest at his words.

“Wait,” you said slowly, hoping you were mistaken, “here? He said he’ll pick you up from here? This spot exactly?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon answered, his answer also slow as the realisation seemed to dawn on the two of you at the same time.

Whenever you and Namjoon got picked up together, it meant-

“He’s coming with us,” Jisoo finished as she suddenly appeared in your line of sight.

You turned your head to give her an incredulous look, taking in her short, dark brown hair, lightly done makeup, and brown eyes. Like always, she was dressed in a professional and expensive-looking navy suit, while the click of her heels was muffled by the lush green grass.

“What do you mean he’s coming with us?” You asked, an evident whine in your voice, “I thought father was making me stay home for the weekend?”

“And you are,” she nodded, “but your father invited Namjoon over for the weekend as well.”

Great, you thought bitterly.

Jisoo must have noticed the change in your expression, because she gave you an encouraging smile, “come on, kid. This is far from the first time your father has invited him over.”

“I’ve been seeing Namjoon’s face for two days straight, Jisoo,” you grumbled, “I need a break from it… desperately.”

“I’m standing right here, you know?” Namjoon grumbled in a tone similar to yours, but you just waved him off.

“Whatever.”

You turned back to Jisoo, “is there nothing you can do to kick him out of the weekend?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes as Jisoo shook her head apologetically.

“Sorry kid, whatever your dad says is law. I can’t-”

“Yooooo,” a male voice suddenly cut her off, causing all three of you to immediately flinch. You snapped your heads to Suho, who was wearing a black suit and sunglasses that made him look like some kind of special agent. His dark brown hair was slightly longer compared to the last time you’d seen him, while his once fair skin seemed tanner.

“What’s up guys?” He asked, his attitude exaggeratedly upbeat, “hope ya’ll weren’t waiting too long for me.”

“Suho, we didn’t see you there,” Jisoo said, surprise still present in her expression.

“What’s up Jis’?” He said, the nickname instantly making you cringe, “I like the new cut my dude.”

“Really?” She asked, her characteristically professional front breaking for a moment to reveal a vomit-inducing lovestruck expression. It made you roll your eyes, knowing the kind, smart, and beautiful Jisoo standing before you could do so much better than someone like him.

You targeted Namjoon with a narrowed gaze, as if it were his fault she was acting like this, “why is he speaking like that?”

Namjoon just sighed in response, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

“He went on a trip to America, recently,” Namjoon explained with a sigh, “I don’t know how long he’s going to insist on being like this, but let’s hope it’s soon.”

“Nah bro, America was crazy fun,” Suho announced unnecessarily, “they’re so fashionable and chill.”

You gave Namjoon another look, “make him stop.”

“Trust me, I’ve already tried,” he said before turning to Jisoo, “why don’t we just get going?”

“Of course,” she said, that characteristically professional tone taking over her voice once again. “If you all will follow me into the portal.”

The three of you watched Jisoo walk into the centre of the cleared out field while she pulled out her wand from the holder at her waist, making sure to keep an appropriate distance between herself and the rest of you. Once she had done that, she raised her wand to wave it in front of her, the wooden stick making a circular shape in the air. In a matter of a second, an enormous burst of yellow light swirled before her, tiny sparkles hovering hesitantly away from it before dissipating into nothingness.

Now that you were standing here, facing the blinding light of the portal before you, you were starting to notice that feeling of fear pressing down against your chest, making it slightly difficult to breathe. It was a familiar occurrence that always happened when you were about to go home… whenever you thought of who was waiting for you within the marble walls and glittering chandeliers.

You took a deep breath, trying to rid yourself of the awful feeling, and focused instead on Jisoo’s back as it vanished behind the swirl of yellow and white. It’s not like you had a choice anyway, you were well aware that there was no point in running or trying to negotiate a later date. So after watching Namjoon, and then Suho, walk into the portal, you brushed your now sweaty palms over your skirt before closing your eyes.

And then lost yourself in the light.

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inkedwithcharm · 16 hours ago

Text

The Library of Bottled Memories | Park Jimin

Pairing: Park Jimin × Reader (Y/N)

Genre: Fantasy Romance · Memory & Healing

Synopsis:

In a village where memories are traded like currency and forgotten moments swirl like dandelions in the air, Y/N is a quiet apprentice at the Windkeeper’s Library — a place where lost memories are stored in glass bottles and catalogued by scent, emotion, and season.

One rainy afternoon, she finds a sealed memory with no label, no scent, and no record in the archives.

When she opens it, she sees only one thing: a boy with silver eyes and a laugh like spring wind — Jimin — and a flash of warmth that doesn’t belong to her, but feels like it does.

But some memories are sealed for a reason.

And some loves are too powerful for even time to forget.

Chapter 1

The rain began in soft syllables, tapping against the tiled roof of the Windkeeper’s Library like fingers trying to remember an old song.

It was the kind of afternoon that felt borrowed from someone else’s dream — the skies washed in gray silk, the wind humming lullabies through the pine trees, and the scent of old paper and plum blossoms lingering in the corners of the room where Y/N sat, barefoot on the ladder steps, sorting bottles of forgotten things.

Each bottle held a memory.

Some were pale as morning fog, sealed with twine and bits of dried thyme — fragments of lost lullabies, warm arms that once held a child, the crisp sound of a bike on gravel.

Others were golden and stubborn, refusing to settle — first loves beneath lantern-lit bridges, promises whispered on rooftops, tears shed under magnolia trees. Y/N had learned to handle them gently, to catalogue them by emotion, not logic — because memories had moods, and hearts of their own.

She lived among them like a quiet ghost, barely noticed by the villagers who came and went, trading memories for peace of mind. The rule was simple: if something hurt too much to carry, the Windkeeper would keep it safe.

And Y/N, the apprentice with ink-stained hands and a silence that clung to her like a shawl, would file them in glass shelves arranged by season, by scent, and by sorrow.

But that day, something fell from the sky.

Not rain.

Not a leaf.

A bottle — small, green-glass, and unlike anything she had ever seen — dropped from the rafters as though the wind itself had grown weary of keeping secrets.

It landed at her feet with a delicate clink.

There was no label. No scent. No warmth. Just the faint shimmer of something… ancient. Long erased. Or hidden.

Y/N held it up to the light.

A flicker.

A boy’s silhouette, laughing in the middle of a field of white flowers. Eyes like stormlight. A hand reaching toward someone — someone the memory refused to show.

And then, nothing.

The vision vanished as quickly as it appeared, like a dream swallowed by morning.

“Strange,” she whispered, her voice rarely used, the sound of it startling even to herself.

She tucked the bottle into her satchel.

That night, as rain softened the world into watercolor, she couldn’t sleep.

The memory pulsed faintly beneath her pillow.

And far away, at the edge of the village — where the sky bent low over the hills and the wind carried dreams to the sea — a boy awoke beneath a tree, drenched in rain, with no name, no past, and only one thing echoing in his mind:

Ink-stained fingers.

And a girl who once smelled like plum blossoms and summer rain.

There is a village untouched by time, nestled where the mountains fold like blankets into the sea. No map ever marks it, and no train ever reaches it. The only way in is by following the wind—the kind of wind that smells like apricot blossoms and carries forgotten names in its curls.

The villagers call it Namun, though the name has long since faded from any record. It is a place where the sky hangs low with secrets and the trees lean in like old storytellers. Children grow up learning how to read wind currents instead of clocks. Elders hang ribbons in doorways to catch fragments of dreams. And in the highest part of the village, carved into the hillside, stands a crooked little building with a moss-covered roof and windows that always seem to glow, no matter the hour.

This is the Windkeeper’s Library.

It is not a library in the usual sense. There are no books. Only bottles.

Glass bottles in every shape and hue. Some lined up neatly on walnut shelves, others clustered in forgotten corners like whispered memories too shy to speak. Inside each one swirls a captured moment — laughter trapped in sunlight, sorrow folded into winter, joy that smells like wild peaches in July.

The Windkeeper, a woman whose name no one remembers, has lived for centuries, or perhaps only years. Time moves differently in Namun. Her voice is rarely heard above a murmur, and her hair is the color of moonlight dipped in ink. She sees with eyes clouded by memory and speaks to the wind as if it were an old friend. When she walks through the village, wind chimes sway even if there is no breeze.

And it is to her that villagers come when a memory grows too heavy.

She takes them gently. No needles. No pain. Just a brush of her fingertips above the heart, and the memory slips from the mind into a bottle, like a leaf drifting to still water.

Y/N, her quiet apprentice, has never asked for payment. She only listens. Catalogues. Sorts. She has known nothing beyond the boundaries of Namun, nor anything beyond the touch of the wind and the echo of others’ lives.

But the wind was restless now.

And far beyond the pine line, at the edge of the old salt fields where fog never lifts and even birds forget to sing, a boy stirred beneath a sycamore tree.

He did not know his name.

He only knew the rain.

It had soaked through his shirt and painted cold kisses down his spine. He woke with the taste of iron on his tongue and a hollow ache behind his eyes. When he stood, the world tilted, but he didn’t fall.

Instead, he walked.

One step. Then another.

The sea was near. He could hear it breathing.

There was no fear in him, only a strange ache — as if he had been carved from something softer and left out in the wind too long. As if someone had written a song inside his chest and then torn out the final line.

He wandered until he reached the cobbled path that led into Namun.

He passed a fruit stand where the peaches hummed with old summer lullabies. A shrine where paper cranes fluttered like prayers. A windmill whose blades had not turned in thirty years but still creaked with purpose. And as he passed, the villagers paused.

Some tilted their heads. Others whispered.

Because although none of them could say how or why, the boy seemed familiar.

As if they had seen him once in a dream they had forgotten to remember.

As if the wind had brought back something it had once been forced to take.

And high above the village, in the crooked library under the rain, Y/N woke suddenly. The green-glass bottle she had hidden in her satchel had grown warm against her ribs.

She pressed a palm over it.

And felt it pulse.

Somewhere, something had returned.

It was late afternoon when the clouds began to peel away like old parchment, revealing a sky painted with soft blue and the scent of river mint. The rain had passed, but the world still wore its silence like a shawl.

Jimin stood at the base of the stone path that twisted up the hillside — overgrown, uneven, lined with wind-wilted wildflowers. He didn’t know why he had climbed this far. His legs had moved on their own, like they remembered a rhythm his heart had long forgotten.

At the top of the path stood a crooked building.

It leaned slightly to the left, its roof heavy with moss, its wooden shutters cracked open just enough to let the wind breathe through. There were chimes hanging from the eaves — not made of metal, but sea glass and bird bones and tiny fragments of mirrored glass that shimmered when the light touched them.

They whispered as he approached.

Not words, exactly. More like sighs.

The door was painted a faded shade of blue. No sign. No lantern. Just a rusted bronze handle shaped like a feather. He hesitated, fingers brushing the wood.

The moment his skin met the door, it opened.

Not with a creak. Not with a groan. It simply parted, like it had been waiting.

Inside, the light was golden and soft, as if the sun had melted and spilled itself across the wooden floor. Dust floated in lazy spirals. The air was warm — not from fire, but from memory. It smelled like old letters and chamomile, like ink and something faintly citrus that reminded him of a childhood he couldn’t place.

And everywhere — bottles.

Hundreds of them. Thousands.

They lined the walls like sleeping fireflies. Some hummed quietly. Others pulsed faintly. None of them made sense to him, but the moment he stepped inside, a strange calm draped itself over his shoulders.

He took another step. Then another.

And then he saw her.

She was at the far end of the room, standing on a small ladder with her back turned. Hair loosely braided, ink smudged across the side of her hand, sleeves rolled to the elbows. She was humming, very faintly, as she reached for a high shelf.

The sound made something in him ache.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he watched her descend the ladder slowly, bottle in hand, her movements careful, like she had spent her life handling fragile things that could vanish if startled.

She turned.

And the world stilled.

For just a breath — a flicker — her eyes met his.

Y/N didn’t move. She only blinked, as if unsure whether he was real or just another memory misplaced in a bottle.

The boy in the green coat. The boy from the flicker.

Him.

The silence between them was not heavy.

It was curious. Gentle. Like two birds circling before deciding to share the same branch.

She set the bottle down.

“You’re not from here,” she said softly, the first thing she had said to a stranger in weeks.

“No,” Jimin answered, though it felt more like a question.

“Do you remember your name?”

He hesitated.

“…Jimin. I think.”

She nodded, as if that sounded right.

As if the name had once belonged somewhere in this room.

Somewhere near her.

Then she walked past him, quietly, and poured two cups of tea.

Peach and windflower.

She handed him one.

No more questions.

Not yet.

Because some truths are too shy to be spoken.

And sometimes, even the wind holds its breath.

The tea had gone cold.

Neither of them noticed.

Y/N sat near the window, curled up on the faded cushion of the reading nook, eyes quietly studying Jimin from the rim of her cup. He hadn’t spoken much — only murmured thanks, his voice threaded with something soft and unplaceable, like a tune hummed from a forgotten lullaby.

Jimin wandered the library like someone retracing footsteps he didn’t remember making.

His fingers skimmed the edges of shelves. His eyes flicked from bottle to bottle, as if searching for something without knowing what it looked like.

Each bottle had a label — written in Y/N’s handwriting, slanted and deliberate.

First snowfall

The moment I realized I was in love

Her hands were shaking when she let go

Some glowed faintly. Others flickered, holding memory-light like fireflies.

He moved slowly, reverently, as if the shelves might breathe. But when he passed a low shelf tucked between “Summer Sorrows” and “Departures,” his coat brushed against a bottle the size of a plum.

It rattled.

Then it sang.

Not with sound, but with feeling — a sharp, sudden warmth that lanced up his spine, as though someone had struck a match behind his ribs.

Jimin stopped.

He turned toward the bottle.

It sat innocently enough, its glass a soft amber, its contents swirling with something pale and golden. But the moment he reached out, it recoiled — pulsing faintly like a heart startled from sleep.

His fingertips hovered above the cork.

And in a flash —

A field of white flowers.

A pair of hands reaching through sunlight.

The sound of laughter — his laughter —

but not his voice.

Then nothing.

The bottle stilled.

The feeling vanished.

Just like that.

Jimin stumbled back a step, hand pressed to his chest. His breath fogged in the warm room.

Y/N had risen from her spot by the window. She stood at a cautious distance, the way one might stand near a sleeping animal that had stirred too suddenly.

“You felt it,” she said.

He nodded, slow, uncertain. “It… it knew me.”

“That memory doesn’t belong to anyone anymore,” she murmured, stepping closer. “It’s been here longer than I have. No one’s claimed it. No one’s remembered it. It just… exists.”

“Then why did it reach for me?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she looked at him in a way that felt like turning the pages of a book she’d already read once long ago — slowly, tenderly, afraid of the part where everything began to fall apart.

Jimin sat down on the floor beside the bottle.

His hands trembled slightly.

“It felt like… someone I miss.”

“Do you know who?”

He shook his head.

“No,” he whispered. “But I think… she knew me.”

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing softly against the windows, stirring the chimes to life. The bottles hummed faintly, each one responding in its own key, like an orchestra tuning before a song.

Y/N knelt beside him, and for the first time, she did not feel like a keeper of memories.

She felt like a part of one.

Night in Namun was a quiet thing.

Not silence, exactly — but a hush. As if the village held its breath after sundown, cradling the weight of things left unspoken. Lanterns flickered like small moons above doorways. Moths danced without rhythm. And somewhere in the hills, a fox sang to the dark.

Y/N sat alone in the courtyard behind the library, beneath a gnarled plum tree that had long since stopped blooming. Its branches curled upward like old hands in prayer, its roots tangled through stone. She came here often when the bottles grew too loud.

Tonight, they were restless.

She could feel them even from here, humming like distant thunder. The green-glass bottle — the one that fell from the rafters — pulsed faintly inside her satchel, as if it had something more to say. As if the presence of him had stirred it from a deeper sleep.

Jimin was asleep now, curled on the reading couch in the loft with a blanket she had quietly placed over his shoulders. He hadn’t asked to stay. But he hadn’t known where else to go. And she hadn’t told him to leave.

That, in Namun, was enough.

Y/N pressed her palm to the trunk of the plum tree.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” she whispered.

The tree didn’t answer. But something stirred inside her — not a voice, but a tug. A gentle ache behind her eyes, the way one might feel the ghost of a song they used to hum as a child.

She reached into her satchel and pulled out the green-glass bottle.

It glowed.

Just faintly.

Just enough.

Her fingers trembled as she uncorked it.

The wind shifted.

And the memory spilled out like smoke.

Not in images — not at first.

Just scent.

Rain on stone. Plum blossoms. The sea.

Then sound.

A laugh, unguarded. Breathless.

Then a voice — not his, not hers, but something in between.

“You’re going to forget this one day, you know. You’ll tuck it away, like all the others. You’ll pretend it didn’t matter.”

And then—

Jimin.

Barefoot and sun-drenched, spinning through a field of flowers. She was there too, younger, brighter, eyes full of starlight. They were holding hands. They were singing something without words.

It wasn’t a memory she had watched.

It was a memory she had lived.

Y/N gasped, the breath ripped from her lungs.

The bottle fell from her hand and rolled across the moss. The vision vanished.

But the ache didn’t.

The ache stayed.

Because she remembered now.

Not everything. Not clearly. But enough.

Jimin.

He had come to Namun as a boy once, years ago, when he was still laughter and wind and bare feet on temple stones. His parents had tried to erase a grief too big to carry. They had given the memory to the Windkeeper. And with it, they had given him.

He had stayed for one summer.

Just one.

And in that summer, he and Y/N had built a world inside the hills — a world of stolen apricots and cloud-watching and whispered dares beneath the plum tree.

But children do not understand the cost of memory.

And when the summer ended, he was taken away.

And her heart — small and stubborn — had shattered.

So she gave the Windkeeper the one thing she couldn’t carry.

Him.

She buried the memory.

And the wind, loyal to its promise, kept it hidden.

Until now.

Y/N sat perfectly still.

She felt the plum tree lean ever so slightly toward her, its branches creaking in sympathy.

She reached for the green-glass bottle again, cradling it like something alive.

He had come back.

And he didn’t remember.

But she did.

Now.

Chapter 2

2 notes · View notes

xoxo-suki · 10 months ago

Text

Comment if you have specific BTS members in mind for your particular preference of the trope. Alternatively, send me anonymous asks if you'd rather not comment!

18 notes · View notes

k-nayee · 2 years ago

Text

Cutie Patootie

wc: 4.6k

Dreamer M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

'𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 day...another dollar.'

You snort at the thought. "Ha, wish it was like that. Can barely get a damn penny when dealing in this type of life."

The sound of your footsteps echoes around the stairwell as you slowly make your way up the stairs of the apartment building you lived in.

You struggled to pick your feet up, each one weighing a ton as your dull bloodshot eyes struggled to stay open with only the promise of a nap urging you on.

The thought of having to do another twelve-hour shift at the dinner tomorrow nearly made you want to fall to the ground and weep.

'I should've just kept my ass in America. At least I wouldn't be struggling as much as I am right now.'

"Why the hell there isn't an elevator up in this bitch?!" You nearly scream out in anger only for the reply to be an echo that softens every passing second.

Head shaking in exhaustion, you continue on your trek to the fifth floor.

A breath of relief escapes you when catching sight of the poster labeled with a rusty number five. The creaky groans of the un-oiled door fill your ears as you push it open with a heave.

'Wait a minute...' You still your breathing in anticipation for the high squeaks only to hear silence. '...no rats chasing me this time?'

"Well okay then!" With a pep in your step, you continue on your merry way with a happy smile.

It was until you reached your designated door when it fell. You stop your movements, apartment keys dangling halfway out of your apron as you analyze the pink slip before you.

"What?"

Ripping the paper off the door, you frantically look at big bolded letters with dread.

"Nononono! An eviction! Where the hell was this a month ago?! How the hell did I even get one in the first place?!"

Your eyes widen, quickly getting ahold of the keys, you unlock the door and step inside.

The door slams shut as you zoom into your room and throw the paper on the bed. Narrowed eyes glare at it as you began to pace along the carpeted floor in anxious movements.

"And eviction...think ____, think! There must be a reason for this to happen. I put my payment into the pile, so it should've been paid..."

After minutes of trying to find a solution, you finally fall into the squeaky bed in defeat. "Goddammit!"

Tears filled your eyes as you looked at the cursed sheet in sadness. "And I only have two days to move out no less...momma was right. I was getting too ahead of myself. Now look at me: A big ass failure."

'No, don't think like that! If anything you're proving to be more than that. So what if there's not a big house to your name? Or you not being able to experience and indulge in the luxurious life?'

"I know...but damn. A bitch would've liked to have it though."

'You alive ain't it? As long as you still breathing, you surviving. In the end, that's all that matters."

Weakly wiping away the leftover tears, you take consideration of your subconscious' words with a shaky breath of air. "Y-you right. Now is not the time to cry."

'You damn skippy I'm right! Now go in there, get a big ass cup of some of that Minute Maid, and think of a way to get through this.'

Your eyes widen in the realization of still having your favorite juice before sitting up with a smile. "Oh yeah, I still have the pink-lemonade one...Fuck yes!"

Walking into the kitchen with a lighter heart, you open the fridge and grab the cartoon only to stop when feeling the weight of it.

Peeking inside the container you freeze at the sight of only a good swallow left. "The fuck? I could've sworn I had half of a container in there. Unless..."

Your voice trails off when a long string of silky black hair came into view. 'Fucking Su-yeon.'

Teeth gritted in anger, you grab the nearly empty box and chuck it towards the wall in a fit of rage.

"I asked her to do one thing. One goddamn thing! Don't touch my fucking juice. Is it too much to ask?"

Having a habit to act dramatically when angry, you begin to pull out the little food left in there and throw it on the floor.

With your hand on the last object in there, you stop when the bright sticky note caught your attention.

A smirk appears at the messily scrawled message of 'Su-yeon's stuff: do not touch' sitting on the piece of paper.

"Oh? Well, would you look at that? Su-yeon's juice. But wait, she has a label on it? Of course, me being the respectful roommate I am, I'll just leave it alone...unless," slyly picking up the bottled liquid, you take off the note, "there was never a note on there to begin with. Oops?"

Unscrewing the top with a shrug, you take a swig of it causing your face to scrunch at the bittersweet aftertaste.

'Ugh, this shit's nasty! I should put it back...'

You laugh at your thoughts with a shake of your head. "Ha! I better not. Even if it tastes like shit I'll be damned if I do. Besides, revenge is what makes the flavor better."

A peaceful atmosphere surrounds you as you continue to consume the juice until half of its contents was finished. It was then the sound of the front door being slammed open which caused your eyebrows to raise.

Su-yeon was home.

"____! Come here quick!"

With the bottle still in hand, you slowly walk towards her room, little sips taken on the way there.

A shiver passes down your skin at the sight of a body-sized cut-out of a BTS member staring back at you.

Forcing the feeling of uneasiness back, you open the door to the sight of Su-yeon pinning pictures and dates to a whiteboard.

"Oh ____!" Her eyes widen with an obsessive gleam of happiness once she sees you walk into the room, "I've got something to show you~"

"Does it have something to do with making that k-pop group fall in love with you again?" You ask, cautiously staying close to the doorway.

From the first moment of meeting Su-yeon, you knew there was something off about her.

Whether it was pictures/cut-outs of the member's body parts plastered on her wall or a map that showed all of their previous whereabouts, it definitely wasn't a regular idol-fan kind of relationship.

Day and night she'd talk and gush over their features, a box filled with memorabilia of used spoons or bottled waters that she somehow obtained sat proudly on her dresser.

Claiming to be the love of her life, Su-yeon downright refused the thought of change happening amongst them.

You nearly had to call the police when she started to freak out upon the recent discovery of the maknae's hidden tattoos and talked of going up and forcing him to get them removed.

Luckily you were able to talk her out of doing so. You couldn't just let her go to jail because of it, I mean...who would be there to pay the other half of the rent if she's gone?

"I've finally made up the perfect plan to make BTS fall in love with me!" A big smile sat on her face as she walks over to the giant whiteboard decorated with miles and miles of strings and pins with dates.

"Hmm...really? Ah shit. That's what I'm talking about girl. Go get 'em," you dully feed into her talk with a gulp of juice, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"I know! I've been planning this for months, it's impossible for it not to work. Within a week, I'll be in the arms of my loves~" She twirls with a dreamy sigh, stars shining in her eyes.

"Really? Oh wow...I know you lying! How'd you do it sis."

"Well, you see...I was able to buy a potion from this old lady that promised that if I drink it, I'll be able to turn back into my child form. Not only that, but I'll be so cute that no one will ever resist me! Can you believe it?!" Turning towards you, her smile immediately drops at the sight of you rolling your eyes.

"...____?"

"This bitch right here..." With a sigh, you forced a smile and turn towards her only to freeze at her stilled form, "the hell's wrong with you?"

Su-yeon shakily lifts her hand, head twitching every few seconds. "T-that bottle in your hand...was that the one from the fridge?"

'Ha! Don't tell me she's gonna fall apart just because I'm drinking her juice?'

"Why yes. It. Is" Tauntingly lifting it to her face you take another big gulp with a sigh of content.

"NOOOO!" She lunges towards you with wild frantic eyes. You swiftly move over with a side-step in avoidance of falling.

The sound of cries and heavy thuds fill the room as you quickly drink more while dodging her tackle attempts.

"WHY?!" Su-yeon finally drops to the floor with a tear-streaked face once she saw that she's unable to catch you, "MY POTION! MY PRECIOUS POTION!"

Hearing her words, your eyes widen in shock before choking on the remaining liquid in your mouth. "The fuck you just say?"

"M-my potion was in there! You drank my potion! Do you know how much I had to do to get it?!"

You look at the girl in rage, the now-empty plastic thrown to the ground. "What is wrong with you?! Why would you put it in a juice container? Why not a goddamn bottle that had some white shit like Ecstacy or Crack labeled on it so I won't drink it?"

Your breath begins to speed up in panic, feet automatically pacing on the floor. "Oh god! What the fuck did I get myself into?! I should've just acted more mature and confronted her about my juice. But noooo! My petty ass had to do something stupid!"

You stop when a sudden thought came to mind. 'This was Su-yeon's long last dream of seeing them, and I fucked it up for her...'

Turning towards the heartbroken girl to apologize, you stop once you saw that she was nowhere in the room. "Su-yeon?"

"You ruined it..."

You jump from the raspy whisper of her voice before her hunched frame came into view.

Her body began to twitch more as she steps away from the doorway.

"Hey look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was your-"

"SHUT UP!"

You flinch at the sudden gleam of a knife, her dark eyes staring at you with pure hatred.

"You ruined...evERYTHING! MY LIFE'S OVER BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"W-wait a minute! Let's just calm down for a moment. How do you know if it wasn't fluke huh? You're willing to kill me for something that may not even be real?" You're backed into a walk as she stalks closer to you.

Soft giggles leave her small frame, you helplessly stare at her as they begin to grow even louder and nerve-racking.

"A fluke? You really think it was a fluke?" She stops smiling with a glare. "I spent everything I had on that potion. My savings account, my parents' insurance money, hell even last month's rent. So don't tell me the potion was a fucking scam. And if it was? I was ready to risk it all."

A glare of disgust and anger sits on your face as you look into her deranged eyes. "You're fucking sick you know that? You are literally willing to ruin the lives of others just for some fucking idols? Get it together!"

More tears fall down her face, lips shaking as she takes in small gasps of air. "They are my EVERYTHING ____! If I can't have them, what's the use of living anymore?"

Su-yeon quickly wipes away the leftover tears before walking closer with the knife menacingly shinning in the light.

Tears of your own start to form once she raises the knife high over her head.

"W-wait!"

Pausing at your pleading, she looks at you with a blank face. "What?"

"What would happen when my family gets suspicious of my disappearance? You really want BTS to see their beloved fan going to jail for murder?"

The room goes silent at your words. Silent prayers fill your head in the hope of being able to change her mind.

A smile appears on her face. "You must've really believed that I'd spare you just because of some bullshit excuse. I've got nothing to lose now. So what if I'm taken away to jail? I'll happily live there knowing that the cause of my suffering is buried six-feet-under."

She raises the knife once more.

"N-no Su-yeon wait! I-"

Your words were cut off by a scream as the knife enters the side of your stomach, it intensifies when she suddenly twist the blade with a sickening smirk.

You felt as though your body was on fire from the pain. The muscles around the weapon contract in response before she rips it out.

Falling unto the floor with a thud, you curl up into a ball, blood flowing freely as it surrounds your convulsing body.

"P-please," you gaze up at her with blurred eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't m-"

A sharp gasp escapes you when she stabs into one of your legs making it impossible for you to run out.

"Tch, so weak...and I thought you black women were supposed to be all strong and independent. But here you are, weeping for your life because of some little ole stab wounds."

You gag in pain, blood rushing up from the back of your throat to join the pool that's already there.

Drowsiness began to take over your body when the sound of her footsteps seemed to grow distant.

'I...I can't go out like this...not this way...'

With much struggle, you were finally able to pull out your phone and press the emergency contact.

The dial tone rings for a few seconds before a click sound happens.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"I need...help!" you cry out as your breathing turns into wheezes of pain, "please!"

"Ma'am can you tell me what's happened?"

"I-I've been stabbed...it's...really bad. I don't...I don't think I can hold on...much longer..."

"Just stay with me ma'am, send me your address and an emergency unit will arrive shortly."

Despite your vision blurring, you were still able to make out the figure of Su-yeon as she walks back into the room.

But instead of a knife, a paperweight of what seemed to be the symbol of BTS that was held in her hands.

"I won't make it!" You choke out as more blood floods your mouth, tears fell to the floor as you awaited your inevitable fate, "please...tell my family...that I love the-"

A heavy blow was sent to your head causing your eyes to roll back. Everything seemed to fade away, darkness wrapping you up in its grip.

'So much for surviving...guess momma was right'

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

A huff of exhaustion leaves Su-yeon as she drags your body out of the back of her trunk.

After knocking you out, she knew she only had a good amount of time before the police traced your call and came to the apartment.

Doing a short clean of the knife, she wrapped you up in her bedsheet and placed you in the car to keep away from prying eyes.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed before she finally settled on a small damp area in between two tall buildings.

"Hey!"

She tense at the calling of a voice. Quickly making sure that the face mask was secure enough, she tilts her head in acknowledgment.

"Do you need help? It seems that you're having a little bit of trouble."

"N-no thank you!" She deepens her voice with a scruffy tone, "It's just some trash I've been avoiding taking out for a while."

The male narrows his eyes at the way her hands fidgeted along with how she looked everywhere else but him. "...okay, if you say so. Have a good night I guess."

Walking away into the night, Su-yeon releases a breath of relief once he disappears from her line of view.

She looks down in time to catch the sight of blood seeping through the cotton blanket.

"Shit...I better get this over with before it spreads too much." Pulling the rest of your body from the car, a small smirk appears at the nasty sound of your head smacking against the concrete.

"Take my hand now...you are the cause of my Euphoria~" The sound of her soft humming bounces off the walls of the narrow buildings as if she hadn't just committed an act of murder.

Eyes landing on the piles of trash-bags, you're placed there before they are put on top to cover your body from open view.

"Oh! I almost forgot, silly me~" Ripping the blanket off of you, she giggles at the sight of your body rolling deeper into the trash, "can't leave any of my DNA behind now can I?"

Su-yeon's eyes crinkle as she walks back to her car with a grin. "Ha! DNA...I could totally become a comedian if I wanted to..."

With her retreating footsteps echoing into the night, it became fainter until the sound of an engine and car zooming away replaced it.

Everything was quiet...not a single sound was heard in the deep humid alleyway.

As the city thrummed with life, you laid there. A product of crazy obsession and petty mistakes costed you your life.

Never again would you be able to talk to your family, or be able to enjoy a daytime stroll in the park.

The only memory left of you was the pool of blood left in the middle of your roommate's floor.

Your wide, blank eyes that had held fear before you took your last breath stared off into nothingness.

You, ____ [Last Name] were dead...

'Wha...where am I?'

Or so that's what one would assume if it weren't for the sudden twitching of your fingers.

You were still alive...and for some reason, you wanted to die when your body started to glow.

Despite the injuries given by Su-yeon, nothing could prepare you for the feeling of thousands of hot piercing needles penetrating every inch of your skin.

Had it not been for your immobilization, you would've been screamed out in pain.

The once dark alleyway brilliantly lit up as tears of agony slipped past your frozen lids.

'Help...me...someone...'

"Yeontan! Yeontan come here boy!"

The distinct sounds of barks filled your head as you finally succumbed to the pain and passed out once more.

Almost as quickly as it came, the light faded away just as a small ball of fur ran up to you with a whine.

Its cold nose nudged you with more whines in hopes of waking you up only for the action to be in vain.

"Yeontan?!" Heavy footsteps rounded the corner before hesitantly running down the narrow walkway with caution.

"Yeontan?" His tense body relaxes at the reassuring bark before letting out a hum of disappointment, "Bad boy! Why would you run out of the apartment like that? Do you know how upset Taehyung would be if he found out that I wasn't properly watching you?"

Ignoring him, Yeontan goes back to sniffing you with more whines causing the male to frown in confusion. "Did something happen? What's wrong?"

His face scrunches in disbelief with pursed lips. "Wait...why the hell am I talking to a dog?"

Quickly pushing the thought aside, he pulls out his phone and turns on the flashlight only to drop it with a startled gasp.

Even though it fell into the murky water, enough light was given to show your lifeless body amongst the trash and plastic.

He takes a step back in horror, eyes becoming misty as they take in the sight of the blood-soaked clothes and stab wounds.

Finally snapping out of the trance at the barks of Yeontan, he quickly picks up the dog and rushes back to the apartment building.

"HYUNGS!"

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

You jolt up with a gasp, eyes struggling to see past the blurriness as they frantically move around in fear.

"Hey hey, it's alright." A hand gently grabs yours as the warm voice sends chills down your skin.

You flinch away from their touch, body curling up into a ball only to wince from the pain of irritating your wounds.

They sigh at your reaction and mumble a few words along with the sound of scribbling words on paper.

It was only then were your eyes able to finally blink away the blurry images. The first thing you noticed was a man in a white lab coat as he continued to write on his clipboard.

He smiles once seeing your now calmed state. "Hi there. My name is Dr. Young, and I will be your doctor until you're able to leave. Do you remember anything before being brought here?"

Face blank of emotion you, stared at him with a hesitant nod.

"Good! Would you mind telling me what happened?"

Coming home exhausted as usual...

The juice...

Su-yeon and the knife...

Blood...so much blood...

Her taunting smile as she watched you bleed out...

His smile dims at the sight of you remaining silent, your face scrunching up in pain from the memory.

"Hey, not to worry! We can ask you another time when you're better. It's a deal m'kay?"

With a meek hum of agreement, you send him a shaky grin causing his movements to suddenly stop.

Moments pass as he continues to stare at you in a trance-like way until you finally frown from the uneasiness.

Realizing he was making you uncomfortable, Dr. Young clears his throat with an embarrassed smile.

"Well now, I'll inform the nurses of you being awake so they can check your vitals. The others will surely be glad when they see that you're doing okay."

One last smile thrown your way, he walks out the room leaving you alone in a pool confusion.

'Others? What does he mean othe-'

You freeze, eyes wide in surprise at the sight of seven men laying around in the blue and white-colored room.

Some laid in chairs while others sat on the floor with small jackets used as covering.

Despite their sleeping positions, what they all had in common was the dark rings that sat underneath their eyes.

'Were they the ones who saved me?'

The squeak of a chair causes you to break from your thoughts and turn over in time to see the sight of a body hitting the floor with a thud.

A low groan of pain leaves the male as his hands appear on the edge of the bed for support.

With curiosity burning in your veins you peek down just when his head pops up.

Stilling in shock, your heartbeat races as you're faced with one of the most breathtaking faces you've ever seen in your life.

"Oh!" His head cutely tilts to the side as he sends a giant smile towards you, "well aren't you just a cutie~ My name is Taehyung, what's yours?"

'Your future wife if you want me to be. Hell, I'll even be the side chick if I can't have that.'

You clear your thoughts with a quick headshake before plastering a smile. "M-my name is ____."

He stares at your shy actions, mouth dropped open in awe as what could seem like hearts floated in his eyes.

"Awww!" He reaches over and gives your face a soft pinch, "you're just so cute! I wish I that could take you home with me~"

"Really? What would you do to me?" Your eyes become lidded with lust as multiple heated scenarios filled your head.

"Well, first I would give you a little pink glittery dress to wear. And then-oh! Then me, you, and Yeontanie could go to the park so that you can go on all the kiddie rides. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Your lovey-dovey smile drops at his words, head lowered down with pursed lips as you gaze at him in disbelief. "Pink glittery dress? Kiddie rides?"

Taehyung eyes brighten more at your questions. "Yes! And then if you want we can go to this little ice-cream shop to get a yummy tre-"

"Motherfucker do I look like a baby to you?!"

He gasps, eyes widening before placing a hand over his mouth in shock. "Did you...did you just use no-no words?"

"No-no words?...are you shitting me right now?! Who the fuck says no-no words in this day and age? This ain't no damn Barney type shit my nigg-ah!"

You look at a frowning Taehyung in anger, hands coming up to rub your forehead after being thumped.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you-goddammit!"

"No! No more bad words okay? Cute kids like you shouldn't use them, only grown-ups are allowed to." He wags his finger with furrowed eyebrows as his voice deepens into a scolding tone.

'Is this dude serious right now?' Staring at him for a few moments you try to see whether he was just playing around or not, and by the serious expression on his face...you knew he wasn't. 'Fuck it...this bitch needs to go now.'

With a shake of your head, you reach out for the nurse call button only to slow down once taking a good look at your hands.

Usually, you would've continued at the sight of the callouses that decorated them from countless hours of tedious waitressing, but the sight of small soft hands that seemed to have never worked a day in their life is what made you stop.

"Wha...?" Flexing and shaking them with sharp movements, you begin to freak out when seeing that they were in fact yours.

'Wait...does that mean...'

Your eyes widen in fear before quickly pulling the collar of the nightgown to take a look at your body.

The sight of what would usually be where your breasts were hanging, you were met with only a flat chest.

'Noooo! My precious babies! A-and...'

Taking your gaze down even further, you saw that not one single pubic hair laid in-between your legs.

'Oh sweet Jesus...please please don't let me be what I think I am...'

"You!" Taehyung flinches at your narrowed gaze, "take me to the bathroom right now."

"O-okay..." Grabbing your hands, he pulls you to the end of the bed with an inconsiderable amount of ease. With one hand on the IV stand and the other one the idol's arm, your hunched figure wobbled to the closed door.

Tears pricked your eyes at the missing feeling of the weight of your chest whenever you had to bend down or over.

"Here we are~ Do you want me to go get a nurse to help you out?" He opens the door, turning on the light as you stared at the tiled floor in fear of facing the reality of the situation.

"N-no...I just need to do something right quick. You can stand outside if you want."

Not wanting to make you even more distressed, Taehyung reluctantly leaves you alone in the small confined space.

The room was silent, the only sounds heard were of your shaky breathing and the occasional dripping of the IV as it administered the medicine.

'Is okay ____...just one look. One look to be sure. That's all, just one...'

Looking up to the mirror, you're met with the face of a very young and adorable little girl.

Her face was rounded with the touch of youthfulness, having features that could top even the babies you would fawn over on Instagram and Pinterest.

And if it weren't for the gaping mouth and eyes widened in horror, you probably wouldn't have believed it was you.

"I...I..."

| |

Taehyung leans against the door with a sigh of worry as he waits for you to call his name.

"Maybe she needs help?" He debates on whether or not to call a nurse or continue to wait.

"Aish! What is this child doing to me? She's already got me wrapped around her little finger...ah, such a Cutie Patootie~"

Gushing over the thought of you wearing adorable costumes and princess outfits, Taehyung becomes excited when gazing at his sleeping bandmates.

"I should definitely wake the others so they can finally meet her..." A small pout appears on the idol's face when a sudden thought came to mind, "but how can I wake them all in one time?"

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MEEEEEEEEE?!"

The other members jump at the high-pitched scream in alarm, eyes still covered from sleep looking around the room in panic.

"...that might work too."

∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘

a/n: part two? 👀

31 notes · View notes

peatldrmz · 2 years ago

Text

A knight’s wound (re written) by gem

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kingofbodyrolls · 4 months ago

Text

To Catch a Merman (m) | pjm

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

You don’t really enjoy your work on a trawler, but it pays the rent. When you hear some ruckus out of the deck, you go out to investigate, only to be met by an unreal sight: a blonde merman with a sparkly golden tail caught in the net, struggling to get free.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romance / tiny angst → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 17.7k → Warnings (general) + triggers: multiple povs (I tried to keep them apart, but there’s some sections where they mix), a shitty ex (not Jimin or one of the tannies), blackmail (because of said stupid ex), low female rage (it’s very minor, but let me just say that reader can defend herself if need be 🤭). → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), multiple orgasms, cockwarming, fingering, oral (male receiving), biting/marking, merfolk intercourse (it’s like a mating dance, lol), dirty talk. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: I’m baaaaack 🥳 I really love how this one turned out and I hope you love it as much as I do! And now there’s only two more mermaid stories left 🥹 This has truly been special, and i’m so glad I stuck with it and didn’t abandon it like I feared at one moment… Anyway, any kind of feedback will be very much appreciated—it fuels my inspiration, you know? Like just one single comment or reblog can make my heart soar, make me smile and feel like ‘yeah, someone on the internet likes my writing and stories as much as I do’ and it truly helps me to keep going, especially at times where I second guess myself (happens rather often I’m afraid). Please let me know okay? And happy reading ✨

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far out?” Jungkook’s voice wavers, uncertainty woven into each syllable. His dark eyes dart toward the fading silhouette of home, but Jimin doesn’t pause, doesn’t even glance back. His golden tail gleams like sunlight trapped in the sea, cutting through the azure depths with an effortless sway.

“Nah, don’t be such a guppy!” Jimin laughs, his voice buoyant with adventure, rippling through the water as he propels himself faster. Each stroke carries him farther into the unknown, where the current whispers secrets only the bold dare to uncover.

Jungkook lingers, his chest tight with unease. “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” he calls, the words almost swallowed by the vastness. “We’re so far from home…”

Jimin suddenly halts mid-stroke, his brown eyes narrowing. Above them, a shadow looms, dark and colossal, breaking the soft shimmer of sunlight on the waves. The water feels heavier now, the salty tang sharper.

“What is it?” Jungkook asks, dread curling in his gut.

“It’s a big boat,” Jimin murmurs, the words bubbling to the surface as if reluctant to leave his lips. His curiosity pulls him forward, closer to the shadow that stretches like a specter above them.

“Yeah, and we should stay away,” Jungkook snaps, his hand darting out to grab Jimin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

But Jimin shrugs him off, slipping through his grip like quicksilver. His golden tail fans wide, propelling him onward, closer to the unknown.

“Just a little closer!” Jimin calls, his voice light, but his gaze locked on the shadow overhead.

“Jimin!” Jungkook shouts, the name tumbling from his mouth like a plea. He spins in the water, struggling against the tide—and his rising anger. His voice cuts through the deep with raw emotion. “You’re going to get us killed!”

But Jimin only laughs again, a sound like the tinkling of glass against the endless blue, as the shadow above deepens, and the world below seems to hold its breath.

“It’s okay!” Jimin calls, his voice barely rising above the whispering waves. He hovers just beneath the surface, closer to danger than Jungkook would ever allow if he had his way. But Jimin’s curiosity burns brighter than his caution. The lure of the unknown pulls at him like a tide. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifts his head above the water, the ocean’s surface breaking around him in ripples of light.

His breath catches. The boat looms above him—a hulking beast of wood and iron, its hull painted in hues of brown and white, weathered by years of salt and sun. Massive cranes stretch skyward like skeletal arms, and heavy nets drape across its deck, glinting faintly under the midday sun. It is not beautiful, but it is powerful, a thing of human hands and ambition, utterly foreign to the delicate harmony of the sea.

Jungkook materializes silently at Jimin’s side, his presence a sudden ripple in the water that startles the older merman. Jimin glances at him, guilt flickering briefly in his wide eyes before giving way to fascination again.

“Jimin,” Jungkook hisses, his voice sharp, his gaze sharper still, like an anchor seeking to tether him. “Turn back.”

But Jimin doesn’t move. His voice trembles, not with fear but with awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” His eyes dart to the figures moving along the deck, their shadows shifting like specters against the glare of sunlight. “There are people up there.”

“Hide!” Jungkook snaps, grabbing Jimin’s arm and pulling him sharply downward. The sea envelops them both again, cool and heavy, muffling the world above. “That’s a trawler,” Jungkook says, his voice low and urgent, every word a warning. “They catch fish, Jimin. You shouldn’t go near it.”

Jimin nods absently, his head bobbing like seaweed caught in the current, but his thoughts are far away, drifting beyond Jungkook’s grasp. The boat has hooked his curiosity like a lure, and no amount of scolding can break its hold.

Jungkook sighs, frustration etching lines into his usually calm expression. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s tail and tugging him backward with a determined kick of his fins. Jimin lets out a half-hearted protest but doesn’t fight him, his gaze lingering on the shadow of the boat until it fades into the distance.

As they swim back to Naraeum, Jungkook glances over his shoulder, his unease like a weight dragging him down. The ocean feels too still, too silent, as if even it is holding its breath. Beside him, Jimin smiles faintly, his mind adrift in a sea of wonder.

Days have passed, yet Jimin cannot shake the image of the trawler from his mind. The boat lingers in his thoughts like a siren’s call—an enigma draped in nets and cranes. He remembers the humans, their shadows etched against the light, and wonders what it would feel like to stand among them, to know the world above the waves. His curiosity churns like the tide, restless and unyielding.

Which is why, against better judgment, his whimsical heart leads him back to where he last saw it. Alone, this time. Jungkook’s warnings echo faintly in his memory, but he brushes them aside like grains of sand. Jungkook doesn’t understand—how could he? To Jimin, the pull of discovery is stronger than fear.

The sun is high, its warmth seeping through the water’s surface as he breaks through the shimmering line between ocean and air. The trawler looms in the distance, its silhouette stark against the azure sky. No voices, no footsteps. The deck looks empty, silent. Safe.

Jimin swims closer, his golden tail cutting through the waves with an eager flick. He dips beneath the surface again, the water cool against his skin as he circles to the far side of the vessel. His heart flutters with anticipation, the world narrowing to this single moment, this single mystery.

But as he moves to rise once more, something catches. A sudden, taut pressure coils around him—a net, rough and unyielding, tangling his tail and pinning his arms to his sides. Panic flares. He thrashes, but the more he struggles, the tighter the net pulls. The world tips and tilts as he’s dragged upward, the ocean slipping away below him, the sun blinding above.

When he finally breaks the surface, it is not in freedom but captivity. He is hoisted into the air, suspended with a writhing chaos of silver-scaled fish. Their bodies slap and squirm against him, cold and frantic. Jimin grunts, his pride stinging almost as much as his skin. Of course, he thinks bitterly. Of course I’d get caught. He’s the kind of merman who can’t even balance on a rock without sliding off. Clumsy to his core. Jungkook had warned him—warned him with exasperation and those sharp, knowing eyes—but he hadn’t listened.

Now, he lies in a heap on the deck, the net a coarse prison pressing against his skin. The trawler’s wood feels foreign beneath him, its surface warm from the sun. For a moment, there is no movement, no sound but the rhythmic creak of the boat and the faint slap of water against its hull.

No humans. Not yet. He exhales shakily, a flicker of relief warming him. Lucky, for now. But luck is fleeting, and the net is unrelenting. He twists and pulls, his tail flicking in frustration, yet the woven threads refuse to yield.

As he struggles, the vastness of his predicament begins to sink in. The boat, the net, the world of humans looming just beyond the corner of his vision—all of it feels too big, too foreign. Yet, even in the face of danger, a part of him remains defiant, his curiosity undimmed. I’ll get out of this, he thinks. I have to.

But the trawler sways beneath him, a silent giant, and the horizon stretches wide and uncaring. The sun blazes overhead, and the sea he loves feels suddenly, painfully far away.

You hate this job. The endless hours, the stench of fish, the grinding noise of the trawler’s machinery—it all gnaws at your soul. But the money is good, and good money keeps you coming back. Still, as you stretch awake in the middle of the day, the remnants of last night’s shift clinging to you like a haze, you can’t shake the feeling that you’d rather be anywhere else.

Weird noises from the deck break through your grogginess, jarring and unfamiliar. You yawn, dragging yourself from the cocoon of your cramped bed, the lazy heat of the cabin making every step feel like a chore. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffle to investigate, the bright daylight spilling through the doorway catching you off guard.

The moment you step outside, the world hits you. The sun blazes mercilessly above, its golden rays turning the sea into a blinding mosaic of light. The air hangs heavy, hot and thick, clinging to your skin like a second layer. And then you see him.

A man—no, an angel—caught in the center of the deck, tangled in the coarse weave of a fishing net. Blonde hair gleams like spun sunlight, cascading over his shoulders. His chest is sculpted, every curve and ridge kissed by the sun, tapering to a tiny waist. Your gaze falters at sturdy thighs, only for your brain to screech to a halt at his dick. Completely naked. Utterly surreal.

His head jerks up, startled brown eyes locking with yours. A loud, high-pitched shriek escapes him, the sound jarring and almost inhuman. He thrashes in the net, his movements frantic as the silver-scaled fish trapped with him flop and slide against his skin. You freeze, your breath caught in your throat, every nerve firing in chaotic confusion.

What the hell is happening? You want to ask something—anything. Maybe ‘do you need help?’ or ‘who are you?’ or even the more pressing ‘how the hell did you get here?’ But your words die on your lips as he suddenly wriggles free of the net. For a moment, he’s all unsteady limbs, rising awkwardly to his feet. Then, like a fleeting mirage, he dashes for the edge of the boat, his movements fluid and oddly graceful despite his wobbling steps.

He pauses just long enough to clap his hands together in a makeshift diving pose. And then he leaps. Quick, but slow enough that you catch a glimpse of a tattoo of moon phases down his spine.

Time slows as he arcs through the air, a golden blur against the deep blue horizon. The water accepts him in a shimmering burst, and he’s gone. You gape, your voice finally finding freedom in a startled yell. Heart pounding, you rush to the edge of the boat, gripping the sun-warmed railing as you peer over. The ocean is calm, indifferent, save for a few bubbles breaking its surface.

You scan the water, searching, your eyes desperate to confirm what you just saw—or to convince yourself it was some kind of sun-soaked fever dream. But there’s nothing. The waves ripple serenely, as if mocking your bewilderment.

No man. No trace. Just the endless expanse of sea, stretching into oblivion.

You stand there, stunned, the net still lying in a crumpled heap behind you, its captured fish glinting in the sunlight. The deck creaks beneath your feet, but the rest of the world seems to hold its breath. Who—or what—was that? And where did he go?

The sea offers no answers. Only silence.

The whole day, he lingers in your mind like a shadow you can’t shake. The golden-haired man, tangled in the net, his brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. Questions churn in your head, relentless as the tide. Is he okay? Did he make it? Why was he there in the first place? And the one you don’t want to ask but can’t silence—Did he drown after he leapt into the sea?

He hadn’t said a word, only that strange startled cry when your eyes met. The sound was raw, unguarded, like something wild caught between fight and flight. You replay it over and over, a haunting echo, as you try to piece him together from fragments: golden hair, sun-bronzed skin, a fleeting presence that disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. And those eyes—terrified, searching. You wonder what they saw in you.

A sudden hand at the small of your back drags you out of your thoughts, the warmth unwelcome and invasive. Riley. You shrug him off sharply, your frown a warning, but he doesn’t take the hint.

“What happened out there?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone. He must have heard the ruckus earlier, but you’re in no mood to indulge him. “Nothing,” you snap, turning away. “And don’t touch me again. Ever.”

His hand retreats, but his presence lingers like a bad smell. Riley—your ex, your mistake. You curse the naïveté that led you to take this job, blind to the fact he’d be working here too. It felt like fate mocking you, trapping you on this swaying tin can with someone you can’t stand. Every day, you question your sanity for staying. But the paycheck binds you like chains, and so you endure.

Riley’s voice follows you, slick with false concern. “I can protect you, if you’re scared.” The words slither through the air, leaving a sickly taste in your mouth. You stiffen, his tone stirring something sharp and defensive in your chest.

You turn, arms crossing tightly over your body, your voice colder than the ocean below. “I don’t need your protection, Riley. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.” Each word is clipped, deliberate, your disdain evident.

He smirks, like your anger is a game he enjoys playing. It makes your stomach churn, and you glare at him before storming away, needing space, needing air.

Your thoughts drift again as you retreat to the edge of the boat, eyes scanning the endless sea. The sunlight dances on the waves, golden and playful, as if mocking your mood. But no matter how far you look, there’s no sign of him—the man who consumed your every thought today. Just water stretching endlessly, as inscrutable as it is vast.

A few days later, the quiet of dawn is shattered by a strange, rhythmic banging that echoes against the hull of the boat. The sound pulls you from sleep like a siren’s call, and before you can think, you’re on your feet, racing out in nothing but your pajamas, the early chill biting at your skin. The sky is a delicate canvas of pale pink and gold, the sea beneath it still dark and restless.

The deck is empty, the vast stretch of wood as silent as the horizon. But the sound persists—low, insistent, coming from the side of the boat. Heart thudding, you approach the railing, peering over cautiously.

And there he is.

Your breath hitches. For a moment, all you can do is stare, your mouth falling open as if to match the endless gape of the sea below. Caught in the coarse weave of the net, a merman thrashes against his bindings. Half of his shimmering tail—gold and flecked with iridescent yellows—remains submerged in the water, while his torso, lean and sunlit, glistens with droplets that catch the dawn light like scattered jewels. His blonde hair, unruly and windblown, clings to his face in wild streaks.

Familiar blonde hair. A face you’ve seen before.

He struggles, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, the net tangling tighter with every thrash. “Help!” he cries, his voice raw and desperate, carried over the waves to no one in particular. His gaze hasn’t found you yet, but his fear is palpable, written in every line of his body.

“I can help you!” you call out, your voice breaking through the morning stillness like a splash of cold water.

He freezes, flinching at the sound. Slowly, as if time itself has slowed, he turns his head. His eyes meet yours, and in an instant, the fight drains from his limbs. Shock overtakes him, his expression teetering between recognition and disbelief.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The sea murmurs below, the net creaks with the sway of the boat, and still, his gaze holds yours, weighing something unseen, something fragile.

“Can you help me out of this net?” he asks at last, his voice low, wary, the tension in his shoulders betraying his uncertainty.

You nod, steadying yourself against the railing. “I can,” you reply, your words measured, reassuring. “But I’ll need to raise you onto the deck first. The net—it’s too heavy to untangle in the water.”

His lips press into a thin line, his reluctance plain, but he nods, a flicker of trust crossing his features. The moment feels precarious, like balancing on the edge of a wave.

“All right,” he murmurs. “Just... be quick.”

You grip the railing tighter, your heart pounding as you prepare to pull him aboard. The world feels charged, like the air before a storm, and the sea watches silently, its secrets just beneath the surface.

You hear him sigh, a soft, defeated sound that seems to blend with the whisper of the waves against the hull. Slowly, he relents, letting you take control. With a steady pull, you drag him and the heavy net out of the water, your muscles straining as the glistening form of the merman rises onto the deck.

There he lays, sprawled and still, water pooling beneath him as it drips from his sleek, otherworldly form. You step closer, and for the first time, you truly see him. He isn’t just beautiful—he’s ethereal, like something conjured from the dreams of gods. His face is serene yet haunting, framed by unruly blonde locks that cling to his skin, while his shimmering tail catches the sun, reflecting colors that defy description.

Your breath hitches. It’s him. The man who has haunted your thoughts for days, the one you feared might have been claimed by the sea. Relief floods through you, mingled with awe. He didn’t drown. He didn’t vanish. He’s here—and he’s a merman.

Shaking off your daze, you kneel beside him, your hands working to untangle the net from his glistening body. Each movement feels surreal, your fingers sliding over the slick scales as you free him inch by inch. When the last knot falls away, you can’t help but linger, your gaze tracing the curve of his tail. It’s a masterpiece of nature, wet and scaly, each iridescent hue shimmering like molten gold under the light. Without thinking, your hand reaches out, brushing against it.

The texture is mesmerizing—cool, smooth, and alien. But then, just as you’re about to marvel aloud, a flicker of light catches your eye. Tiny sparkles dart around him, a strange, magical shimmer that dances like fireflies in the dawn. You blink, and suddenly, his tail isn’t there anymore.

Your heart stops. What you’re touching now isn’t a tail—it’s skin. Wet, firm, human skin. Your hand rests high on his thigh, alarmingly close to…

You jerk back as though scalded, a startled shriek escaping your lips. Heat rises to your cheeks as your mind spirals, but he doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he curls into himself, folding his arms and drawing his knees up, his entire form radiating vulnerability. His golden hair falls over his face like a curtain, shielding him from your gaze, as if the transformation has stolen some vital part of him.

Snapping yourself out of it, you scramble to your feet, casting about for something to cover him. A roll of tarp catches your eye, and you grab it, moving swiftly to drape it over his body. His wide, questioning eyes follow your hurried movements, but before you can say anything, footsteps echo from behind.

“Hide,” you hiss under your breath, pulling the tarp snugly around him. He doesn’t protest, just shifts deeper into the shadows, his presence shrinking to near invisibility.

Riley strides onto the deck, his boots thudding against the wood with deliberate weight. His face is unreadable, but his gaze sweeps the space like a predator searching for prey. “What’s going on out here?” he asks, his tone sharp and suspicious.

“Nothing,” you blurt, your voice an octave too high. You shift your body subtly, blocking Riley’s view of the tarp-covered figure behind you. The air between you crackles with tension as you force yourself to meet his eyes, willing him to believe your lie.

“Hmm… okay,” Riley says, lingering just long enough to set your teeth on edge. “I heard you scream, so if you need me, just let me know.” His gaze sweeps the boat once more, like he’s searching for the ghost of your secrets.

You scowl, crossing your arms as a shield. “Fuck off,” you snap, the words sharp as broken glass.

Finally, he shrugs and turns, his heavy footsteps receding into the distance. The tension eases its grip on your chest, and you let out a shaky breath, relief rushing in like a tide. Only when he’s gone do you feel like you can truly breathe again.

Turning back, you kneel by the tarp, fingers trembling slightly as you lift its edge. Beneath it, the man—if you can call him that—sits curled in on himself, his golden hair a wild halo around his wary eyes. Those eyes fix on you, wide and mistrusting, their depths dark as uncharted waters.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly, your voice gentle as the breeze over calm seas. “I won’t hurt you.”

“But you’re human,” he replies, his voice low, tinged with fear and something unnameable. He shifts back instinctively, his posture guarded, keeping a cautious distance as if you might sprout claws at any moment.

You hesitate, not wanting to push him further into his shell. “Are you hungry?” you ask instead, steering the conversation into safer waters. You don’t press him; instead, you keep still, aware of the fragile balance between his fear and your curiosity.

His stomach answers for him, the loud, unmistakable growl breaking the tension. A blush colors his cheeks, and to your surprise, he giggles—a light, melodic sound that’s startlingly human.

“Do you have tang?” he asks, his eyes brightening for the briefest moment, curiosity peeking through his fear.

Tang. The word catches you off guard, but you quickly realize what he means. A smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “I think I have some tangy snacks in my room. Hold on.”

You pause, glancing at his dripping figure, and add, “And I’ll get you some clothes too.”

His gaze softens, just a little, as if he’s starting to believe you might not be a threat after all.

Rising quickly, you dart into your small cabin, rifling through drawers until you find a bag of snacks that might fit the bill. Then, with a surge of boldness, you sneak into one of your coworker’s rooms. Borrowing—stealing, really—a pair of pants and a shirt, you mutter an apology under your breath. It’ll have to do.

When you return, he’s still seated where you left him, his form a quiet figure against the chaos of the sea around you. You hand him the clothes, and he takes them with a hesitant nod. Watching him dress is like watching a bird try to walk—awkward, unnatural, his movements jerky and unsure, as though his body resists this strange, human choreography.

But eventually, the oversized shirt hangs from his shoulders, the borrowed pants bunched awkwardly around his waist. He adjusts the fabric with a distracted frown before shifting his focus to the snacks you’ve brought. The tangy treats vanish quickly, his hands moving with an efficiency born of hunger, though he pauses occasionally to eye the brightly colored packaging like it’s something from another world.

You hand him a bottle of water, and he gulps it down, his throat working rhythmically, the sound amplified in the stillness between you. Finally, you settle across from him, your knees tucked close as you take him in—not just his appearance, but his presence, the way he seems both fragile and powerful, like something caught between two worlds.

“What’s your name?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

He pauses, lowering the bottle, then meets your gaze. “Jimin,” he says simply, the name rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret.

You nod, offering him a small, warm smile, hoping it will ease the wariness in his expression. “Hi, Jimin. I’m Y/N.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the ocean filling the space between your words. But curiosity pushes forward, unbidden. “What are you doing here?”

Jimin chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with frustration as he pops another snack into his mouth. “I just wanted to see the boat again,” he admits, shaking his head. “And I got caught in that stupid net again…” He rolls his eyes, the gesture so human it catches you off guard, deflating with a sigh that seems to sink into the deck beneath him.

But then his gaze sharpens, flicking around the empty deck as if he senses unseen eyes. “Why are you hushing and hiding me like I’m some sort of secret?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity but not without suspicion.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “Do you really want my coworkers to find you? To know that you’re a merman?” you counter, your tone cautious but earnest.

He considers this for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line before he exhales. “I guess not,” he mutters, the words laced with a resigned wisdom. “Humans aren’t trustworthy.” His tone is matter-of-fact, not cruel, but unyielding, as though he’s learned this lesson too many times before.

You flinch inwardly at the generalization, but you let it pass. “I’m trustworthy,” you say, your smile growing as you try to project a confidence you’re not sure you feel.

He tilts his head, his sharp eyes searching yours, and it’s clear he isn’t convinced. The wall of mistrust between you is a thick one, forged not in a moment, but over years, perhaps even centuries, of caution bred into his kind.

But that’s okay, you think. You didn’t expect trust to come easily.

“I swear, I mean you no harm,” you add, leaning back slightly, your voice quieter now, as though softer words might slip past his defenses.

Maybe it’s all the fantasy novels you’ve devoured recently, their tales of impossible creatures and fragile bonds, but a strange determination takes root in your chest: you have to protect him. At least from Riley and the rest of your coworkers. You can already picture the chaos that would erupt if they discovered mermaids were more than just stories. The scandal. The cruelty. No—if nothing else, you owe him safe passage back to his home.

“Have you ever been out of the ocean before? Or… on land?” you ask, your voice soft, as if you’re afraid to disturb the fragile magic of the moment.

He shakes his head, though his posture eases, his body less coiled now. “I’ve never been to land before,” he says, his voice carrying a wistful undercurrent. “But plenty of my friends have.”

As he speaks, his gaze drifts far away, as if caught on a tide only he can see. There’s a dreamy quality to his expression, a flicker of longing that glows like sunlight beneath the waves. “I really want to see land,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with wonder. But then it dips, quiet and heavy, as he fidgets with his hands. “But...”

Before you can think better of it, the words tumble out of your mouth like a pebble skipping across water. “I can show you, if you want to!”

He blinks, startled, and his head tilts slightly, those deep eyes locking onto yours. “You would?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid the offer might vanish if he speaks too loudly.

“Yeah, sure,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual. But your smile is warm, gentle, and you hope it will soothe his lingering doubt. “You seem nice. And curious. I can show you my world.”

Your heart flutters at the absurdity of it all—you, befriending a merman. A mythical creature. The stuff of bedtime stories and legends. If your coworkers knew, they’d call you crazy. But you’d rather be crazy than let this moment slip through your fingers. Your parents always taught you to be kind, and if kindness means helping a creature from the deep see a dream made real, then so be it.

His honeyed skin flushes faintly, the blush soft as a sunrise, and he murmurs, “Okay.” But then his smile falters, his hands folding together. “But I have to go back home now. My friends… they’ll worry about me if I’m gone too long.”

The spell breaks as he rises to his feet, and you follow him to the boat’s edge. The sea stretches below, glittering and endless, waiting to welcome him back.

He turns to you one last time, his golden hair haloed by the sunlight, and then, without a moment’s hesitation, he dives. The splash sends ripples across the surface, but before you can process his departure, the clothes he was wearing resurface, bobbing lazily in the water.

A second later, his head pops up, grinning. “Oops,” he says, his voice bright with laughter, and he gathers the floating garments, tossing them up to you with surprising precision.

He waves, and with a flick of his magnificent tail—shimmering like molten gold in the sunlight—he disappears into the depths. For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the water, the echo of his presence lingering like the last note of a song.

You sigh, shaking your head. Maybe you have been reading too many fantasy novels. But as you fold his clothes, still damp and salty, you know one thing for sure: you’ll see him again.

Jimin has never truly met a human before. He’s always kept his distance, heeding the Elders’ grim warnings—dark tales of cruelty and greed. Stories of merfolk snared in nets, dragged from the waves to live as captives behind glass walls, their freedom traded for fleeting human fascination. The thought of such confinement has always chilled him. The ocean, vast and endless, is his sanctuary—a realm where he can stretch his fins and feel the infinite embrace of freedom.

But then he met you.

You’re not what he expected, not at all. You’re not cruel or cold, not the predator the stories painted. You’re warm, kind, and impossibly gentle—like a rare current that carries him somewhere new. And though his heart whispers caution, he can’t help but lean closer, drawn to your presence like sunlight breaking through the water’s surface.

There’s something about you that stirs a curiosity he’s long tried to ignore. He’s always been intrigued by the human world, yes—but not enough to chase it. Not like Jungkook, who used to live on land as a child, or Yoongi, with his endless fascination for women, or Hoseok, with his relentless fascination for breaking rules.

Jimin has always been curious and daring, but only in measured strokes—never quite brave enough to venture beyond the safety of the waves. Until now.

Now, he finds himself wondering. About you. About the strange life you lead aboard that towering vessel. Are you like the others, here to strip the sea of its bounty? Or is there something more to your story, something deeper? He wonders what your world is like—on land, where the tides are invisible and the air doesn’t shimmer.

How different it must be from Naraeum, his underwater home, where coral spires rise like cathedrals and the water sings with life.

And yet, for all his questions, one thought rises above the rest, startling in its clarity: You don’t seem bad at all.

In fact, he thinks, you might just be good.

Jimin knows well—thanks to Seokjin’s and Namjoon’s tales—that fish don’t swim on land, and that humans experience intimacy in ways unlike his kind. It fascinates him, though he would never admit it outright. Not that he’s thinking about you like that. No, it’s just curiosity, an innocent hunger to understand the unknown.

He’s heard Yoongi’s endless stories of wild escapades on land, tales laced with laughter and mischief. They always stir an uproar—especially from Seokjin, whose words crash like waves against Yoongi’s tide, insisting that not all humans are like the ones his friend indulges in, fleeting and shallow. Jimin has always stayed quiet during those heated debates. He isn’t like Yoongi, reckless and bold, and he isn’t like Seokjin, careful and measured. He’s just… himself.

Truthfully, Jimin doesn’t know what he wants from life, other than the life he already has. For years, he’s floated along, content to be a merman in the vast embrace of the sea. No mate has caught his eye, no grand ambition has stirred his soul. His parents, thankfully, don’t push—they let him be. But sometimes, late at night, he wonders if that’s enough.

Lately, his thoughts have been restless, swimming further than his fins ever could. What else is out there? What experiences are waiting to be tasted, untried and undiscovered? Perhaps that’s why he’s drawn to you—not just because you freed him, not just because you’re kind. It’s something deeper, something he can’t quite name.

And yes, you’re beautiful too. Not in the obvious, dazzling way of a siren’s song, but in a quiet, understated way that feels honest and real. He thinks of your smile, the way it tilted the edges of the moment into something softer, and he wonders if he’ll ever see it again.

As the sun dips low, sending shards of gold skimming the water’s surface, Jimin darts through the waves, leaving the coral towers of Naraeum behind. The ocean stretches endlessly before him, but his destination is clear—your boat. It’s been days since he last saw you, days since you freed him from the trap of that cursed net.

And yet, he feels it still—a strange pull in his chest, like a current drawing him toward the unknown. Toward you. He doesn’t know why he feels it, doesn’t know what he’s chasing. He only knows that he wants to see you again, to hear your voice ripple through the air like a melody he’s only just learned to love.

He lifts his head above the water, careful to keep his distance from the boat, his gaze sweeping its silhouette until it lands on you. You’re leaning over the bow, framed by the soft gold of the setting sun. The light dances on your skin, lending it an ethereal shimmer, as though you belong more to the heavens than the earth. But your face tells another story—it’s etched with sorrow, your gaze heavy as it clings to the horizon.

Something tugs at Jimin’s heart, an ache he can’t quite place. You don’t look like you belong on this boat, amidst the steel and salt and nets. It doesn’t seem to fit you, this life. He wonders, briefly, if you’re trapped in your own kind of net, caught in something you didn’t choose.

The sun dips lower, casting a burning amber trail across the water, and you remain there, lost in thought. Unable to bear the weight of your sadness, Jimin swims closer, circling around the front of the boat. He keeps his movements light, the water rippling gently around him as he glides into your view.

When your eyes finally find him, the change is instant. The sorrow lifts from your face like the breaking of a storm, and the softness of your smile is like the first light of dawn. It stirs something deep within him—a warmth that bubbles to the surface like the sea kissed by sunlight.

He smiles back, instinctively, his heart fluttering in a way he doesn’t quite understand.

You make your way to the side of the boat, where the nets hang ominously. He notices and keeps his distance, wary of the tangling web that had once ensnared him.

“Hi, Jimin,” you call, your voice carrying across the water, warm and soothing like a lullaby. You wave, a gesture so simple yet disarming, your smile soft and genuine.

“Hi!” he replies, his voice tinged with joy, his hand breaking the surface of the water in a wave. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face—it feels so natural now that he knows you mean him no harm.

“Do you want to come onto land with me tomorrow?” you ask, your voice gentle, yet carrying a spark of excitement. There’s a glimmer in your eyes, a kind of light that makes Jimin’s heart skip in a way that feels both thrilling and terrifying.

He nods shyly, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft but brimming with eagerness. A giddy kind of warmth rises in his chest, the thrill of the unknown pulling him forward even as fear tugs at his edges. The thought of stepping onto land—foreign and solid and utterly unyielding—is daunting. But he figures, with you by his side, the leap might not feel so far.

“Cool,” you say with a grin that makes him feel a little braver. You glance out toward the endless expanse of ocean, the breeze teasing at your hair. “What have you been up to?” you ask, leaning onto the edge again, mirroring the easy way he found you.

Jimin hesitates for just a moment before diving into his thoughts. “Not much,” he says, though the memories bubble up quickly, bright and alive. “Just hanging out with my friends. Taehyung and I found this lake—it’s tucked away, surrounded by these beautiful willow trees, their branches dipping right into the water. It felt... magical.” He smiles as he speaks, the memory playing vividly in his mind like sunlight glinting through leaves. “And then I went with Namjoon to collect gems. He’s so good at finding the rare ones—ruby reds, deep blues... like pieces of the sky trapped underwater.”

He notices the way your face softens as you listen, the way your focus seems entirely on him, and it fills him with a kind of happiness he didn’t know he was searching for. Maybe, just maybe, you’re as curious about his world as he is about yours.

“That sounds amazing! Maybe you could show me that lake sometime... or even introduce me to your friends?” you ask, your voice carrying a playful lilt, but there’s a softness beneath it—a quiet yearning that Jimin can’t quite place.

“You want to meet my friends?” he giggles, his laughter as light as the waves that lap against the boat. His tail shimmers beneath the surface, wiggling playfully, sending ripples out into the vast blue.

“Yeah,” you reply, a mock pout gracing your lips, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “If that sort of thing is allowed?”

The sight of your expression tugs a laugh from him, warm and unguarded. It’s the kind of laugh that bubbles up from the depths of his chest, spilling out like sunlight breaking through water. You’re pouting, and it’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yeah, it’s okay and I’ll ask my friends,” he says, still smiling, though his words carry the weight of quiet rebellion. He doesn’t tell you the whole truth—that the Elders would frown at the idea, their endless warnings about humans ringing in his mind like a distant current. But rules have always felt like suggestions to him and his friends, currents to swim against rather than be swept away by. Besides, you don’t seem like the humans in the stories—how could you be?

“Thank you,” you say, your smile brightening like the morning sun cresting over the horizon, chasing away shadows. It’s a smile that lingers, and it strikes something in him—a mix of excitement and trepidation, a feeling that maybe showing you his world might not be such a risk after all.

“Do you like working on that boat?” he asks, his voice slipping out before he has a chance to second-guess it. The question has lingered at the back of his mind ever since he first saw you on deck, that distant, wistful look in your eyes that seemed to carry a quiet sadness.

For a moment, your face falters, your gaze slipping away as if the weight of his question pulls something heavy from inside you. A soft sigh escapes your lips, deflated, like the last breath of air from a slowly sinking balloon. “No, not really,” you confess, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He tilts his head, genuinely puzzled, unable to grasp the why. “Then why do it?” he asks, as if the concept of choosing something without passion is entirely foreign to him.

You lower your gaze, shoulders slumping in surrender. A groan slips from your throat, a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I guess I only do it for the money,” you murmur, the words heavy in the quiet space between you. “I know, it sounds super lame... But it pays really well. It pays my rent, keeps me afloat, you know?” You trail off, uncertainty flickering across your features. “I don’t know if you have money and rent down there…”

“We do, so I get it,” he says, his voice soft but steady, an unspoken understanding passing between you. His gaze is warm, like a patch of sunlight breaking through the clouds, reassuring you without judgment. “It still sucks though,” he adds, a quiet sympathy in his tone. “Sounds kinda soulless.”

You let out a long, weary exhale, the weight of the words settling deep inside. “It is,” you agree, the truth hanging in the air like a shadow that refuses to leave.

“I’d love to do something else, but I don’t really know what,” you admit, your voice heavy with frustration. “I’ve always felt a connection to the sea, to everything in it—but catching all these fish, it’s like my soul is slowly being chipped away.” You let out a deep sigh, your eyes distant, haunted by the sight of the ocean’s wounds. “And the plastic... it’s everywhere. It clogs the water, suffocates the life. It’s maddening, you know? People are stupid,” you mutter, the anger in your chest bubbling over.

Jimin’s soft laugh cuts through the tension, and it takes you by surprise. His eyes, full of warmth, reflect the same frustration. “I agree,” he says, voice laced with quiet conviction. “The plastic—it’s everywhere. I’ve had to help so many fish and turtles get out of plastic bottles and containers. It’s heartbreaking.” His lips curl into a gentle scowl.

Then, a smile breaks across his face, soft but genuine, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “But hey, I can help you brainstorm alternatives to catching fish on that boat,” he offers, the glint of curiosity in his eyes.

You laugh, the tension easing in your chest, your heart fluttering at the simplicity of the moment. “Yeah, we can do that tomorrow. I’d love to hear your ideas,” you say, a sense of ease settling between you.

Jimin smiles, his heart racing slightly at the thought of tomorrow. As you talk, the conversation flows easily—your questions about his home, Naraeum, the life he leads there. He tells you that there’s no ‘work’ in the way you understand it, that their society values freedom above all else. Merfolk can take on roles if they choose, but many, like him, simply exist, untethered by obligation.

The sun begins to dip, casting its final, golden light over the water. You glance at the sky and realize it’s time to go. “I should head inside to get some dinner,” you say reluctantly, feeling the pull of the boat’s steady rhythm, but also the weight of your own hunger.

Jimin nods, though a twinge of regret flickers in his eyes. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice soft, filled with something unspoken.

He waves you a quiet goodbye, and with a flick of his tail, he dives into the water, his figure disappearing as he swims toward home—his heart a mix of eager excitement and a flutter of nerves, knowing tomorrow will bring him closer to a world he’s never truly known.

The next day, Jimin glides through the dawn-touched water, the ocean aglow with soft gold as the rising sun kisses its surface. He reaches your boat just as the world begins to wake, his heart thudding with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. You greet him with a gentle smile, helping him aboard with the net he so despises. It entangles him briefly, like a stubborn remnant of the sea reluctant to let him go, but it’s the easiest way to bring him aboard without a fuss.

“You can hide in my room until we reach shore,” you whisper, your voice low and soothing, like the calm of the ocean before a storm. You hand him clothes—simple, unfamiliar garments—and he places them carefully on the wooden planks. He waits in silence, his shimmering tail already beginning to fade as the magic of transformation takes hold. When his legs return, he moves with an endearing awkwardness, pulling on the human clothes with clumsy hands before following you below deck.

Your room is small, a haven carved out of the ship’s heart, yet it feels barren, like a place you exist in but do not truly inhabit. The walls are plain wood, the cream linens unremarkable, and the single duffel bag on the floor overflows with your life in disarray. Clothes spill out like secrets, but nothing in the space speaks of who you are. Jimin scans for something personal—a photograph, a trinket, a scrap of you—but finds nothing. It feels like a shell, a husk waiting to be filled, and he wonders if it mirrors how you feel here, adrift and longing.

As he settles into the quiet, he can’t help but wonder about the place you call home. Is it warm, filled with mismatched pieces of you—a kaleidoscope of colors and memories—or is it restrained, earthy and neutral, a sanctuary of simplicity? The thought lingers as he sits alone in your absence, his curiosity pulling him further into your world, one question at a time.

Jimin flinches slightly when you step through the door, the soft creak of the hinges breaking the quiet. You’re holding a plate in your hands, the aroma wafting toward him like a gentle invitation. His wide eyes soften as you pass him the food, and he takes a tentative bite. The flavors bloom on his tongue, unfamiliar yet comforting, like the memory of a warm embrace he didn’t know he’d missed.

“You made this?” he asks, glancing up at you, his eyes bright with curiosity and quiet admiration.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I did.”

“It’s really good!” he exclaims, his grin unguarded as he dives back into the meal. The crisp, vibrant vegetables catch his attention—they taste fresh and alive, reminding him of the sea’s bounty.

You smile, a mix of relief and pride lighting your expression. “I’m glad you like it. We’re sailing back to land now, but it’ll take a while before we arrive. I need to go prepare for docking. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

He nods, his confidence warm and reassuring. “Oh, I’ll be fine,” he says easily, though his eyes flit around the room, seeking distraction. Then, something catches his attention—a book perched on your nightstand, its pages slightly curled from wear. “Can I read that?” he asks, pointing.

You follow his gaze and nod, a little surprised but pleased. “Sure,” you say, stepping out, leaving him with the quiet hum of the boat and his newfound curiosity.

The book feels delicate in his hands, its cover smooth and inviting. He opens it to find himself drawn into a tale of tangled fates: a woman, lost in the vast embrace of the woods, stumbles upon a brooding stranger whose silence hides his own scars. Jimin reads with rapt attention, imagining the dappled forest light and the quiet intimacy of strangers finding solace in each other. The words seem to pulse with life, vivid as seafoam and just as transient.

He’s just beginning to sense an undercurrent of tension—something deeper stirring between the characters—when the door swings open, and your voice pulls him back to the present. “We’ve docked,” you announce, your excitement barely masked under a layer of calm.

Jimin sets the book down reluctantly, his mind lingering on the unfinished story. But then he looks at you, and it occurs to him that perhaps he’s stepped into a story of his own.

Jimin closes the book with a quiet snap, trailing after you as you reach for his hand. Your fingers intertwine with his, and he follows you onto the deck, his heart racing—not with fear, but with anticipation. The morning air greets him with familiar scents of salt and brine, mingled with the faintest trace of diesel and earth. Above, seagulls carve arcs against the blue sky, their cries a lilting symphony of the shore.

The harbor is alive with motion with workers hefting crates, passengers milling about, and the rhythmic creak of moored boats swaying in the gentle tide. Jimin’s wide eyes take it all in as you weave through the crowd, his senses overwhelmed by the vibrant chaos. The sunlight gleams on water-slicked wood, and the reflections from the sea ripple across the hulls of nearby ships—small fishing boats and grand yachts alike. He stumbles once, distracted by the sheer newness of it all, but your hand steadies him, your warmth anchoring him amidst the tide of humanity.

“I want to show you my favorite place,” you muse, your voice lilting with quiet excitement. You glance over your shoulder at him, a teasing glint in your eyes that sparks his curiosity.

“What’s your favorite place?” he asks, tilting his head to study you. His voice is quiet, though he can’t hide the wonder in it.

“You’ll see soon,” you reply, your smile playful and soft. The secret wraps itself around the moment, and Jimin can’t help but feel giddy anticipation thrumming in his chest. Your hand fits so naturally in his, and the simple gesture sends a warmth through him, like the sun spilling over the waves.

As the crowd thins, you lead him down a quieter street lined with colorful storefronts and weathered cobblestones. The sounds of the harbor fade into the distance, replaced by the hum of life in this quaint corner of the world. Jimin moves to walk beside you now, his steps falling into rhythm with yours.

Then, you stop before a tall, gleaming structure—its glass facade catching the morning light and scattering rainbows across the pavement. Above the entrance, bold letters spell out Ocean Wonders. Jimin freezes, a laugh bubbling up from his chest as the irony strikes him.

“This is your favorite place?” he asks, turning to you with amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“It is,” you say, grinning as you squeeze his hand. “You’ll see why.” There’s a spark of pride in your voice, and Jimin doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up as you lead him toward the entrance. The glass doors slide open with a soft whoosh, welcoming you into the heart of your secret place. As you step inside to purchase tickets, Jimin feels the excitement settle in his bones, like the pull of a current. If this place is a reflection of you, he knows it will be something truly extraordinary.

“Don’t you find it ironic, taking a merman to an aquarium?” Jimin chuckles as you hand over the money for your tickets. His tone is light, teasing, but his gaze carries the flicker of genuine amusement. You nudge him with your shoulder, a playful smirk gracing your lips.

“Maybe, but you’re the best tour guide I could ask for,” you quip, stepping into the cavernous space.

The air inside feels cool and alive with an undercurrent of the sea’s presence, the walls painted in deep blues and verdant greens. Overhead, glass ceilings allow rays of sunlight to dapple through, casting shifting patterns of light on the floors below. Jimin’s gaze drifts upward to the massive windows that frame the ocean in the distance, the waves visible beyond the aquarium’s curated worlds.

Your footsteps echo softly as you approach a shallow touch pool filled with flat fish, their mottled skins blending with the sandy bottom. You lean over, rolling up your sleeve as you extend your fingers into the water, but the slippery creatures evade your touch with a practiced finesse. Jimin watches, amusement flickering in his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s not to mock, but to marvel.

“Flatfish have a trick,” he begins, his voice gentle but sure, “when they’re scared, they bury themselves under the sand, leaving only their eyes exposed. But they’re not just hiding; they’re watching, waiting.”

His words captivate you as much as the fish do, and you glance up at him, intrigued. The informational placard nearby doesn’t say a word about this, but of course, Jimin would know. These creatures are his neighbors, after all. His world brims with secrets science has yet to uncover, and you realize, once again, how little humans know about the depths beneath the waves.

“Keep going,” you urge, your voice laced with wonder. Jimin grins, launching into more facts about the sea life before you, his knowledge as endless as the ocean itself.

The two of you meander deeper into the exhibit, passing a chilly enclosure where penguins waddle and dive with unbridled joy. The cold air nips at your skin, and you instinctively press closer to Jimin, your arms brushing against his. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then relaxes, leaning into your warmth as if drawn by a tide he can’t resist.

“Warmer now?” he murmurs, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Much,” you reply, tilting your head to smile up at him before continuing toward the heart of the aquarium.

You find yourselves before the massive central tank—a sprawling, shimmering pool alive with schools of fish, sleek rays, and prowling sharks. From the upper level, you both peer down, watching as a keeper tosses food into the water. The sharks move with a lethargic grace, their power undeniable but softened by the dreamy quality of the water. Jimin stands close, silent, observing not the animals but the awe on your face as you take it all in.

When you venture below to the tunnel beneath the tank, the world transforms into an underwater cathedral. Light dances through the glass, rippling across your faces as the sharks glide overhead. Jimin’s fingers tighten around yours as you marvel at the creatures, your expression one of pure wonder.

“It’s funny,” he says softly, his voice breaking the spell of silence. “I see this every day, but through your eyes, it feels…different. More magical.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. A blush colors your cheeks, but you quickly deflect, pointing toward a particularly vibrant fish darting by.

Jimin laughs, his chest rumbling lightly as he shares personal anecdotes about the creatures you pass. Stories about turtles he’s untangled from nets, rays he’s raced through coral canyons, and even sharks who’ve stubbornly refused to move from his favorite sunning rock. His tales are sprinkled with humor and affection, each one painting the ocean as not just a habitat, but a home.

You listen, enraptured, giggling at his antics and marveling at his world. And as you walk together through the aquarium, you realize that this day isn’t just a glimpse into your favorite place—it’s a bridge between your worlds, built with each shared story, each laugh, and each lingering look.

You guide him to the large pool that stretches before a neat row of seats—a shimmering expanse of water where visitors can slip beneath the surface and swim with the fish. This is your favorite place, a sanctuary of dreams just beyond your reach. “I’ve always wanted to dive with the fish,” you muse softly, your voice carrying a wistful longing as you gesture toward the glass, where iridescent fish dart and glide in hypnotic rhythms.

Jimin watches you, a gentle smile gracing his face. He doesn’t say anything, but he feels your yearning as if it’s a song only he can hear. Swimming has always been second nature to him, as essential as breathing, and for the first time, he considers what it might mean to long for something so ordinary to him, yet so extraordinary to you.

As you wander further, voices drift toward you—animated chatter about seals and feeding time. Jimin’s ears perk up, curiosity lighting his features. “I think they’re going to feed the seals,” he says, turning to you with a spark of childlike wonder in his eyes. “Can we go see?”

“Of course,” you reply, unable to resist his enthusiasm. You take his hand and weave through the crowd, stepping out of the building and into the golden warmth of summer.

The sun kisses your skin as you approach a stone-encased inlet, a small haven of water bordered by a bridge. Beyond the enclosure, the ocean stretches endlessly, a liquid mirror reflecting the azure sky. On a central platform, three seals lounge in anticipation, their sleek bodies gleaming under the sunlight. Jimin’s eyes widen as employees emerge with buckets of fish, tossing them to the eager creatures.

The seals move with a playful grace, leaping and spinning for their rewards, drawing delighted gasps and cheers from the gathered crowd. Children press against the rails, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, while elderly onlookers smile with quiet contentment. Jimin takes it all in—the shared joy, the simplicity of this moment, and the warmth of humanity’s connection to the creatures of his world.

When the feeding ends, the crowd disperses, leaving only you and him. Hand in hand, you wander to the edge of the bridge, the faint murmur of the sea your only companion. The breeze is soft, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of freedom, and it stirs your hair like a whisper. The horizon glows faintly, the sun beginning its slow descent, painting the world in hues of gold and peach.

You stand there, side by side, the ocean sprawling endlessly before you. Jimin feels the rhythmic pulse of the waves as if they’re beating in time with his heart. He glances at you, your gaze fixed on the water, your expression peaceful yet contemplative. The salt clings to your skin, the light dances in your eyes, and Jimin thinks there’s something magical about the way you fit into this moment—part of his world, yet entirely your own.

“I can see why this is your favorite place,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a ripple in the air between you.

You turn to him, your smile soft, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jimin doesn’t reply right away, his thoughts caught between the beauty of the view and the person standing beside him. Finally, he nods, a faint blush warming his cheeks as he looks back to the sea.

And as the waves lap gently against the stones, and the breeze carries the songs of the ocean to your ears, you stand there together, two worlds colliding in the quiet hush of twilight.

“You know, I’ve always loved the smell of salt in the air. There’s something about it—about the sea—that pulls at me,” you confess softly, your voice carrying a note of wistfulness, as though the waves have always whispered secrets only you can hear.

Jimin nods, his expression warm with understanding. “I get it,” he replies, his voice as calm as the tide. But before you can say anything more, he begins to shrug off his clothes.

Your eyes widen in alarm, your voice faltering. “Jimin, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, only grins mischievously before leaping into the pool with a joyful laugh, his golden tail flashing into existence as he hits the water.

“Jimin!” you hiss, leaning over the railing, your hands clutching his abandoned clothes. “Someone is going to see you!”

But Jimin only pops his head above the surface, his wet blonde hair plastered against his forehead, a cheeky glint in his eyes. The seals gather around him, chattering and circling like old friends. They nuzzle him playfully, their sleek bodies weaving through the water as though they’ve found one of their own.

He laughs—a sound so free and unguarded that it momentarily quiets your worry. He dives beneath the surface, the faint sunlight catching the shimmering scales of his tail as he glides effortlessly from one end of the pool to the other. The seals follow, mirroring his playful energy, leaping, spinning, and splashing around him. It’s as if the world has turned into a living watercolor, the water glittering in shades of gold and sapphire under the afternoon sun.

You watch, caught between panic and awe. Jimin looks so at home in the water, so alive. The grin on his face is radiant, brighter than you’ve ever seen it, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

Finally, when his energy wanes, Jimin pulls himself up onto the platform in the center of the pool. His golden tail glimmers briefly before vanishing, leaving him human again. You rush forward, his clothes clutched tightly in your hands, the edges of your worry returning.

“Here,” you whisper urgently, holding the bundle out to him. He dresses quickly, the playful grin still lingering on his lips as you hover, scanning the area nervously.

“Someone could have seen you,” you scold gently, your voice low but firm as you glance around to ensure the coast is clear.

“But no one did,” he says, his voice brimming with unrepentant glee. “And I’ve never swum with seals before. It was amazing!”

His smile is infectious—big and bright and full of a joy that feels like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Despite yourself, you let out a breath of laughter, shaking your head.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though the corners of your lips betray you with the faintest hint of a smile.

Jimin only chuckles, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “You should try it sometime,” he says, his tone playful but sincere. “You’d love it.”

The seals bob in the water behind him, their curious eyes following his every move, and you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

You huff softly, the sound tinged with reluctant amusement, before grabbing his hand and tugging him back inside. Together, you explore every pool, tank, and glowing monitor, each filled with vibrant tales of the underwater world. Time slips through your fingers like grains of sand as you wander, sharing smiles, laughter, and awe over the secrets of the sea.

When the day finally gives way to night, the two of you make your way toward the beach, the cool evening air laced with the scent of salt and the soft murmur of waves. The moon, a luminous pearl in the sky, casts its silver light across the water, while the stars sparkle like scattered diamonds above.

You hold his hand a little tighter, reluctant to let go, your footsteps slow and lingering as you near the shore. The rhythm of the ocean mirrors the quiet thrum of your heart.

“Today was really fun,” you murmur, your smile soft and genuine, your eyes shimmering under the moonlight.

Jimin gazes at you, warmth spreading across his chest. “It was. Thank you for sharing it with me,” he replies, his voice gentle, the sincerity in it as deep as the ocean he calls home.

“And thank you for all the extra details I never would’ve known,” you chuckle, squeezing his hand lightly. “You made it even better.”

He pauses, hope glimmering in his eyes as he asks, “Can we do it again sometime?” His voice is quiet, like a wish spoken to the wind, but his expression holds the weight of his yearning.

Your face brightens, a joyful laugh escaping your lips. “Yeah. I’d love that,” you answer, and the simple promise sends a warmth rippling through him.

For a moment, the world feels infinite—just the two of you beneath the starlit sky, the waves singing softly in the background. Jimin can’t help but think how much lighter he feels in your company, like the pull of the tides no longer weighs him down.

Boldly, he lifts your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against your skin, his touch reverent, his gaze lingering. You let out a small, melodic giggle, and the sound feels like sunlight breaking through the night.

With a smile that’s both tender and bittersweet, Jimin takes a step back. “Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice like the whisper of waves upon the shore.

Then, as if the ocean itself is calling him home, he sheds his clothes and steps into the cool embrace of the water. His golden tail flashes in the moonlight before he dives beneath the surface, becoming one with the deep blue expanse.

You stand there for a moment longer, the sea breeze tousling your hair, your heart warm despite the night’s chill. Above you, the stars seem to shine a little brighter, as though echoing the promise of another day, another adventure, together.

“Can I talk to you?” Riley’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the trawler, low and serious. The weight in his tone drags at your thoughts like an anchor, and a heavy sense of foreboding blooms in your chest. It’s been days since you last had peace, days since the ocean felt like a friend and not a prison.

“Yeah?” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists like a knotted rope.

“Come to my room in five minutes,” he says curtly, his words sharp and clipped. He turns on his heel before you can respond, leaving you alone with the pounding of your pulse and a growing sense of unease.

The minutes crawl, each one heavier than the last, and yet curiosity tugs at you as strongly as dread. You follow the path to his room, the confined corridors of the ship feeling tighter with each step. When you enter, you find him waiting—arms crossed, his frame rigid, his expression unreadable but intense.

“What is this about?” you ask, though your voice wavers, your throat tightening as the walls seem to press closer around you.

“I saw you,” Riley says, the words sharp and deliberate, laden with something that feels more like a trap than an explanation.

“Saw me?” you repeat, your confusion laced with a thread of panic.

“With the merman,” he declares, his lips curling into a wicked smile that makes your blood run cold. The way he says it—like he’s just unearthed treasure or a weapon—sends a shiver down your spine.

Your breath catches. Ice floods your veins as your eyes go wide. You know, with unshakable certainty, that this is bad—very, very bad.

“I saw him—your little merman—at the aquarium,” Riley sneers, his voice a venomous whisper that slithers through the room. He pulls out his phone with a flourish, the screen lighting up to show a video. Jimin, bare and vulnerable, diving gracefully into the seal pool, his golden tail shimmering like sunlight dancing on the waves. He’s laughing, carefree, playing with the seals. It’s beautiful—and damning. Your stomach drops like an anchor.

“I’ve got a neat little video right here,” Riley continues smugly, shoving the screen closer to your face, his words dripping with malice.

Your heart sinks, the weight of dread pressing down on your chest—until it’s eclipsed by a sudden, white-hot fury.

“You followed us?” you snap, your voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Are you stalking me?”

Riley doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t deny it. He just keeps playing the video, his grin as sharp as broken glass. “I’m going to send this to every news outlet,” he says, his tone oozing malice. “Expose your little fish boy for what he is.”

Rage boils inside you, threatening to erupt. God, you hate him. Hate that you ever let him close enough to your life, close enough to know you. Four years since you’d broken up, and yet he lingers like a storm cloud, his presence heavy, suffocating, and vile.

Without thinking, your hand darts out, snatching the phone from his grasp. Your fingers move with precision, deleting the video in seconds. You shove the phone back into his chest, glaring daggers.

“I’ve got backups,” he sneers, his voice sickly sweet, like poison laced with honey.

Your vision tunnels. Fury burns brighter, hotter, until it takes over, your voice a low, dangerous growl. “If you so much as breathe that video to anyone—hell, even your mother—I swear to God, I’ll cut off your dick with a fishing wire.”

Your hand clenches into a fist, trembling at your side as you glare at him. His smugness falters for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. You don’t give him a chance to respond.

You step closer, the gap between you closing in an instant. Your hand drops to his groin, your grip ruthless and unyielding. He yelps, his smirk shattering into something closer to panic. Your voice is a venomous whisper as you lean in, your eyes locked on his.

“I’m not afraid to use force. And you know I’ll do it.” Your grip tightens, his breath hitches, and you feel your anger seeping into every word. “Stop being a pathetic, jealous little fuck who follows me around like a lovesick puppy. We’re not together, Riley. We never will be. Dating you was the dumbest mistake of my life.”

You release him with a shove, and he stumbles back, the air between you thick with tension. Every nerve in your body is alight with fury, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of showing any more. Instead, you don’t look back as you storm off, your footsteps heavy against the wooden floorboards, your breath shallow and sharp. The sea air greets you outside, but even its salty balm can’t soothe the fiery knot in your chest. You hate him. You hate the fact that you’re trapped on this godforsaken trawler with him for two more endless days, the horizon a prison of water. The thought of jumping ship flickers through your mind—a tempting escape—but the anchor of practicality holds you steady, bitterly tethered to this floating hell.

When the morning sun rises, painting the waves in gold, Jimin surfaces beside the boat, his arrival like a breath of fresh air. His golden hair gleams in the light, and when he spots you, his eyes soften with concern. You crouch by the edge, confiding in him the storm Riley brewed the night before. You tell him how you’ve been scouring job boards, eager to chart a new course in life, and how you’ve managed to secure an interview when you return to land.

Jimin listens intently, his tail glimmering beneath the water as he leans closer, the faint scent of the sea clinging to him. “I’m happy for you,” he says, his voice gentle but resolute. “Not about Riley, but about the job. You deserve to find something better.”

You smile softly. “I’ll handle Riley. I always do.”

Two nights later, under a canopy of stars and the watchful gaze of the moon, you meet Jimin by the beach. The waves kiss the shore in gentle whispers as you kick off your shoes and settle into the cool sand, the world feeling softer here, freer. Jimin lingers in the water, his tail flicking languidly beneath the surface, the golden scales catching the moonlight like shards of starlight scattered across the ocean.

“I’ve got good news,” you say, unable to suppress the smile that spreads across your face, warm and radiant.

“Oh?” His eyes brighten with curiosity, his tail swishing with anticipation.

“I got a new job,” you announce, pride coloring your voice.

His grin matches yours, wide and full of delight, as his tail flicks with an excited splash. “That’s amazing! What is it?”

“At the aquarium!” you beam, your excitement spilling out like the tide.

“That’s perfect for you,” he says, his delight as luminous as the moonlight on the water. His tail wiggles with unrestrained joy, sending ripples across the ocean’s surface.

You nod, your heart full. “It really is. No more trawlers, no more Riley.” The mention of his name makes your expression harden for a moment, but it passes quickly. “I reported him to the police and got a restraining order.”

Jimin’s gaze sharpens briefly, but he nods in approval, his protective instincts tempered by the knowledge that you can handle yourself.

“And now,” you add, your smile returning, “you can come visit me there. We can hang out at the aquarium—or here at the beach. Wherever you like.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm like waves lapping against the shore. “I think I’d like that,” he says, his eyes reflecting the stars as he looks at you.

For a moment, the world feels perfect, the night serene and endless. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, glimmers with possibilities as vast as the ocean itself.

The past two months with Jimin have felt like a dream spun from sea foam and starlight. Every date has been a treasure, each moment with him brimming with charm and sweetness that leaves you glowing for hours afterward. He took you to meet his friends, and you remember that day because it was filled with so much laughter your stomach hurt. Or that time he took you snorkeling still lingers vividly in your mind—the feel of his hand warm in yours as you glided through the cool water, the sunlight rippling across the ocean floor, revealing patches of vibrant plants and curious little fish. His laughter, soft and soothing, danced through the water, carrying with it a joy you’ve never known before.

Tonight is another of those magical nights. Jimin insisted on coming to your place alone this time, so you’ve been pacing slightly, anticipation coiling in your chest like the rising tide. When a knock finally echoes through your apartment, your heart leaps.

Opening the door, you’re greeted by the sight of Jimin in a simple gray t-shirt and black sweatpants—nothing flashy, yet somehow, he looks devastatingly perfect. His soft smile lights up the hallway, and your knees weaken beneath its warmth. He’s holding something in his hands, and as he steps forward, he reveals it—a beautiful seashell, its surface polished smooth by the tides and dappled with shades of ivory and blush.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice soft yet earnest, his cheeks dusted with a bashful pink as he extends the shell toward you.

“For me?” you ask, cradling it gently in your palms as though it were the most delicate treasure. You run your fingers over its grooves, marveling at its beauty.

“I found it when I was with my friend Taehyung on one of his treasure hunts,” Jimin explains, glancing down shyly. “It reminded me of you.”

Your heart swells, full to bursting with affection. Without a second thought, you step forward, wrapping your arms around him. His scent—clean, with a faint trace of salt and something uniquely Jimin—wraps around you as you press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you so much, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.” You guide him inside, carefully placing the seashell in a special spot on your display cabinet. The cabinet gleams under the soft light, filled with your collection of oceanic treasures, and now this—this piece that feels more precious than all the others combined.

“Come in, sit down,” you say, turning back to him with a bright smile. “I’ve made dinner.”

You gesture toward the sofa, where the table is already set, the aroma of the food filling the room with warmth and comfort. Jimin follows your lead, his eyes softening as he watches you, and you can’t help but think that tonight is just another reminder that sometimes, life’s greatest treasures aren’t found in the depths of the ocean—but in the small, quiet moments shared with someone you love.

He settles onto the sofa, and the two of you begin to eat, the soft glow of the television bathing the room in flickering hues. A documentary on the ocean plays, its serene narration filling the air. But it’s Jimin’s quiet interjections that captivate you most—he leans closer, offering rich, vivid details about the creatures on screen, things the narrator doesn’t know, weaving a story of his own. His voice is soft yet full of life, making you smile between bites.

When the documentary ends, you find yourselves drawing closer, as if by an invisible thread pulling you together. His warmth envelops you, steady and calming, and the rhythmic beat of his heart becomes a lullaby against your senses.

His gaze meets yours, deep and earnest, the kind that seems to hold unspoken worlds within. “I’m really grateful to have met you, you know?” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, carrying the weight of emotion unhidden.

You hum in response, your fingers brushing over his hand, a small but comforting gesture.

“I used to think humans were… bad,” he admits, his words tinged with vulnerability. “But you’ve only shown me kindness. You’re so nice, so sweet, and I…” His other hand reaches up, tenderly combing through your hair, his fingers a soothing presence.

You’re sitting in his lap now, his arms wrapping around you in a cocoon of comfort. His frame surrounds you, a perfect shield against the world. “All this time we’ve spent together,” he continues, his voice softening like the tide pulling back, “it’s only made me realize how much I like you.”

You feel the curve of his smile against your temple, a quiet and unspoken joy radiating from him.

“Well, I like you too, Jimin,” you say, your voice a gentle melody as you nuzzle deeper into his embrace. His hold on you tightens, protective yet tender, and he leans down to press a delicate kiss to your temple.

“I want to do something for you,” he murmurs, his voice brushing against your skin like a warm breeze. “Repay the favor, or… something.”

You shake your head softly, a smile spreading across your lips. “You’ve done plenty, Jimin. You don’t have to do anything more than simply be here.” Your words are quiet but firm, carrying the truth of how much his presence alone means to you.

He hums in thought, the sound resonant and deep, as though he’s weighing something in his mind. “Can I…” he starts, but hesitates, biting his bottom lip as uncertainty flickers in his expression.

Your gaze tilts up to meet his. “What is it?” you ask, chuckling lightly, your voice teasing and warm. “What’s on your mind?”

His eyes drop for a moment before returning to yours, nervous yet earnest. “I was wondering if I could touch you?” His voice is almost a whisper, laced with vulnerability, his cheeks faintly tinged with pink.

“You are touching me,” you reply, playful but soft, a knowing smile curving your lips. Still, there’s a glimmer in your eyes, a gentle understanding of the deeper meaning behind his words.

“That’s not what I mean,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly strained, as if he’s holding something back. He exhales, a hint of frustration slipping through as his lips hover near your ear. “I want to have… you,” he finally admits, his tone steady, yet laced with yearning.

You can’t help but chuckle, the sound soft and inviting, as your body instinctively shifts against him. His hardening cock behind you responds immediately, pressing into your back. Turning your head slightly, you meet his gaze with a mischievous smile. “I want you too, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice dripping with warmth. “You can touch me.”

Your words barely leave your lips before you press them to his, drawing him into a kiss that’s tender yet electric. His lips part, and the moment deepens—a dance of warmth and hunger. Your moans, soft and unrestrained, spill into his mouth, and he swallows each sound as if it were a secret meant only for him.

His hand trails downward, slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers grazing your bare thigh before finding the waistband of your shorts. With a deft motion, his hand slips beneath the fabric, venturing under the delicate lace of your panties. His touch sends a shiver cascading through you, and you exhale sharply, arching your back into him as anticipation coils tight in your belly.

When his fingers find the sensitive bud of your clit, already slick with arousal, your breath hitches. He moves carefully at first, testing, his touch featherlight. His lips graze your cheek as he whispers into your ear, “Like this?” His voice is low, smoky, and devastatingly intimate.

“Yes—” The word escapes you on a shaky breath, your hips shifting to meet his hand as his fingers begin their deliberate, intoxicating rhythm. He circles your clit with just the right pressure, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that radiate through you.

His lips find your ear, teasing it with gentle nibbles, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a groan as he feels you respond to his touch, your body soft and pliant against his.

As his other hand joins in the exploration, it trails lower, fingers slipping between your folds. You’re soaked now, your arousal coating his fingers as they explore your entrance. One finger slides in, slow and deliberate, sending a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“Ahh—” Your breath catches, and your words come out in a broken plea. “You can add another finger.”

He obliges, his movements careful, his second finger pressing in to join the first. He curls them inside you with precision, brushing against that soft, perfect spot that has your back arching and your voice spilling over in desperate cries of his name.

The heat between you intensifies as you grind back into him, feeling the hard length of him against you, evidence of his own growing need. He moans your name into your ear, his voice a heady mix of reverence and desire, the sound sending a rush of heat through your veins.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice shaky, his control slipping as his fingers continue their exquisite work, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your body trembles as the crest of your climax surges through you, a tidal wave of euphoria unleashed by his touch. When his fingers pinch your clit, it’s the final spark that ignites you, and your voice breaks in a desperate cry of his name. “Ah, Jimin!” you groan, your body thrashing in his arms as pleasure consumes you. Your walls pulse around his fingers, and he doesn’t stop, coaxing you through the high with ease, his voice a soothing hum of reassurance.

When the aftershocks make you hypersensitive, you shift off his lap, your chest heaving as you fight for air. The room feels electric, charged with the heat of your shared intimacy. Your hands tremble slightly as you strip away your shorts and panties, baring yourself fully to him. “I need you,” you murmur, voice breathless but determined. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, his pupils blown with lust, dark as the midnight sea. His arousal is evident, straining against the fabric of his black sweatpants. When you tug them down, revealing his dick—he’s bare beneath them, as always—you bite your lip at the sight. It’s a fact that never fails to make your pulse race.

“You’re never wearing underwear,” you whisper, your voice tinged with amusement and heat.

His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t get a chance to respond before your fingers wrap around him. He hisses through his teeth, his hips twitching forward as if drawn to your touch by magnetic force. “Your dick is so pretty,” you murmur, stroking him slowly, savoring the feel of him in your hand.

“T-thanks,” he chokes out, his voice a strained mix of pleasure and restraint. You smile softly, leaning forward to press your lips to his flushed tip, tasting the salt of him. His groan is low and guttural, a sound that vibrates through your core as you take him into your mouth.

You tease him with languid, deliberate movements, your lips sliding over his cock while your tongue flicks against the sensitive underside. His hands tangle in the fabric of the couch, his breath coming in sharp gasps as you explore him. But just as he begins to unravel, you pull away with a soft, wet pop, leaving him trembling beneath you.

“Maybe I’ll give you a proper taste another time,” you tease, your voice thick with desire. “Right now, I need you to fuck me.”

Jimin’s head falls back, and he releases a shaky laugh, his hands flexing at his sides as though grounding himself. “Yeah, sounds good,” he stammers, his voice hoarse with want.

You climb onto his lap, your knees pressing into the soft cushion on either side of his powerful thighs. Your hand wraps around his dick, guiding him to your entrance, and you sink down slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is delicious, a sensation that has you throwing your head back with a moan. “God, Jimin,” you breathe, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you take him fully inside you.

He groans, deep and guttural, his head tipping forward to rest against your collarbone. “So tight,” he pants, his grip firm on your hips, as though anchoring himself in the moment.

You chuckle softly, rolling your hips experimentally, savoring the way he fills you. “It’s good, isn’t it?” you murmur, brushing a hand through his hair.

“Better than good,” he grunts, his voice rough as the sea during a storm. His hands guide you, encouraging your movements as you begin to ride him, your bodies moving together in a rhythm as old as the tides.

A playful smile curls your lips as you lean closer, your voice light with mischief. “Better than merfolk sex?”

His laughter is strained but genuine, a sound that melts into a groan as your pace quickens. “It’s… different,” he manages, his words punctuated by the hitch in his breath.

You lean forward, brushing your lips against his as your movements slow, rolling your hips languidly to draw out every sensation. “Good different?” you whisper, your voice barely audible above the sound of your ragged breathing.

His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Perfect,” he murmurs against your lips, and in that moment, you know he means it. It sends shivers down your spine as you pick up the pace. You ride him with a ferocity that leaves no room for restraint, your body taking what it craves as his dick fills you perfectly, over and over again.

Jimin’s head falls back, his golden hair cascading around his face like a halo, shimmering even in the dim light. His beauty is almost otherworldly, but it’s the raw humanity of his reactions—his moans, his gasps, the way his lips part in ecstasy—that makes your heart race even faster.

Your hands grip his shoulders for support, and you lean in to kiss him, pouring every ounce of your desire into the connection. Your lips crash together, tongues tangling, and the sound of your shared groans fills the air like a symphony. When his hips begin to rise and meet yours, thrusting into you with a powerful rhythm, you cry out.

“There!” you scream, your voice trembling with bliss as he strikes that perfect spot deep inside you, sending your mind spiraling into chaos.

He laughs breathlessly against your lips, his tone tinged with mischief and triumph. His fingers grip your hips firmly, his touch possessive as though anchoring you to him. He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips devouring yours with unspoken promises.

“I want to have merfolk sex with you too,” you pant, the words spilling from you unbidden as your eyes lock onto his, searching for… something. Something intangible, something only he can give you.

Jimin’s breath hitches, his smile faint but wicked. “Later,” he murmurs, his voice strained yet teasing. “Right now, I just want to feel this.”

You groan, your chest pressing against his as his hips surge upward, faster and harder, the rhythm pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck,” you gasp, feeling the heat coil tight and hot in your core. “I’m going to come again soon.”

His response is a low, broken moan, his lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?”

Instead of answering, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, your lips finding the tender skin there. You kiss him softly, your teeth grazing just enough to make him gasp, and when he mirrors your actions, nibbling at your neck, goosebumps ripple across your skin.

Your breath catches, your body shuddering as his thrusts grow rougher, deeper, each one stoking the fire inside you until it finally erupts. “Jimin…,” you cry out, his name a prayer on your lips as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. You collapse against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you tremble through the aftershocks, your walls squeezing him tight.

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice cracking as he feels the way you pulse around him. “I didn’t think it could get tighter. Fuck.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound breathy and light, which only makes him groan louder, his hips faltering. His need is palpable, every thrust a desperate chase toward his own release.

“God, it feels so good,” he pants, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“It does,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his neck. Your fingers thread through his hair as you murmur in his ear, “Now come inside me. Fill me up.”

Your hips move together in a rhythm that feels almost sacred, each motion drawing you closer, tethering you in a shared moment of bliss. Jimin throws his head back, his golden hair glistening with a faint sheen of sweat as he gasps your name, the sound reverberating like music in your ears. His body shudders beneath yours, his release spilling into you as his breaths come in ragged pants.

“Holy—,” he starts, his voice cracking with the remnants of his climax, but you smile, running your fingers through his tousled locks, grounding him.

“It was amazing,” you finish softly, leaning in to kiss him. The kiss is languid, unhurried, your lips brushing his with the tenderness of someone who knows this moment will linger in your memory forever.

You remain still, savoring the aftershocks coursing through both your bodies, the quiet intimacy of him still buried within you. His cock twitches faintly, and you giggle as you feel the first trickles of his release slipping out of you, warm and unhurried, down to his thighs.

“Maybe we should clean up,” you say, a playful lilt in your voice.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, his laughter soft and warm, “it’s definitely sticky.”

“Come take a bath with me,” you suggest, sliding off him with care, your fingers intertwining with his as you pull him to his feet. Together, you make your way to the bathroom, your giggles echoing in the quiet space as you both use tissues to clean up.

The bathwater fills the tub in a cascade of steam and heat, and when it’s ready, you shed the last remnants of your clothing, stepping in with Jimin close behind. The water embraces you like a warm cocoon, and as you settle down, Jimin takes his place behind you, his sturdy thighs cradling you as they had on the couch. His hands move to your hair, working in gentle strokes as he massages your scalp, letting the warm water cascade over your skin.

“This is nice,” you murmur, your head tilting back to rest against his chest.

“It is,” he agrees, though there’s a soft chuckle in his voice. “But I’ll probably shift into my merman form soon.”

You smile, turning your head just enough to press a kiss to his bicep. “I love when you’re a merman.”

He beams at your words, and with a shimmer of light, golden sparkles dance around him like fireflies, transforming his legs into a resplendent golden tail. The fins spill over the edge of the tub, their iridescent sheen catching the bathroom light, making the moment feel dreamlike.

You shift slightly, giving him more space as the water ripples around his transformation. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close again, his tail flexing gently beneath the surface.

“Do you… maybe,” he begins, his voice tentative, but there’s an almost boyish eagerness in his tone that makes you smile.

“Just say it, Jimin,” you tease softly, leaning further into his embrace.

He laughs, his breath warm against your temple as he gathers his courage to speak.

“Do you want to date me? Become my mate?” Jimin’s voice carries a quiet hope, his brown caramel eyes searching yours as if the entire ocean hinges on your answer.

“Like a girlfriend? Like a relationship?” you ask, tilting your head, your gaze diving into the endless warmth of his eyes.

He bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before his words tumble out. “Yeah. It’s a relationship, but being mates is more than that. It’s a promise—a bond for life. At least, that’s what it means for merfolk.” He pauses, his voice softening. “But we can take it slow if you want to.”

A chuckle escapes your lips as you nuzzle your head into his chest, the steady thrum of his heart grounding you. “I want to be your mate,” you whisper, the truth of it blooming in your chest like a sunrise over the waves.

Relief floods his face as he kisses your forehead, his golden tail flicking above the water with a ripple that catches the light. It’s such a simple motion, yet it sends your heart fluttering like the wings of a butterfly.

You sit there for a while, submerged in the warmth of the water and the closeness of him. His lips find yours, soft and sweet, and your hands wander—tracing the smooth scales of his tail and the hard planes of his chest. Time seems to dissolve, lost in the salty scent of him, the ocean a mere echo in the distance.

Then, like a sudden wave crashing on the shore, a thought surfaces in your mind. “Do you maybe want to help me with a work thing?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hopeful excitement.

He chuckles, his lips quirking in that way that makes your stomach flip. “What is it?”

“Well…” you begin, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’m hosting this merfolk event at the aquarium for kids. I’ve got this mermaid costume and everything, but I thought… maybe you could show up as a merman in the big pool? We could dive and swim together—give the kids a show they’ll never forget. Obviously, I’ll tell them you’re wearing a costume too,” you add quickly, your cheeks warming at the thought of how much you want this—not just for the kids, but for yourself.

Jimin blinks at you for a moment before his face lights up with a smile as dazzling as the sunlight on the waves. “Sure,” he says, his voice warm. “I’d love to.”

He leans in, capturing your lips in another kiss, deeper this time, and it’s then that you realize you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him. Not his salty scent, not his plush, addictive lips, and certainly not the way he makes your heart feel like it’s swimming in its own current of joy.

The day of the merfolk event has finally arrived, and the aquarium is alive with an energy you’ve never felt before. Laughter and whispers of anticipation fill the air as kids clutch their parents’ hands, eyes wide with wonder. The normally tranquil space is transformed into a shimmering underwater dreamscape. Seashells and trailing strands of faux kelp adorn every corner, while cardboard cutouts of merfolk in a spectrum of skin tones stand as guardians of the magic. Soft, ethereal music hums overhead, making the air feel thicker, as if you’ve already slipped beneath the waves.

Backstage, near the pool you adore, you wrestle with the fabric tail of your mermaid costume, trying to coax it into place. It’s always been your favorite spot in the aquarium—the big pool where the water gleams like liquid sapphire, reflecting the ceiling’s soft lights.

You’re muttering to yourself when Jimin appears, his presence as effortless as a tide rolling in. His golden hair is swept back, and his smile—wide and warm—makes your heart skip.

“Oh, hi, babe,” you say, flashing him a quick grin as you tug futilely at the tail.

“Hi, babe,” he mimics with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in your predicament.

“You don’t have to put that on,” he says, stepping closer with a glint of mischief. “I have something better for you.”

From behind his back, he reveals a bundle of something strange yet mesmerizing—a ribbon of kelp, but unlike any you’ve seen. Its tendrils shimmer with an otherworldly glow, the orange hue reminiscent of a sunset bleeding into the horizon.

“What is it?” you ask, reaching out to touch it.

“This,” he says, his fingers brushing yours as he places it in your hands, “is Merwhisper Kelp. It lets humans become merfolk for one hour.” His voice is soft, filled with excitement and affection. “I thought you might like to swim with me today as a real mermaid. Make it… special.”

The idea leaves you breathless, your thoughts spinning as you meet his gaze. “Special how?” you tease, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “We could show them a merfolk mating ritual.”

Your cheeks flush crimson as your jaw drops. “Like… having sex in front of the kids?!”

He bursts out laughing, the sound rich and musical, shaking his head. “No, no, no. It’s not like human sex, I promise,” he explains, his voice steady despite his amusement. “There’s nothing explicit about it—it’s more like a dance. A connection. Trust me, it’ll be beautiful.”

The sincerity in his eyes melts away your embarrassment, replacing it with intrigue. “You’ll guide me?” you ask softly, your fingers tightening around the kelp.

“Always,” he says, his smile gentle as the tide.

Your heart stirs, and with a nod, you release the fabric tail you’d been fighting with. “Okay. That sounds… amazing.”

He leans in then, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that feels like a promise, warm and lingering.

“I’ll head out first and start the show,” you say, your voice lighter now, a mix of nerves and excitement. Grabbing a robe to cover yourself, you glance back at him, your smile mirrored in his golden gaze. “Wait for me, yeah?”

“Always,” he says again, his voice steady and sure, as you step out toward the glowing auditorium.

You stand before the vast, crystalline pool, its surface shimmering under the soft glow of the aquarium lights, and the crowd of children before you vibrates with barely-contained energy. Their laughter bubbles up like champagne, effervescent and infectious, as their wide eyes focus on you with wonder.

“Hi, everyone!” you begin, your voice bright and warm, your hands clasped over your heart. “Are you excited to be here today?”

A chorus of giggles and shouts fills the room, their enthusiasm washing over you like a wave.

“That’s wonderful! Today, I have something very special to share with you,” you continue, leaning in as if confiding a grand secret. “Today, I’m asking you to believe in magic and fantasy—to let your imaginations take you somewhere extraordinary.” Your eyes sparkle as you gesture toward the pool.

“My boyfriend and I are going to show you how merfolk swim and dance underwater,” you announce with a grin, watching their faces light up in awe. “We’re going to wear costumes, of course,” you add with a playful wink, “but I want you to imagine it’s all real. Because, really, anything is possible if you can dream it. Right?”

The children nod eagerly, their cheers like tiny waves crashing onshore.

“Oh, and let me introduce someone special,” you say, gesturing toward your coworker. “This is Simon, and he’s going to narrate everything while I’m underwater!” Simon gives a mock bow, earning a ripple of applause and laughter.

With a final smile and wave, you step backstage, your heart racing, where you find Jimin waiting for you. His soft smile is a beacon of reassurance, grounding you as excitement tingles through your veins.

“You’re really about to make my dreams come true, you know that, right?” you say, your words spilling out in a giddy laugh as you reach for the Merwhisper Kelp in his hands.

“That was the whole point,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a mischievous smile as he leans in to kiss you, soft and lingering.

As the kelp touches your tongue, an electric sensation ripples through your body. Your legs feel strange—like they’re dissolving and reforming all at once. Sparkles erupt in a dazzling cascade around you, and a gasp escapes your lips as you collapse gently to the ground.

You gape in amazement at the transformation. A shimmering silver tail, adorned with translucent scales that catch the light like diamonds, extends where your legs used to be. Your torso is now clad in a delicate seashell bra that feels as though it was crafted from the ocean itself.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice filled with wonder as you trail your fingers over the scales. The tail feels strange yet beautiful—foreign and familiar all at once.

Jimin kneels beside you, his golden eyes alight with admiration. “You look stunning as a mermaid too,” he says softly, his hand brushing over yours. “Now, go on. Jump into the water—I’ll be right behind you.”

You nod, still breathless with awe, and begin sliding toward the edge of the pool. The smooth tiles give way to the cool embrace of the water as your tail dips in, sending a shiver of delight up your spine. Tentatively, you let yourself slide further, the pool enveloping you.

The moment your body is fully immersed, it’s as if the world has shifted. You float effortlessly, your tail moving with a fluid grace you never imagined. Tiny bubbles rise to the surface, carrying your laughter with them. The water cradles you, weightless and serene, and you can’t help but giggle at the pure magic of it all.

Words fail you—this feeling is beyond description, an ethereal blend of joy and wonder. You glance up, and through the rippling surface, Jimin smiles down at you. In this moment, the world feels limitless, and magic is not just something you believe in—it’s something you live.

You feel the warmth of a hand at the small of your back, where the delicate curve of your skin meets the smoothness of your shimmering scales. Jimin glides up beside you, his smile a radiant beacon in the water. Without hesitation, you swim into him, pressing your lips to his in a quick, electrifying kiss before gliding forward, emerging into view for the children to see.

Your heart swells—so full of love, it almost feels as though it could burst from your chest. You reach for his hand, and the connection between you is a thread of pure joy, binding your hearts together with unspoken promises. Together, you swim effortlessly beside the swaying kelp, darting through rocky formations, surrounded by the shimmering world of the deep, until you come to the massive glass wall that separates you from the fascinated eyes of the children.

As you break through the surface, the children’s gasps of awe and delight fill the air, their faces alight with wonder. You wave, your heart fluttering as Simon spins tales of merfolk—stories gifted to him by Jimin himself.

Turning toward Jimin, your gaze finds him, and the world around you seems to melt away. His eyes, soft and deep, hold your universe within them, a world built on love and unspoken understanding. He reaches for both your hands, lifting them in front of your faces as he gently presses his body against yours. His chest against yours feels like coming home.

With a slow, tender movement, he begins to spin you in the water, guiding you in a dance as old as time. You laugh, the sound bubbling through the water, as your tails entwine in fluid harmony. His kiss comes then—deep, slow, full of longing—as if he’s been waiting for this moment all his life. In the embrace of his lips, you feel like everything has led to this. Like you were born to dance like this, to love like this. It’s as if two worlds—yours and his—are colliding, fusing together in one seamless, breathtaking whole.

This is what merfolk love must be—this swirling connection, this surrender to the current of passion and tenderness. The kiss deepens, the world slipping away into a blissful haze, and for a moment, you can’t hear the laughter of the children. All that matters is this—a love so pure, so magical, it transcends everything. The only thing that exists in this moment is Jimin, the love you share, and the extraordinary gift he’s given you.

The world is perfect here, in the waters where love flows as effortlessly as the ocean itself. And you are exactly where you belong, with him.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Series taglist: @allie-in-the-moon @bangtannie7 @suker4angst @women-kisseer @13-manggaetteok

→ Author’s endnote: waaaah 🤧 Personally, I think this one turned out so much better than Tae’s (not that I don’t think that was good!) but I guess it’s just a lot easier for me to write Jimin? Anyway. What do you guys think of this one? Are you still excited for the last two? ✨💜

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fantasticborahae · 2 years ago

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Kingdom Of Magic And Blood | PROLOGUE

Synopsis: In the shadows of this era, reemerges a dark long-forgotten practice known as 'the ritual of virgins.' This twisted tradition promises power through sacrifice, unveiling a sinister force that shapes destinies with a merciless hand.

Genre: Fantasy, dark romance, royalty, bl, forbidden love

Pair: Taehyung X Jimin

Warning: THIS STORY IS NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS YOUNGER THAN 18 YEARS OLD!

💠💠🔹🔷🔹🔷🔹💠💠🔹🔷🔹🔷🔹💠💠

An aura of mystique enveloped the air, casting dancing shadows upon the rough stone walls. The room seemed like a realm between the mortal and the ethereal, a place where incantations echoed like ancient whispers. At the heart of this arcane shrine, Jin's wizard's stool stood as a symbol of his authority.

Jin was draped in dark robes that seemed to absorb the room's dim light, he reclined upon his chair, completely relaxed. His piercing eyes glinted with power and possession as he looked ahead in some sort of trance. His slender fingers were adorned with intricate rings, his nails painted black by magic and several deals made with the devil and he rested them thoughtfully against the armrest, gently tapping the wooden surface.

The atmosphere shifted as the shrine's entrance parted, revealing Jimin. His delicately curvy figure stood at the entrance briefly as if waiting for a command to enter the shrine. His crescent eyes were cast down, exuding submission. He was naked, adorned only with beads that circled his waist and a piece dangling from his neck to his chest. In his hands was a bowl of water, carried with practised grace. His eyes, a reflection of both devotion and a longing for acceptance, remained fixed on the floor.

Jimin quietly walked into the Wizard's shrine and knelt before Jin. The beads grazing the cold stone floor as he settled at Jin's feet. Raising his hands, he presented the bowl of water as an offering to him.

"Drink, my Lord," his voice was soft, a melody that blended with the hushed echoes of the chamber.

Jin's gaze locked onto him with an intensity that belied his composed demeanor. The water he was asked to drink rippled gently, but it was Jimin's presence that sent ripples of admiration cascading through his very being. He took the bowl from Jimin's outstretched hands, allowing the tips of their hands to graze in a touch that carried his desires.

"Ah, my siren," Jin began, his voice a velvety caress that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the chamber. "In your presence, even the moon pales in comparison, and the stars themselves yearn to mirror the radiance that emanates from your every step."

Jimin remained quiet as he watched the Wizard lift the bowl to his lips and Jin's eyes never wavered from his young lover's form. As the water's cool touch met his mouth, he savored it like a potion of rare potency.

The corners of Jin's lips curled into a subtle smile, a gesture that held a wealth of meaning as he lowered the bowl. "Jimin," he breathed his name like a prayer, letting the syllables linger in the air like a fragrance that refused to dissipate. "You are more than a mere vessel of beauty. You are a tapestry woven from the strands of stardust, a masterpiece crafted by the very hands of the cosmos."

His gaze traversed the naked form of the male at his feet. His free hand reached down to touch Jimin's body, his tainted fingers brushed his perky nipples and Jimin looked up at him, positioning his body for the Wizard to do whatever he wanted.

"You are not just my other half, my dear Jimin. You are the embodiment of a spell that weaves its enchantment upon all who are fortunate enough to cross your path. Your beauty is not merely skin-deep; it is an echo of the very universe itself, a mirror that reflects the secrets of existence."

Jimin sprawled out on the floor, eyes shut and red plump lips held between his teeth. He spread his legs, allowing his lover's praises to unravel him. The praises from Jin's mouth were equivalent to an orgasmic feeling and the more he heard them, his toes curled and he moaned softly.

Jimin was the wizard's creation, a manifestation of his very image, Jimin belonged to him, Jimin was from him, for him and Jimin was him. They were one in different bodies.

The young lover's chestnut hair cascaded over his shoulders, and a faint blush warmed his cheeks as Jin's words caressed him like an embrace.

"Dance for me, my own." The wizard requested softly.

Jimin's eyes opened at the request and with his ever gentle smile, he rose to his feet and began to dance. His movements were a fluid cascade, an expression of the power dynamics between them. His body moved with a grace born of hours of practice, his hips swaying with a rhythm that matched the very pulse of the shrine. Each movement seemed to fan the flames of Jin's admiration, igniting the fire of his obsession.

"Dance, my soulmate. Captivate me with your allure and lock my soul forever in the depths of your enchantment."

Jimin's body began to heat up and his hands glided across his smooth skin, lips slightly parted and eye fixed on no one else but the man that owned him. His hips moved like poetry, tracing invisible lines that wove tales of passion and surrender. The beads that adorned his waist created a delicate symphony of their own, their gentle rustling merging with the sighs of the chamber's air as if nature itself whispered its approval.

His back arched gracefully, a bow drawn by an invisible archer, before he swayed forward, surrendering to the call of the dance.

His eyes remained fixed upon Jin who had allowed himself to get lost in this temptation. Jimin's eyes held devotion and yearning, inviting the wizard to unravel the layers of his dance like a cryptic puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Take my soul, Jimin. Take it all." Jin moaned, his chest rising and falling rapidly as an electrifying wave of orgasm hit him. His eyes rolled and his chest constricted, stealing words from his mouth. He didn't need to touch Jimin before he'd cum. All he needed was to watch the young man dance.

Jimin continued to dance and he wouldn't stop until Jin told him to. It was a dance that transcended the boundaries of time, leaving an indelible mark upon the hearts and souls of the one who bore witness.

After Jimin's dance and after Jin came to his satisfaction, it was time to let go of this illusion which he created with magic. Like a fleeting dream, the Wizard's illusion began to wane, dissolving into the air like a delicate wisp of smoke.

Reality returned and Jin was standing before a large pot used in casting spells. His eyes, once fixated on Jimin's dance, were now focused on the rich, red liquid that swirled within the depths of the large pot.

With a long stick clutched in his hands, he stirred the potion with deliberate intent. His lips moved, a symphony of incantations and ancient words that resonated with the walls of the chamber. The air grew charged with energy as the words flowed from his lips, taking shape and form before disappearing into the bubbling concoction.

"So shall it be." He concluded.

The potion's surface shimmered, its potential pulsating like a heart in sync with the rhythm of the arcane. The illusion he had seen offered a glimpse into the depths of his power, he was a wizard whose desires knew no bounds and whose mastery over the forces of the world held the promise of both creation and destruction.

Jimin belonged to him, Jimin was from him, for him and Jimin was him. They were one in different bodies. Except that wasn't the case in the real world.

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taevbears · 2 years ago

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Magic Shop - 09

One day, when I wake up at 3:00AM, unable to sleep, I will look next to me and you will be there, Sleeping peacefully beside me. And suddenly, the world won't seem so lonely.

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Jimin/Yoongi focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.5k ⤑ warnings: implied smut, interrupted foreplay, heavy angst, oppression against mages, jimin as a warning himself tbh ⤑ note: surprise!! i took a few months off from writing this story to pursue other story ideas, but i ended up wanting to come back to this one lol. i have another story in the works, but i do plan to start posting semi-regularly for this series again soon ^^ i hope you guys enjoy! this takes place right after the final of pt 1.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

From the distance, the haunting, sonorous tolls of church bells ring in the hour for the sleeping town of New Haven.

Once. Twice. Three times.

3:00AM. The witching hour.

Monsters and magic are most active at this time of night. Their connection to the Veil – a realm of dreams and demons – is at its strongest peak, opening a window of chaos and mayhem and spilling them into the living world.

For mortals like Park Jimin, the witching hour is dangerous. Humans become prey to these abominations. Kidnapped and sacrificed, they become targets of dark magic, tortured for a mage’s sadistic greed and pleasure.

By law, those cursed with magic are condemned to their high towers and impenetrable castles. But there are some who’ve managed to escape their confinements. Who’ve garnered sympathy from fools they’ve bewitched, and who’ve hidden their unnatural powers to inconspicuously blend in with human villagers.

That’s when the hunters come in.

While the wardens are busy keeping the monsters locked away, allowing them to practice tricks and spells deemed safe by the Devoted, and silently killing them through deadly trials like the Harrowing, it’s the hunters that protect the towns and villages from mages outside their gilded prisons. People who, without law or regulation, take matters into their own hands when facing the Wicked.

History speaks of the war between humans and mages. The human sacrifices, the stolen blood of innocents, the dark summonings, the ominous hauntings, the deals with devils. Magic, after all, is the root of all evil.

And the latest of these horrendous acts is what happened at Blackstone Castle.

Several apprentices rebelled against the teachings of the Devoted and performed a forbidden summoning. The mutiny caused mages to attack the wardens, unleash creatures beyond nightmares into the mortal realm, and escape the castle’s defenses. The leader of the apostate group is rumored to have transformed into a hideous beast that the Warden-Commander had successfully defeated, but by the time the monster was slain, it was too late. Many mages have fled from Blackstone and found refuge in nearby villages, causing fear and suspicion to strike within the communities.

Any mage, surrounded by the temptations of the mortal realm, is a dangerous threat.

Two months ago, when news of Blackstone Castle hit the capital, there was no doubt in his mind what he must do: he had to return to his hometown in New Haven, make sure there aren’t any mages infiltrating his town, and eliminate the ones he finds.

With the key to his grandmother’s floral shop and the blessings of his family from the capital, Jimin returned to town, surprised to see not much had changed since he was last there.

Except for one thing.

The unnamed shop across the street.

The one odd place in town, full of mystery and wonder. What once was ruins and a disarray of abandonment is now warm and cozy with whimsy and comfort. Colorful and mix-mashed, yet in a way that works together. Like it was made of magic.

And, to his dismay, the cutest shop owner he’s ever seen works there. One that he’s hopelessly fallen head-over-heels with.

Even though he highly suspects that you are, ironically, the very thing he hunts down.

Jimin reminds himself of that as he sits back on a chair and faces the bed. Under the gleam of moonlight, the dagger in his hand shines. Embedded in the blade are ancient symbols of the Devoted. Once penetrated, it will render even the strongest mage useless, temporarily paralyzing them from using their powers as the effects of the enchanted markings sink in.

An heirloom and a prized possession of the Park family. One that his father used when he became a hero of the town. One that his grandfather used to kill the mage that murdered his parents. And now, one that belongs to him.

He flips the nullifying weapon in his hand over and over. Keeping it close to him, just in case.

In case you suddenly wake – snapping your eyes wide open, the colors of your pupils turning into an eerie, bright gold – and lunge toward him in inhuman speed. In case you levitate off the bed and hurl things flying in his direction. In case the devil’s mark sears red on your skin during the witching hour and turns you into one of them.

Wicked.

Like those corrupted mages – easily trading their souls for wealth, beauty, power, and fame – that the Devoted has warned them about. Like the ones he’s seen attack humans with their unnatural strength and twisted powers. Like the ones who had surely killed his parents.

After all, magic is the root of all things evil.

And you, a mage, are a monster. A human vessel that will inevitably succumb to the darkness and unleash chaos into the world with your cursed power.

His eyebrows furrow together and a deep frown is set on his plush lips

You – the most evil, dangerous, wicked thing to ever exist – continue to sleep soundly on his bed, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. The black dahlia – doused with potent lavender extract – is disposed of, but it’s already done its job. Keeping you unconscious. Keeping you vulnerable. Right where he wants you.

Time ticks on and Jimin tightens his grip on the dagger. He has to act, and he has to do it fast. He’s certain once the sleeping effect wears off, you’ll attack him.

One minute passes. Then, two. Then, three more.

Abruptly, Jimin stands with the dagger at hand. The chair legs scoot back against the wooden floorboards as he steps closer to you, blinking away the drowsiness from the potent side-effects of the flower.

Was he wrong?

No, he’s certain you’re one of them. He’s certain that one or more of them in that shop are like you as well. Mages and monsters.

Yet, there’s no trace of a golden glow in your eyes. No objects suddenly falling out of shelves, no picture frames or doorknobs rattling, no unexplained knocks or whispers. No faded bite mark that a demon left as a claim on your skin.

His fingers barely touch your neck when you make a sound.

A moan.

Of someone’s name.

Jimin freezes, eyes wide as he looks at your sleeping face. He can’t be certain if you said his name or—

A chuckle of disbelief comes from his lips and he runs his fingers through his hair. This should be easy. Insultingly so.

Yet, Jimin finds himself sitting back on the chair and facing his bed for the fourth time that night. He’s had that dagger in his hand since you fell asleep hours ago. He has every intent to kill you and the others in that shop.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he silently takes you in. The distinct features of your face that he likes, the way your lips part slightly as you sleep, the slow sound of your breath and the way your eyelashes touch the top of your cheeks. The way the moonlight is cast upon your bare skin, almost making you look ethereal in the night.

He thinks about earlier that afternoon, when you came to his shop, picking flowers to lay out a message of apology and confession. He thinks about the genuine surprise in your face when he admits that he loves you too, that you already have his heart. He thinks about how he meant what he said too.

And as the shop closes and the afternoon rolls into evening, he thinks about his hand in yours as he leads you upstairs to his room. He thinks about your shy giggles when he kisses your neck, your collarbone, and the top of your breasts until you start to remove your clothes for him. And as Jimin takes in your body, he whispers that you’re beautiful without realizing the words came out of his mouth.

This should’ve been easy. If he had known you were a mage sooner, before he caught any feelings for you, perhaps this would have been different.

But tonight, Jimin sheaths the enchanted dagger and lets you live for one more night.

Your dreams. They always start like this.

High walls of a strong, impenetrable fortress made of dark brick and stone. Willow trees in the courtyard, and a prism of sunlight peeking through the weeping, green leaves. Rows of old books stacked together on long shelves with worn bindings and stain-aged pages. Faceless apprentices in uniformed robes, passing through the candle-lit hallways from one lecture to another, their disembodied voices echoing down the long passageways. Plated armor and concealed weapons of guards that look down at you with disdain.

Blackstone Castle.

Once upon a time, that place was all you’ve ever known. An institution where you’ve excelled too well in the classroom lessons and teachings. Where your exposure to the outside world is limited through words on paper and stories from fellow apprentices of what they could remember before coming to the castle. A so-called home where you had the promising future of becoming one of the best enchanters among your peers.

You lean back against your chair in the lecture room. Notes in your handwriting are on the desk, detailed with whatever you thought is important to note. You tilt your head, frowning a bit in confusion as your hand continues to write.

You’re … actually not sure what you’re taking notes on. The longer you look at the scribbled words, the more ineligible they appear.

The sound of giggling catches your attention. When you glance at the source of the noise, you drop the quill in shock.

Mina?

At the back of the lecture room, Hoseok and your old roommate are snuggled together. Neither of them are paying attention to the lesson, shamelessly making out and touching each other through their clothes. You see her running her hand through his hair and tugging him closer as their tongues slip in each other’s mouths. Although they’re sitting a bit far, you could hear Hoseok as if he’s right next to you. You hear him tell her, “It should’ve been you that made it out of the Harrowing instead.”

“Hoseok?” you utter, your voice pathetically soft. Why would he say that?

When you finally force yourself to look away, Namjoon stands before you. No longer are you in a lecture room, but at the library. His face is completely neutral. Guarded. He asks you, “What is it that you want?”

“I just…” you begin, but before you could answer, he pushes you down on the table.

“I’m not your boyfriend. I couldn’t care less about what we are,” Namjoon tells you as he pins you down. His hand flips up the end of your dress. “There’s only one thing I want from you.”

When you exhale, it’s shaky. Like you’re trying not to sob.

Before anything happens, Namjoon is shoved away. When you turn around, you’re in the ritual room. Seokjin has his hands full, fighting beastly creatures from the Veil with a sword and shield. He shouts for your help, and it takes you a moment to process that you’re in the middle of a battle.

You need a weapon.

The tower rumbles and debris falls from the ceiling. Your heart races as you look through the rubble for a wand, a tome, anything to help Seokjin.

But you’re too late.

An anguish scream cuts you deeper than any blade. Panic and fear seizes your entire body as you watch him slump to the ground. The battlefield is deathly quiet, and you’re sitting there, alone, cradling his head on your lap and crying apologies for what feels like hours.

“Scary.”

Through your tears, you see one other person standing in the distance. You sniffle when you recognize who it is. “Jungkook?”

“You did that to him,” Jimin says from the other side of the room, opposite of where Jungkook is. “You couldn’t save him. This is your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“Scary,” Jungkook repeats, both of them looking at you like you’re something evil. Black smoke swallows them whole, thick as clouds. It takes over the room, Seokjin, and eventually, it takes over you as well.

But once it clears, you find yourself in a séance room. Taehyung sits across from you in a black and gold cloak and a crown on his head. He shuffles tarot cards and asks you the same thing Namjoon does. “What is it that you want?”

“Love,” you answer. Exhausted. Heartbroken.

You don’t want to be seen as a monster. You don’t want to have these doubts. These insecurities. This nightmare.

He sets down one card in front of you. The Reversed Hermit.

Betrayal. Isolation. Paranoia.

As it sinks in, you realize that Taehyung has disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Truly, you are alone again.

You’re not sure how long you sit there in the deafening silence. Wax melts from the candlesticks as the fire burns down the wick. The shadows in the room stretch longer, surrounding you in darkness. But the thoughts in your head are loud, calling you loveless, weak, incompetent, never enough.

Suddenly, you hear music playing. A soft, faint melody from a piano.

You don’t want to be here anymore, so you run toward the sound. A sense of déjà vu hits you as you exit the séance room and find yourself in a long, dimly-lit hallway full of identical doors. Just like your Harrowing, each door you enter leads you to the same hallway over and over and over and over. Despite how gentle the music sounds, you feel desperate to reach it. To see him.

Relief washes over you when you finally do.

In the domain where you first saw him, Yoongi stands behind a piano, dressed head to toe in all black with silver jewelry. One hand presses the black and white keys of the grand instrument, absently playing a tune you vaguely recognized. One he’s certain would bring you right to him.

He glances at you expectantly. A faint smile tugs on the corner of his lips.

Without hesitation, you run toward him, lost and then found. Grief, fear, doubt, and anxiety melt away the moment you’re in his arms. “Yoongi!”

Your familiar pulls you close, brushing his lips against your hair, just as a sharp sting claws into your inner thigh. You whimper and gasp from the pain, squirming in his arms, but Yoongi grabs your jaw and continues to kiss you like nothing is happening.

When the pain subsides, Yoongi finally lets you go. You back away from him, breathing hard, and finally, you notice the golden color in his eyes. He doesn’t move as he peers down on you, lips tugging a bit with an arrogant smirk.

Hesitantly, you lift the bottom of your dress to look at your thigh. A strange, red mark is visible on the skin.

Yoongi merely tilts his head and reminds you, “You’re mine.”

A loud wail is what wakes Jimin from his sleep. His body jerks in reaction, and before he realizes it, he’s tumbling off the chair and onto the wooden floor.

As clumsy as he is, this isn’t unusual for him. He is, however, surprised to see your black cat glowering down at him. Its tail swishes back and forth slowly as an annoyed grumble comes from its chest.

“Sorry,” you apologize, holding a blanket over your body with one hand and shutting the window with the other. “He was crying outside.”

Jimin blinks slowly at you, and then turns his attention back to the cat, who continues to glare down at him. He squints back and whispers, “Isn’t it too early in the morning to be a menace?”

Yoongi gives a grunt of a meow. As if Jimin should’ve known better than to question it.

“I should get going anyway,” you tell him, your voice soft and sad. If Jimin wasn’t wide awake before, he certainly is now. He pushes himself up and sees the redness in your eyes and face. You’ve been crying. “I didn’t mean to stay overnight.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jimin gently asks, jumping to his feet. He starts to approach you, but stops himself. His eyes linger at the blanket you have loosely around you, and how, somehow, you’re even more beautiful to him in the daylight.

You peek at him with wet eyes. Even now, there’s not a trace of wickedness in them at all. “I’m okay. Bad dream.”

Yoongi meows and rubs himself against your legs, trying to comfort you. A wry smile touches your lips as you bend down to pet him, quietly assuring him again that you’re okay. It feels like this is something that happens every now and then.

When the connection between you and the Veil are the strongest.

It’s subtle, but it’s still proof that Jimin isn’t wrong about what you are after all. He’s never been to a Harrowing, and he knows very little about the Veil itself, but mages leave their physical forms behind to enter that dream-like realm. In order to seek truths, gain knowledge, enhance their skills, and meet both good and evil spirits that reside in that world. It shouldn’t surprise him that mages that fall into a deep sleep during the witching hour could be affected by the Veil.

Jimin crouches down to meet your eye-level. There’s a pleasant smile on his lips as he reaches over to rub your back. “Why don’t you stay a little longer?”

You feel good after a long sleep, a good cry, and dipping into the warm water of a bath. The others at the shop are worried about you, even though you’re just across the street. Yoongi tells you as much as he helps you wash up.

“I know. I meant to go home last night.”

Your memory is a bit fuzzy, but that much, you know, is true. Sometimes, when it feels like you’re dreaming in the Veil, it’s hard to distinguish reality and dreams. You look at your thigh, where you envisioned the devil’s mark to be, and see nothing out of the ordinary on your skin.

He doesn’t say anything as he continues to rub soap on your back and shoulders. It feels nice. You start to lean in on his touch and sigh with content. Then, he asks, “Did anything happen?”

“Other than the obvious? No. I just fell asleep,” you answer, almost certain that there isn’t more to the story. Wake pulled you out of sleep as gently as the nightmare ended, and as you laid on Jimin’s bed, you were overwhelmed with emotion. Every detail, every word from your dream, you remember it. But through the tears in your eyes, you saw Jimin sleeping on a single, uncomfortable chair, facing you and dressed in his clothes from the night before. He had let you sleep on his bed throughout the night, watched over you, and kept you safe. And somehow, just seeing Jimin there with you after a terrible nightmare only reassured you that you were okay. That a dream was just a dream. “I really like him, Yoongi.”

“I know you do,” is all he says. You don’t need to face him to know that he isn’t entirely happy with it. “I just want you to be careful around him.”

“I will, Yoongi. You don’t need to worry about me.”

It isn’t long until you’re out of the bath and dressed up. The two of you are relatively silent as you face a mirror and use magic to fix your hair. Then, Yoongi asks, “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

You glance at him from the reflection. He’s dressed in black clothing and silver jewelry, just as you imagined him. His eyes, however, are normal. Dark, inquisitive, and gentle. Unlike the haunting yellow from your nightmare.

“No. Not yet,” you reply, your hand twitching as you try not to touch your thigh. There’s no pain and no strange mark, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamed of it. The mark that Yoongi mentioned once in passing to further strengthen a bond between a mage and their familiar. “Soon, though.”

You’d think those kinds of dreams would’ve stopped by now, especially after hearing from the boys themselves that they loved you. It feels silly to even question it when it’s obvious that they do. Yet, the same dreams keep occurring over and over, filling your mind with doubt and insecurity.

“Okay.” Yoongi stands next to you as you finish getting ready. “You look nice today.”

You grin at him, a little shy from the compliment, but tease, “Are you saying that I look bad other days?”

“You look nice every day,” he corrects with a shy kiss on your cheek. Then, before you could retort, he’s back into his cat form. You smile at him lovingly and hold him in your arms, feeling the rumble of his purrs vibrate from his body.

Downstairs, Jimin finds himself in a bit of a dilemma.

He has nothing to eat for breakfast.

Work has him traveling out of the shop often, delivering bouquets to customers, picking up new supplies and flowers, and even stopping by local guilds to pick up any magic-related reports to take up. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s rarely home to stock up on his personal pantry.

He’s still rummaging around for something when you finally come down with Yoongi in your arms. “Jimin?”

“I’m back here!” he shouts, grabbing pieces of stale bread and a half-empty jar of strawberry jam. This will have to do for now, he supposes, though it clearly isn’t enough for both of you. When you enter the back room, he tries to bite into the hard, jam-coated piece of bread and asks, “Breakfast?”

“I think I’m good,” you tell him, looking around. It’s notably empty, you realize, as you turn your attention back to his plate. “Is that all you’re having?”

“Maybe it’s a better idea that we eat out,” Jimin agrees, pushing the half-bitten bread aside. He isn’t hungry for that anyway. If it were up to him, he’d take you right back upstairs and have you stay with him a little longer.

He takes a quick glance at the cat in your arms, who seems to hold a steady glare at him. As if daring Jimin to make a move on you while he’s around.

You smile at him. “I know a place we can go.”

Across the street, the aroma of baked bread and brewed coffee welcomes you into the little shop. Seokjin is up bright and early, humming quietly to himself as he carefully puts pastries on a display case. Hoseok pours coffee into several mugs and adds cream and sugar to everyone’s preferred taste. Namjoon is doing an inventory check with Taehyung and Jungkook, writing down what he needs to shop for when he goes to the market later that morning. But as soon as the bell chimes from the front door and you step through the threshold, a sweeter welcome awaits you.

“You’re home!” Taehyung exclaims with a big, boxy smile and pulls you and Yoongi into a tight hug. The cat meows in protest in your arms, but it’s muffled when Jungkook giggles and joins in the group hug as well.

“We were worried about you, pretty girl,” Hoseok comments, holding two mugs for you and Yoongi in his hands, though he seems relieved to see you.

“Yeah, you didn’t come home last night,” Namjoon agrees as he and Seokjin come into the entrance together.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Jimin says from behind you. He steps into the shop with a sheepish smile on his face, seeing that he’s faced with the very over-protective men you live with.

Seokjin scoffs under his breath. “That explains a lot.”

“Is it okay if he stays for breakfast?” you ask them, hopeful. There’s a bit of hesitance, as if they’re not really sure what to make of you and Jimin still.

“Yeah, why not? The more the merrier,” Namjoon quotes with a shrug.

Your heart feels warm at their acceptance. Seeing the boys all together in one room, all seven of them, it feels right. It feels complete.

Both Hoseok and Namjoon look at you with so much care in their eyes, scolding you lightly for making them worry. Seokjin smiles at you, alive and well, before he takes Yoongi from your arms to help him in the kitchen. Taehyung and Jungkook refuse to leave your side, still keeping you in their hold until Seokjin bats them away.

If this is all a dream, it’s the cruelest one yet.

Hoseok hands you your coffee and smiles brightly at their guest. “I’ll get another mug. Do you like cream and sugar in your coffee, Jimin?”

Breakfast goes surprisingly well. Laid out on the table are sunny-side eggs, crispy pork belly, toasted bread with butter and jam, a bowl of fresh fruits, vegetable pancakes, and leftover stew from the night before. It’s a feast compared to what Jimin tried to eat at his own shop earlier that morning.

Everyone sits together on the long table, happily chatting and eating. Hoseok feeds Taehyung and Jungkook food from his plate before he eats himself. Seokjin tries to fish for compliments from you and Namjoon for working so hard in the kitchen. Even Yoongi – who strangely appears when the cat disappears – takes a seat beside you and immediately reaches into the fruit bowl for tangerines.

It’s a little strange, but Jimin seems to fit in really well. Both Hoseok and Taehyung include him in their conversations, asking him what his opinions are about if tigers or bears are the superior animal or the types of cool dances that they’ve seen at the town square. Namjoon and Seokjin make him laugh at their witty banter, and how they bring out the goofiest sides of each other. Even Jungkook is excitedly clapping his hands and giggling at their antics before cutely asking Jimin if there’s any pork belly left on his side of the table. And while he’s certain that Yoongi hates him, he’s surprised when he is offered a piece of his peeled tangerine.

There’s a sense of belonging that Jimin can’t really describe when he’s around you guys. Something that he hasn’t really felt anywhere else.

It’s a stark difference to when he returns to his lonely flower shop afterwards.

Floral fragrances greet him as he walks in the door instead of the aroma of baked good and brewed coffee. There’s a notable silence that fills the room when there aren’t any customers around, unlike at the lively shop across the street, where there’s always music playing and people talking. It feels cold and empty, far from the warm and homey feelings of yours.

Running a shop by himself keeps him busy. It’s hard work and long days, but he likes the smile on people’s faces when they find exactly what they’re looking for, or when he delivers things he’s made to his customers.

Today isn’t any different. Except, it is.

Because just across the street, you’re there. He can see you welcoming curious people inside, checking on the plants outside the shop that Jimin helped you garden with a raven perched on your shoulder, going to the market as Namjoon holds your waist and Jungkook holds your hand, and coming back to the shop less than an hour later and being showered with affectionate greetings from the others upon your return.

Because Jimin can’t stop thinking about how you and the others across the street are supposed to be wicked, evil, vile creatures that feast on the blood of innocents and animal sacrifices instead of tangerines, coffee, and bread. That you must’ve bewitched humans to do your bidding, even though it clearly seems that Seokjin has a mind of his own and wants to be with you all. That you’d use your power to bring chaos and destruction to the world instead of love and comfort in your shop.

Because Jimin realizes that he can’t kill you because he loves you. Even though he shouldn’t. Even though it’s his job to eradicate people like you from his town.

Yet, here he is, thinking about how concerned he was when you woke up crying. How troubled he felt when he wasn’t able to make breakfast for you. The way he felt a bit nervous entering your shop and facing your other lovers. How they all tried to make him feel welcomed anyway, even if there’s some uncertainty with how they feel toward him. How the morning after with you was nice until he had to return to his shop alone.

The enchanted dagger upstairs is locked away in his room, waiting to be used. Eager for that next opportunity when you’re alone with him. But Jimin, who watches you from his shop’s window with a forlorn sadness, wants to keep you with him a little longer.

And that, truly, is a problem.

“We need to talk.”

Your heart stutters nervously at the words. Silently, you exchange looks with Seokjin, who is washing dirty dishes next to you. But you know why Namjoon is suddenly summoning you all for a family meeting.

At the market, you noticed it. You’re certain Namjoon and Jungkook did too with the way they tightened their hold around you.

In the town square, they were there.

Hunters.

Many of them are talking about Blackstone Castle and the mages that have escaped. They’re asking townsfolk if they’ve noticed anything suspicious, advising people to stay indoors at night, taking notes of any clues they find through their investigations. The three of you manage to avoid them on the way to the market, but it’s clear that their very presence is a threat: the hunters are here, and they’re looking for you.

“It’s too dangerous now,” Seokjin whispers, worried. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you sit beside him. “We’ll be safer if we get out of town.”

“Where would we go?” Namjoon questions, a bit frustrated. You can tell he’s trying not to raise his voice. “This is our home. We’ve just started to settle down.”

“All the rooms aren’t filled yet,” Taehyung points out as his eyes lock with yours. He’s been certain that Jimin is the last one. That the final room in the shop belongs to him.

Jungkook sighs heavily. “What do we do?”

Running away isn’t an option. You guys already did that, and you don’t want to leave this place behind. Fighting them would only bring more unwanted attention toward you and the shop. Even you’re a bit stumped with what to do next.

“More and more of those hunters are coming into the town,” Hoseok says with a frown. “We have to be careful. We have to look out for each other.”

Namjoon nods his head. “Just as we always do.”

Yoongi catches your eye this time. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

The others look at you as well. Yoongi doesn’t have to say his name for you to know who he’s talking about. You’re the one who knows Jimin the most. They trust your judgment, despite any divination readings Taehyung has on him.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “I trust him.”

By the late afternoon, as things begin to wind down, you return to the flower shop with containers of food from your shop. “I don’t know if you ate your dinner already, but we made these for you.”

He smiles fondly at you, touched by the sweet gesture as he takes the containers from you. “Thank you, baby. I’ll eat it well.”

As he leaves to put the food away in the back for later, you take a walk around. His shop is empty of customers. Various flowers in full bloom sit prettily on display in arrangements and in pots. Everything is beautiful and pleasing to look at.

Though, you notice that there aren't really any personal touches in Jimin’s shop at all. No family pictures, despite his father being a hometown hero or that his grandmother had owned this shop prior. No food that he keeps in stock with favorite dishes and snacks. Even his bedroom feels minimalistic compared to what you’re used to at one of the boys’ rooms.

If he ever decides to live with you, in that empty room on the second floor, what would his room look like? Would it be like this shop? Would it be something different?

As you lose yourself to your train of thoughts, you nearly trip over something.

A bucket of lavenders.

It sits innocently near a painted cart among other buckets of bouquets. Its calming fragrance is masked by the other floral scents in the shop. But it makes you back away from it as if you just saw something truly horrifying.

Arms suddenly wrap around your midsection and pull you into their chest. You nearly scream, wiggling to get free, until you hear Jimin’s infectious laughter behind you. “What’s wrong? Did I scare you?”

“Yes! How dare you!” you playfully shout, relieved it’s just him. He chuckles and starts to kiss your cheek and neck in apology. His lips feel soft against your skin, and your hand reaches back to touch his neck, turning a bit to kiss him back.

It’s easy to be swept up in him. To get lost in the heat of the moment and not think about anything or anyone else. To push your worries about bad dreams, hunters, and the other boys aside and just melt in his arms. You trust him. You know you can.

But something is bothering you. His mouth moves away from your lips to kiss your jaw and the spot just below your ear, and as you turn your head and sigh in content, you notice the bucket of lavenders again.

“Stay tonight?” he asks against your skin, eyes hazy with lust.

You’re tempted. But you answer, “I can’t, Jimin. Not tonight.”

With the hunters in town, you have to make sure that the shop is safe. Hoseok and Namjoon have prepared to sage the entire shop to ward off any harmful intentions to you and your family. And you need to cast added protection spells on the doors and windows so that your shop won’t be easy for them to find.

He hums but places another kiss on your face. “We got a bit carried away last night, didn’t we?”

You glance away from the lavenders and meet his gaze. Again, you remind yourself that you love this man. You can trust him.

“Jimin, about last night…” you begin. His smile fades a little as he arches an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. “Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m having a hard time remembering how the night ended.”

No matter how hard you try, you can’t remember how you ended up falling asleep in Jimin’s room. The last thing you remember is telling him you had to go back home. That Yoongi would be upset, and Jimin said—

“You just fell asleep, babe. Nothing happened.”

“I see.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It's not that,” you tell him, not sure how to state this without sounding accusatory. You glance over at the lavenders again and quietly admit, “I just feel like I’m missing something. I don’t know. Did… Did something more happen?”

His hands cup your face, warm and a bit calloused. They contract a bit with the cold, silver rings around his fingers.

“What makes you think I’d do something to hurt you?” he questions, trying to sound a bit offended. But for a split second, you could’ve sworn he almost looked amused.

“I don’t know.” Your eyes flutter close as he tilts your face up, greeting you with soft kisses again. His thumb gently caresses your cheeks, hands slowly gliding down your neck, fingers tracing your collarbone. Despite the light touches, your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you feel yourself chasing after his lips.

“Should I remind you then? About last night?” he asks, nose bumping against yours and a hand against the back of your neck.

“I can’t stay,” you remind him, eyes fluttering close. But his lips feel so full and soft when he kisses you. Each kiss entices you for more, and he chuckles when he feels you tug on his bottom lip.

“Then should we stop?”

He pulls away from you a bit, teasing you, but you don’t allow him. Your arms wrap around his neck as you needily answer, “No. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jimin praises and rewards you with another heated kiss. You could only moan in agreement, far too distracted to pay attention to anything but the way his tongue slips into your mouth or the way his touch warms your skin, igniting memories of last night with the way his hands roam your body.

With Jimin, it feels easy to love. It feels easy to simply be. Whether as friends, lovers, or something else you can’t quite place, it feels easy to get caught up in the moment with him. Without overthinking of what this all means, without the worry of what you are to him, without caring when the dream ends.

Your back hits the counter, but it doesn’t break the kiss. He feels you over your clothes, and your hands tug him closer.

“Jimin…” you gasp, panting hard when he finally pulls away. He spins you around so your back is against his chest again. Vaguely, through the lust-filled haze, you’re reminded of the night before.

Visiting the flower shop, an apology and a confession, a night spent together. You were trying to get home. Yoongi was upset. The tattoo on Jimin’s chest. A black dahlia.

“Don’t think about it,” Jimin whispers against your skin. He starts to push you down over the counter. Had you been able to see his face, a chill would’ve run down your spine from the way he looks at you in that very moment – like a predator to prey. “Just trust me.”

The chime of a bell snaps both of you out of it.

“What the hell?” a last-minute customer exclaims, unable to open the door all the way to get through. As if, somehow, the door got stuck. “Jimin? Are you there?”

Immediately, Jimin backs off and clears his throat.

“Yes, I’ll be right with you!” he answers, running his fingers through his hair. He stands over you for a moment, protectively shielding you from anyone coming in. When he glances over at you, however, you’re already smoothing over the front of your clothes. Your face is a bit flustered, but not a single hair is out of place. “Are you okay, love?”

“I’m fine, Jimin. I should get going anyway,” you tell him bashfully. He kisses you one last time before he finally lets you go.

With ease, you pull open the front door as the customer nearly stumbles inside.

When you look back at Jimin, he seems to be staring at you and the door curiously. Then, his eyes lock with yours, and he gives you that same, knowing smile from last night.

The kind of smile where he knows something you don’t. A secret he isn’t meant to find out.

And it dawns to you, just then, that his smile was the last thing you saw yesterday before your world turned black.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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#magic shop series #jimin x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #taehyung x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #hoseok x reader #bts au #bts fantasy au #bts magic au #bts witch au #bts fanfic #jimin smut

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faebled-stories · 8 months ago

Text

Unbroken Connection

Kinkvember Day 18: Voodoo Magic

Aespa Karina (Yu Jimin) x Male reader

11.5k words

The house was everything you and Karina had dreamed up over whispered conversations and late-night plans—a beautiful, old-fashioned structure with a story in every corner, as if each creak and crack held its own memory. The red brick walls were cloaked in ivy, its tendrils winding upward in lazy spirals, giving the house a sense of timelessness, like it had stood for centuries, watching quietly as generations came and went.

“This place is perfect,” Karina whispered as she stepped onto the wide porch, running her fingers lightly along the railing. The wood was cool under her touch, its carvings faint but intricate. “Can you imagine the kind of lives people must have lived here?” Her voice carried a mix of wonder and nostalgia, as though she could already feel the house’s history soaking into her skin.

“Long ones,” you joked, gesturing to the ivy. “Look at this stuff. It’s practically holding the bricks together.”

She smiled, her eyes tracing the ivy’s twists and turns. “I like it. Feels alive.”

In the gentle evening light, the porch radiated a kind of quiet charm, the sort that made you imagine warm cups of tea and conversations that lingered long into the evening under skies painted by the sunset’s last, tender hues. A faint scent of lavender drifted in the air, subtle yet persistent, as if it had seeped into the walls, lingering from some long-forgotten garden nearby.

Inside, each room seemed to come alive with your presence. The wooden floors groaned in protest beneath your feet, their creaks echoing through the empty halls, creating a melody of movement that felt almost like the house was speaking to you, welcoming you home. The walls, bare and waiting, seemed to listen as you and Karina unpacked, your laughter filling the rooms and softening the house’s quiet, almost eerie solitude. Together, you unearthed each piece of your shared life from the cardboard boxes, placing cherished objects on shelves, letting them claim their new spaces.

“Do you think this place will feel like ours?” Karina asked as she set a stack of books on the mantle. She glanced at you, her head tilting slightly. “Or will it always feel… I don’t know. Like someone else’s?”

“It already feels like ours,” you replied. “But maybe I’m just biased because of how much we’ve already carried in.” You gestured at the half-empty boxes, trying to lighten the mood.

She laughed softly, but her eyes lingered on the empty space around her. “I guess we’ll see.”

Shadows began to settle into corners as the evening light faded, casting the rooms in a dim, golden glow. By the time most of the boxes were empty, you felt an irresistible pull to explore. The house, despite its warm charm, held an air of mystery, as if there were stories yet untold in the very walls.

Wandering from room to room, you found yourselves by the staircase, where a small, unassuming door, almost camouflaged within the dark wood paneling, caught your eye. Its handle was worn, gleaming slightly in the low light, and the door itself was so inconspicuous that you might have missed it if not for the slight draft that seemed to drift from the tiny crack at its base.

Karina frowned. “That’s… odd. Did you know this was here?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Maybe a closet? Or a pantry?” You reached for the handle, but her hand shot out, stopping you.

“Do you think we should? I mean, what if it’s locked?”

“It’s not,” you said, testing the handle and feeling it give way easily. A narrow stairwell descended into darkness, carrying a faint, musty smell that hinted at old things left undisturbed.

“I don’t like this,” she muttered, her fingers brushing through her hair in that nervous way she always did when something felt wrong. “This is how horror movies start.”

You grinned. “Come on, Jimin. It’s probably just storage. Let’s take a quick look.”

Her sigh was audible, but she nodded, reluctantly following as you descended. The steps creaked loudly underfoot, and with each groan of the wood, your own confidence waned just a little. At the bottom, the basement unfolded before you—a space cool and dim, filled with shadows that seemed to stretch and shift in the weak light. Dust motes floated through the air, and rows of shelves lined the walls, each one crowded with jars of indeterminate age, filled with strange, murky substances.

“What is this stuff?” Karina whispered, her voice barely audible over the stillness.

“Looks like… I don’t know. Old preserves? Or potions?” you joked, though your tone carried none of the confidence you were aiming for.

She shot you a look but didn’t respond. Her attention had shifted to the center of the room, where a table stood oddly clean amidst the dust-coated surroundings. Something on the table caught her eye—a doll.

The figure lay whole on the table, its shape unmistakably human yet profoundly unsettling. Its smooth, seamless form lacked any definition—no fingers, no toes, no musculature. The limbs and torso were entirely featureless, as if sculpted from an unbroken piece of clay, leaving an eerie impression of incompleteness. This blank, unformed body served only to emphasize the haunting precision of its face.

The skin of the face was painted with disturbing realism: faintly flushed cheeks, delicately drawn veins, and a subtle sheen that mimicked the warmth of living flesh. Its eyes were closed, the lids resting softly as if in peaceful slumber. The stillness of its expression, paired with the intricate detail of its features, gave it an unnerving lifelike quality that felt profoundly out of place against the blank canvas of the rest of its body. The contrast between the intricate face and the featureless form created an aura of quiet, disquieting intent, as though the doll were waiting to be brought fully to life.

“Who would leave something like this in a basement?” Karina murmured, her voice breaking the silence, sounding small and uneasy against the stillness of the room. Her gaze lingered on the doll, her hand tightening instinctively around your arm. “It’s… wrong.”

“It’s just a doll,” you said, though your voice wavered. “Probably an old collector’s item. Some people are into creepy things.”

“Some people need better hobbies.” Karina reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, the motion an automatic gesture of unease. Her fingers caught on a stray tangle, and she tugged lightly, smoothing the strands into place. A few locks cascaded back over her shoulder, catching the dim light as they settled. She took a step back, her face pale. “Let’s just leave it.”

You nodded, slipping your hand into hers. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As you turned to leave, you didn’t notice the way her hair shimmered faintly, glimmering in the dusty glow of the basement light. The strands that had fallen from her fingers seemed alive, slipping from her shoulders and moving against gravity. They floated as if drawn by some invisible force, a deliberate motion that defied the stagnant air. The golden threads stretched toward the doll, weaving through the stillness like a gossamer pulled by an unseen hand.

The faint draft that had ushered you down reversed, the air now tugging gently in the opposite direction. It brushed past you with a quiet insistence, carrying Karina’s drifting hair closer to the doll. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible, but unmistakably deliberate, as though something in the room had claimed the strands for its own.

The strands seemed to hover just above the doll’s porcelain surface, quivering slightly, as though testing the boundary between the living and the inanimate. Then, one by one, they disappeared. They didn’t land or settle—they were absorbed, sinking seamlessly into the doll’s cold skin. The process was slow, almost reverent, each thread vanishing into the porcelain as if it were feeding on them, consuming their essence. The doll’s surface showed no disturbance, no trace of the hair’s presence, yet a strange energy began to ripple faintly through the room, subtle but undeniable, as if the very walls shivered in recognition.

Upstairs, the laughter you shared was nervous but genuine, both of you clinging to it like a lifeline to push back the tension left in the wake of the basement. Karina wrapped her arms around herself as she stood in the hallway, her gaze darting toward the closed basement door. Her unease lingered, etched into the slight furrow of her brow and the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Next time,” she said lightly, her attempt at humor wavering in her voice, “let’s stick to exploring things with actual light switches. Maybe some windows too.”

You chuckled, trying to match her tone, but the unease clung to you as well. “Agreed. No more basements. Definitely no dolls.”

She gave a half-smile, though her eyes lingered on the door a moment longer before she turned away. The house seemed quieter now, its warmth tempered by something you couldn’t quite name.

But below, in the still, heavy air of the basement, the doll’s porcelain surface began to glow. The light started faint, a barely perceptible pulse deep within its core, like the flicker of a distant flame. It ebbed and flowed in slow, deliberate beats, each pulse growing stronger, its glow intensifying with a sickly greenish hue that cast long, jagged shadows across the shelves and floor. The air in the basement thickened, heavy with a strange, metallic tang, as if the space itself were reacting to the doll’s transformation.

The doll’s eyes, closed in serene stillness, caught the flickering light in a way that made the lids seem faintly translucent. At first, it was a subtle effect—a play of shadows beneath the painted lashes. But as the glow swelled, the closed eyes appeared to hold a deeper presence, as though something beneath the surface stirred. The lids, once simple and lifeless, seemed to press outward faintly, hinting at a restless energy concealed behind them.

The strands of Karina’s hair, now fully absorbed, had vanished without a trace. Yet, the doll’s features began to shift. Its porcelain skin, once flawless and cold, took on a faint warmth, a suggestion of pliability that hadn’t been there before. The faint blush on its cheeks deepened, almost imperceptibly, as though the glow from within was kindling something beneath the surface. The contours of its face grew more defined, softening subtly, as if sculpted further toward perfection with each pulse of light.

The house seemed to hold its breath. The faint creaks and groans of its old structure stilled entirely, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake. Even the distant hum of the wind outside faded, as though the world itself had paused. In the suffocating quiet, the rhythmic flicker of the doll’s eerie light became the room’s heartbeat, steady and deliberate, an ominous reminder of its growing presence.

Its aura now exuded a quiet, watchful energy—no longer dormant but active, as though waiting for something. The shadows cast by its light danced across the walls, twisting and shifting unnaturally, their movements disconnected from the flicker of the glow. And deep within the stillness of its closed eyes, there was a stirring—fragile yet undeniable, an unsettling whisper of awareness beginning to take shape. The doll no longer felt like an object but a vessel, and the silence of the room seemed to anticipate the moment when its transformation would be complete.

------

The next morning, warm sunlight slipped through the bedroom curtains, casting a golden glow over Karina as she stretched and let out a contented sigh. You had left early for work, leaving her alone in the quiet intimacy of the morning. The scattered, unpacked boxes around the room hinted at new beginnings, but her thoughts kept circling back to the basement—to the doll. Despite the unease it stirred in her, a peculiar curiosity tugged at her thoughts. It was like a whisper, faint but insistent, calling her back.

After tidying a few last things, Karina found herself descending the narrow stairs once more. The wooden steps creaked softly beneath her feet, their sound amplified in the heavy stillness of the space. Cool, stale air wrapped around her as she stepped inside, carrying the faint tang of dust and metal. Shadows clung to the corners of the basement, stretching ominously toward her as the dim light flickered. She shivered slightly, her gaze drifting over the jars, cobwebs, and forgotten relics lining the shelves before settling on the table in the center of the room.

There it was. The doll lay silent, unmoved from the night before, yet somehow it felt different—like it was waiting for her.

Her steps slowed as she approached, her fingers hovering just above its surface. She hesitated, taking in its vague, incomplete features. The blank, mannequin-like body contrasted starkly with the face, which, though detailed, felt unfinished. Its closed eyes added to its unsettling stillness. Slowly, Karina extended her hand, her fingertips brushing against the surface.

She froze. The material wasn’t cold and lifeless as she’d expected. It was warm, soft, and faintly pliant—almost like skin. Her breath hitched as she instinctively pulled back, her heart pounding, but curiosity rooted her in place. Tentatively, she touched it again, her fingers trailing across its surface. A faint warmth blossomed under her touch, sending ripples through her skin, as though she were brushing her own body.

Her hand moved down its neck and across its vaguely defined chest. As her fingers lingered, the contours began to shift, the undefined surface molding into shape. Karina gasped, her hand trembling as she watched the doll begin to change. Her breath quickened, and she pressed her palm against its shoulder, marveling as the smooth joint took on a lifelike slope.

She trailed her fingers down one arm, the surface firming and refining beneath her touch. The blank limb transformed into something natural, each joint and curve forming with startling precision. The doll’s hand became delicate and human-like as her fingers brushed its palm, her pulse quickening with the impossible reality of it all.

Her movements grew more deliberate, her hand gliding across the torso. The blank plane of its chest yielded to soft ribs and a curved stomach. Karina lingered, pressing lightly into its sides as though testing its reality. Each pass sharpened the details further—faint muscles, a subtle navel, even the texture of skin. Each touch sent an echo of warmth spreading through her, a mirrored heat that made her shiver.

Her hands drifted lower, trembling as they explored its hips and thighs. The surface molded seamlessly beneath her fingers, becoming impossibly lifelike. She ran her hand down one leg, tracing the length as a knee, shin, and the curve of an ankle appeared. Each detail emerged with precision, her breath hitching as her fingers brushed its inner thigh. The texture was so warm, so realistic, that it sent a wave of heat coursing through her.

Karina swallowed hard, her hand returning upward, her touch almost compulsive now. Her trembling fingers brushed the doll’s chest again, the faint curves she’d noticed earlier now fully formed into soft, rounded breasts. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the surface before tentatively pressing against it. The material shifted under her fingers, warm and pliant, as though responding to her touch.

As she lingered, the blank surface of the doll’s chest changed further. Subtle lines formed beneath her fingertips, the soft material shaping into peaks that were unnervingly lifelike. Her fingers grazed the newly formed nipples, her breath catching as warmth surged through her, sharp and electric, as though she’d touched herself. Each gentle brush sent a thrill rippling through her, leaving her trembling and flushed.

Her breath hitched as her hand hovered over the last undefined part of the doll’s form. Slowly, she pressed her fingers to its lower torso. The blank surface beneath her touch shifted and molded, forming folds and curves with startling precision, mirroring her own. Her legs shook, and a low moan escaped her lips as an intense warmth radiated through her body, her cheeks burning as she clutched the edge of the table for support.

When the transformation was complete, Karina stumbled back, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. The doll no longer looked like a lifeless figure. It was her—exactly her. Every curve, every line, every detail was replicated in unsettling perfection, a hauntingly accurate reflection that left her rooted in place.

Her heart raced as vulnerability crept over her. Seeing her own body laid bare in such an intimate, uncanny way sent a shiver down her spine. She hugged herself instinctively, as though shielding her body from her own gaze. Desperate to cover the doll, she turned away, her hands trembling as she rifled through one of the boxes on the floor. Her fingers brushed over soft fabrics until she pulled out one of her favorite dresses—a pale, flowing piece she hadn’t yet unpacked.

Karina carried the dress back to the doll, her hands shaking as she slipped it over its shoulders. The fabric fell into place with unsettling ease, fitting the doll’s body as if it had been made for it rather than her. The way the dress hugged its frame sent an eerie shiver through her, the intimacy of the moment uncomfortably surreal. She stepped back, catching sight of herself in the mirror across the room.

Her reflection stared back at her, but so did the doll’s. It sat upright on the bed, its face now fully hers. Its closed eyes seemed more deliberate, its lifelike features so vivid they felt alive. The uncanny mimicry unsettled her, daring her to look away—but she couldn’t. Her breath came in shallow gasps, the air in the room heavy with an unnameable energy.

The doll, now clothed in her dress, sat motionless, yet its presence filled the room entirely. For a moment, Karina thought she saw the faintest movement—a slight tilt of its head, a shift of its hand—but when she blinked, it was still.

Her knees brushed against the edge of the bed as she backed away, her mind spinning. The longer she looked, the more the doll’s presence seemed to mirror her own. It wasn’t just wearing her dress—it was wearing her.

-----

The days following that intimate reveal of the doll Karina had hidden it in her room unsure of what to do with it, she decided to brush it off and distract herself from another full day of being an idol. After an exhausting but exhilarating practice session filled with music, laughter, and sweat, Karina and the other Aespa members gathered in the conference room, their energy palpable. The lingering rhythm of the studio beats still hummed in her mind as she followed her bandmates, feeling the collective excitement that seemed to bubble just below the surface. Giselle, ever the source of contagious enthusiasm, nudged Ningning with a teasing whisper that sent them both into quiet giggles. Minjeong leaned forward, her curiosity piqued, her eyes darting between their manager and the others as they settled into their seats.

The manager entered the room with his usual steady presence, his hands folded and his smile warm. The girls instantly hushed, their attention snapping to him in anticipation.

“Your recent comeback has been a huge success,” he began, his voice beaming with pride. “You’ve topped charts and we couldn’t be prouder of each of you.”

A ripple of pride swept through the group. Minjeong shot Karina a thumbs-up, her grin as wide as ever, while Giselle reached across the table to squeeze Ningning’s arm, the two of them laughing in disbelief. Karina couldn’t help but smile, soaking in the joy that filled the room. It was moments like these that reminded her of why they worked so hard, pouring themselves into their music and performances.

But the manager wasn’t finished. “That’s not all,” he added, his excitement unmistakable. “We have even bigger news for you—you’re going on tour!”

The room fell still for a moment as the weight of the announcement sank in, then erupted into a cacophony of celebration. Minjeong let out a delighted squeal, practically leaping from her seat as she clasped her hands together. Giselle’s mouth hung open for a second before she broke into laughter, her eyes shining with disbelief. Ningning gasped, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, and she turned to Karina with a wide-eyed look of joy.

Karina’s heart raced as she imagined the roar of crowds, the thrill of stepping onto stages in cities around the world, and the energy of fans who had waited so long to see them perform. It was everything they had dreamed of, everything they had worked for. The thought of sharing their music on such a grand scale filled her with a rush of adrenaline and anticipation.

But as the manager began listing the tour dates, Karina’s excitement faltered. Her mind snagged on a detail she wished she could ignore: the tour would overlap with her anniversary with you. A pang of guilt and regret twisted inside her, dulling the edges of her happiness. She forced herself to stay present, laughing and celebrating with her friends, but part of her was already mourning the time she’d lose with you.

That evening, Karina returned home with a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. She couldn’t wait to share the incredible news with you, but the weight of the tour dates pressed heavily on her chest. As she stepped into the warm comfort of your shared space, she found you waiting for her on the couch, your face lighting up at the sight of her. The familiar scent of home—a mix of her favorite lavender candle and the faint aroma of dinner—embraced her, soothing her nerves, if only slightly.

“So,” she began, setting her bag down and fidgeting with her fingers. Her voice wavered as she tried to balance the excitement bubbling within her and the regret tugging at her heart. “There’s some big news.” She paused, drawing a steadying breath before the words tumbled out in a mix of pride and hesitance. “The album’s doing amazing, and… we’re going on tour!”

Your face broke into a smile, your genuine happiness for her shining through. Relief flooded her, but the feeling was fleeting. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the table as she continued. “But,” she added softly, her eyes dropping to the floor, “the tour overlaps with our anniversary.”

Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat, a flicker of disappointment crossing your face before you quickly masked it. “That’s… not ideal,” you said, your voice tinged with understanding. “But baby, when I asked you to be my girlfriend, I signed myself up for all of this. I’d never want to hold you back from that.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with gratitude as you reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “I hate that it’s on that day, but… thank you for understanding.”

You pulled her close, wrapping her in a firm embrace. For a while, neither of you said anything, letting the silence hold the depth of your love and the ache of the separation that loomed ahead. The soft beat of your hearts seemed to sync as you held each other, anchoring yourselves in the present.

The lead up to Karina’s departure were a mix of sweetness and sorrow, a countdown neither of you wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t escape. Each moment together felt heavier, charged with a need to make it last. You and Karina spent every spare moment with one another, finding solace in the routines and small joys of your shared life.

Mornings became sacred. The two of you would wake up early, savoring slow breakfasts at the kitchen table. You teased her about her favorite coffee mug—a chipped, mismatched thing she adored despite your insistence that you’d buy her a new one. Her laughter echoed softly, her smile brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window.

Evenings stretched late into the night. You’d sit tangled together on the couch, your conversations meandering through memories of your favorite moments together. She told you how your first kiss still gave her butterflies, and you shared how proud you were of everything she had accomplished. When the words ran out, you stayed wrapped in each other’s warmth, the quiet hum of your love filling the spaces between.

There were moments of vulnerability too—nights when you found her staring out the window, her thoughts far away. She confessed her guilt about leaving on such an important day, and you reassured her with soft touches and whispered promises.

------

Karina’s departure day dawned with a quiet that felt unnatural, as though the house itself understood what was coming. The air seemed heavier, thick with an unspoken finality, and even the sunlight streaming through the windows felt subdued. Her footsteps on the hardwood floor carried an unusual weight, each one more deliberate as she made her way to the door. In her arms, she cradled a large, carefully wrapped box, its presence as significant as the moment itself. The neat bow atop it added a touch of care, and she carried it with a reverence that spoke of its importance.

Her cheeks were dusted with a faint blush, and her lips parted into a nervous smile as she looked at you. There was something shy and uncertain in her expression, a contrast to the confidence she usually exuded. She set the box down gently on the coffee table, straightening her posture before turning back to you.

“I… I wanted to give you something before I left,” she said softly, shifting the box slightly and holding it out to you. Her eyes flicked between yours and the package, searching your face for your reaction.

You took the box from her carefully, surprised by its weight. It wasn’t heavy, but it had a certain gravity that hinted at its significance. Curiosity mingled with apprehension as you placed it on the table and began to open it. Lifting the lid, you peeled back the soft protective wrapping, and your breath caught as you revealed what lay inside.

A nearly life-sized doll, sculpted with uncanny precision, stared back at you—or would have, had its eyes not been closed in a strange, serene expression. Its resemblance to Karina was startling. Every detail, from the gentle curve of its cheekbones to the cascade of long, dark hair that fell over its shoulders, mirrored her perfectly. The doll even wore one of her favorite dresses, the fabric draping over its form in a way that felt disturbingly natural.

You blinked, taking an involuntary step back as you tried to process the sight before you. “Honey… this is…” Words failed you for a moment as your eyes darted between the doll and her. “It’s… so real.”

Karina let out a soft, nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, it’s a little unusual,” she admitted, her blush deepening as she shifted on her feet. “But I had it custom-made, just for you. Since I’ll be away for a while, I thought… maybe it would help you feel like I’m still close.”

You stared at the doll again, your chest tightening with an unplaceable unease. Its closed eyes made it look peaceful, almost restful, but its lifelike features made it feel as though it could wake at any moment. The dress only added to the strange feeling—a version of Karina that was simultaneously here and yet absent.

“Jimin…” you began slowly, glancing back at her. “I don’t know. This feels… like a bit much. It’s just… so realistic.” You tried to manage a smile, hoping to soften your reluctance. “Maybe too realistic?”

Her smile wavered slightly, and a flicker of vulnerability passed through her eyes as she stepped closer. “Please?” she asked softly, taking your hand in hers. Her voice was tender, her gaze imploring. “I know it might seem a little strange, but… I really want you to have it. Since I’ll be away, I thought it might bring you some comfort, knowing that even though I’m far away, you’ll still have something here with you. A part of me.”

Her hand tightened on yours, interrupting your thoughts. “I know it’s not the same,” she said quietly. “But I thought it could help. I just… I don’t want you to feel alone. Even if it’s a little strange, I want to leave you with something that reminds you of me.”

Her tone softened, and her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “Please, just try. It’s okay if it feels weird at first. I just… I really want this for you.”

You sighed, the tension in your chest loosening slightly at the sight of her vulnerability. Her intentions were pure, even if the gift itself unsettled you. “Alright,” you said gently, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll keep it.”

Relief washed over her face, and she broke into a warm smile, pulling you into a tight embrace. She lingered there for a moment before pulling back, gesturing toward the doll. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Look closer.”

You hesitated, then reached out. Your fingers brushed the doll’s cheek, marveling at its texture. The material was soft, warm, and faintly yielding—eerily lifelike. Your hand moved lower, skimming over its collarbone and down its arm. As you brushed against its hand, you glanced at Karina, noticing how her chest rose and fell more quickly than before. Her lips parted slightly, and she pressed them together as though to stifle a reaction.

“You okay?” you asked, watching her closely.

She nodded quickly, her blush deepening. “Yeah, it’s just… weird seeing you touch it,” she lied, her voice barely audible. “But go on.”

You turned back to the doll, curiosity tugging at you despite your discomfort. Your hand drifted lower, tracing the subtle curve of its waist. You couldn’t deny how precise it was—every contour felt real, natural, even though you knew it wasn’t. When your fingers brushed over its chest, you froze, startled by how soft and pliant it felt. The sensation made you glance back at Karina, who was standing rigidly beside you, her hands clenched at her sides.

Her breathing hitched audibly, and for a moment, her lips trembled as though she might speak—but she didn’t. She stayed quiet, her cheeks flushed as she visibly tried to steady herself.

“Jimin…” you said cautiously, watching her reaction. “Are you sure this isn’t too weird for you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, though her voice wavered slightly. Her body remained stiff, her fingers curling into her palms as she tried to mask her reaction. “Just… finish.”

You hesitated but continued, brushing over the doll’s arm again before moving lower. Your fingers trailed over its legs, the texture as lifelike as the rest of its form. Karina shifted beside you, her breaths uneven but controlled, her eyes fixed on your hand as though trying to focus on anything other than the sensation it might evoke in her.

Finally, you pulled back, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “It’s… impressive,” you admitted reluctantly, though the unease hadn’t entirely left you.

Karina nodded, exhaling shakily as she stepped closer. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I know it’s strange, but I wanted it to feel like I was still here with you. Even if it’s not the same.”

Her hand found yours again, her fingers lacing through yours as she rested her head on your shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” she murmured, her voice soft and wistful.

You kissed the top of her head, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “And I’ll be here, counting down the days until you come back.”

-----

The days without Karina stretched endlessly, each one a slow ache that deepened the longer she was gone. Though you spoke every night, the absence of her presence—the warmth of her touch, the sound of her laugh filling the room—created a void that even her most loving words couldn’t quite fill. The doll she had left behind sat untouched, a silent reminder of her, but you hadn’t found the will to reach for it. Instead, the house felt emptier with every passing day, its stillness amplifying her absence.

When your anniversary arrived, it brought a bittersweet mix of excitement and longing. Determined to make the night special, you poured yourself into preparing the space, setting the table with flickering candles and the bottle of wine she had excitedly suggested weeks ago.

Her request had come during one of your nightly calls, her tone warm with affection. “Promise me we’ll eat the same thing,” she had said, her voice carrying an almost childlike excitement. “Same cuisine, same dishes. That way, it’ll feel like we’re together.” You’d agreed without hesitation, ordering her favorite dishes from a restaurant she loved back home. Unknown to you, she had gone a step further, arranging for someone she trusted to deliver a special instruction to the chef.

When her face appeared on the call that evening, it was as if the ache of her absence melted away for a moment. She looked radiant, her soft waves of hair cascading over her shoulders, her lips curving into the smile that always sent a warmth straight to your chest.

“Happy anniversary, love,” she said, her voice tender and filled with emotion.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” you replied, your tone matching hers. “You look… incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “So do you.” Her gaze flicked to the setup behind you, and her expression softened with appreciation. “You really went all out. It’s beautiful.”

“Only the best for you,” you teased, pouring the wine and raising your glass. “To us.” “To us,” she echoed, lifting her own glass with a bright smile. The synchronized motion, small as it was, closed the miles between you, making the distance feel just a little less insurmountable.

The evening began with lighthearted conversation, her laughter spilling from the screen as she shared stories from her tour. She described the places she’d been with an almost childlike wonder, painting vivid pictures of crowded streets, twinkling cityscapes, and quaint cafés.

“When we were in Japan, there was this tiny café,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “They served these adorable matcha parfaits shaped like bears. It was so cute I almost cried.”

“You? Crying over a dessert?” you teased, laughing. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“You would’ve teased me the entire time,” she shot back, giggling. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

As the dinner progressed, the playful chatter softened into something warmer, more intimate. The food, rich and flavorful, carried an unexpected heat—a subtle, lingering warmth that began to spread through your body. It wasn’t just the wine or the meal itself; it was the way Karina’s voice felt closer, her laughter sweeter, her gaze through the screen more magnetic. Every detail drew you further into the moment, as if the distance between you no longer mattered.

She leaned closer to the camera, her smile softening as her voice dipped into a quieter, more vulnerable register. “You know,” she said, her gaze holding yours, “this tour is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to being with you. I miss the way you hold me, the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, her words weaving a spell that wrapped around your chest. “Babe…”

“I mean it,” she continued, her voice dropping further, taking on a sultry edge. “I miss the way your hands feel on my skin. The way you touch me like I’m the only thing in the world.”

Her tone shifted, her words slowing as her lips parted slightly. “You don’t know what it does to me, being away from you like this.” Her voice dipped into a low, intimate whisper. “I think about it every night—your hands on me. How you feel. How you make me feel.”

Heat flared in your chest, her words igniting a visceral need that had been dormant for weeks. You shifted slightly in your seat, your voice thick with longing as you murmured, “Jimin, you’re not playing fair.”

“Who said I was playing fair?” she teased, her smile widening. She leaned back slightly, her eyes half-lidded as her voice took on a deeper, sultrier tone. “I’ve been thinking about you every single night. How your mouth felt the last time you kissed me, the way your hands made me forget everything else…”

She let out a soft, breathy moan, her cheeks flushing as she watched your reaction. “I wish you were here to touch me, to remind me what it feels like to be yours.”

You froze, the sound of her voice and the sheer intimacy of her words leaving you speechless. Your heart raced, the image of her filling your mind with every heated word, the space between you shrinking as her tone drew you closer.

“I need you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jimin, I…”

“I need you too,” she replied, her voice dripping with longing. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About how much I want you right now.”

Her lips parted, her breath quickening as if she could feel the tension that pulsed through the screen. You leaned closer, captivated by the intensity in her gaze, your need for her overpowering the distance between you. The connection felt real, visceral, until the sharp ring of her hotel room phone shattered the moment.

She sighed, visibly frustrated, and glanced toward the phone. “Hold on,” she said, picking it up.

For a moment, you waited, unsure if she’d return quickly. But when she did, her expression was apologetic, her voice laced with regret. “The manager needs me for something urgent,” she said softly, her tone tinged with disappointment. “I’m so sorry, love.”

The flicker of frustration must have shown on your face because she leaned closer to the camera, her voice soft and reassuring. “I love you. More than anything. And I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

Before you could respond, the screen went dark, leaving you alone in the charged stillness of your room.

You paced back and forth, your body still thrumming with the heat her words had stirred. The ache she’d left behind was relentless, her voice and the way she’d looked at you replaying in vivid detail. Your gaze drifted to your phone, lingering on the memory of her, when a notification lit up the screen.

A message from Karina.

Your heart leapt as you opened it. The photo hit you like a wave—a shot of her sprawled across the bed, her tousled hair falling in soft waves over one shoulder. Her skin glowed in the warm, muted light of her room, every curve illuminated with an alluring softness. Her lips were curled into a sultry, knowing smile, and her arms were draped in a way that hinted at modesty yet revealed enough to leave little to the imagination. Her bare chest was exposed, the subtle curves and smooth skin drawing your eyes helplessly downward. The photo was bold and intimate, a perfect balance of suggestion and revelation, pulling you deeper into her web with every detail.

The caption read: I hope this is the start of my apology.

You stared at the image, your breath catching as a mix of desire and longing surged through you. The ache of her absence felt sharper than ever, and now her words, her teasing smile, and this image stormed through your thoughts like wildfire.

Far away, Karina leaned back against her pillows, her lips curling into a sly smile as she imagined your reaction. She ran her fingers lazily through her hair, the satisfaction of her plan unfolding exactly as she intended. “Let’s see how long you last without me,” she murmured, her voice tinged with playful mischief.

Your room felt stifling, the air thick with tension as you lay on the bed beside the doll. Its lifelike features caught the soft glow of the bedside lamp, eerily close to hers yet unreachable. Karina’s voice echoed in your mind, teasing and sultry, her plan working perfectly as you struggled with the void she’d left behind. The space beside you felt impossibly empty, the absence of her touch a gnawing ache that the doll’s uncanny resemblance only amplified.

Your hand hovered over the doll’s face, brushing against the smooth, synthetic skin. The texture was startlingly lifelike, warm under your fingers, and as you traced its delicate features—the familiar curve of its lips, the softness of its jawline—it became harder to separate the illusion from the reality you craved. Karina’s name slipped from your lips in a quiet murmur, your chest tightening with longing.

Inside her hotel karina laid on her bed, her bare skin kissed by the cool air drifting through the room. She had orchestrated everything—the doll, the setup, even the lingering ache she hoped would drive you to her gift. She had imagined every step, every reaction, and her body hummed with anticipation as she pictured you succumbing to the desire she’d left behind.

Her lips curled into a smile as she ran a hand lazily along her stomach, letting her fingers trace idle patterns. She could almost feel your touch, phantom sensations that made her skin tingle. “Finally” she whispered, her voice low and breathy. Her thighs pressed together as the anticipation coiled tightly within her. She imagined your hands, your breath, and the way you’d surrender to the distance that had stretched too far.

In your room, you sat up, running a hand through your hair as the ache inside you became unbearable. Your gaze flicked to the doll again, its serene face illuminated in the dim light. Hesitation flickered through you before you reached for the nightstand, grabbing a small bottle of lube. The coolness of it sent a shiver through your body as you prepared yourself, the vividness of your desire making every movement feel charged with electricity.

Karina shifted against the sheets, her eyes narrowing as a pang of doubt crept into her thoughts. What if you didn’t use it? What if her plan had been too much, too bold? Her confidence wavered, and she sat up slightly, running a hand through her hair. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as she whispered, “Did you stop? Was it too much?”

Her mind raced, imagining you hesitating, putting the doll aside. A ripple of frustration and sadness swept through her as she bit her lip, staring at her dark phone. “Don’t pull away from me…” she murmured, her voice laced with longing and desperation. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself against the quiet ache of disappointment.

But then—she gasped, her body jolting violently as an overwhelming sensation ripped through her. Her eyes snapped open, wide and unseeing, as she clutched at the sheets. Her back arched as her entire body shuddered, an unmistakable pressure filling her completely, so vivid and intense it left her breathless.

“Oh my God,” she cried out, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the pillow. Her thighs quivered as the phantom sensation of your length pressed deeper into her, deliberate and slow, making her toes curl. Every nerve in her body was on fire, pleasure rolling through her in powerful, unrelenting waves.

Back in your room, you positioned the doll carefully, the weight of its form adding to the vividness of the illusion. Your body moved instinctively, your mind entirely lost in the fantasy Karina had spun around you. Each motion, each moment felt electric, her name a quiet mantra on your lips as you surrendered to the overwhelming need she’d left behind.

Karina’s chest heaved as her body adjusted to the sensation, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Oh, fuck…” she whispered, her voice cracking as she felt you move inside her again, slow and steady, leaving her gasping for air. The intensity of it made her whole body burn, her skin tingling with the phantom connection that defied explanation.

“You’re… using it,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice tinged with equal parts triumph and desperation. Her lips parted as another moan escaped her, her head turning to the side as she let herself fall deeper into the moment. Her back arched as her body responded instinctively, her hips moving subtly, as if to meet the sensation halfway.

The thought of you, so far away yet so intimately close, sent another wave of pleasure crashing over her. She shivered, her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I knew you couldn’t resist…”

The air felt oppressive, thick with the heat and tension that had built throughout the night. Your body moved with a desperation that bordered on animalistic as you thrust into the doll. Its lifelike softness under your hands, the way its core clung to you with an almost pulsing grip—it all blurred the line between reality and fantasy. Every sensation was heightened, vivid to the point of overwhelming, and you couldn’t hold back.

Your hands roamed over the doll’s body, gripping its breast roughly. The synthetic material gave under your fingers, yielding in a way that felt startlingly real. Normally, when you were with Karina, your touch was controlled, measured, careful. She was an idol, and every step in your intimacy came with a layer of deliberation. But now, with the doll’s unyielding silence and perfect mimicry, you felt none of the restraint you would have with her.

Your palm struck the doll’s breast, the sharp sound echoing in the room. A red flush appeared on its synthetic skin, and you smacked it again, harder this time. The sight of your mark left your breath hitching, your body trembling as the roughness spurred you on.

Karina gasped as the sensation of your touch reached her. The sting of your hand on her breast sent jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through her, her back arching off the bed as her chest heaved. “Oh, my God…” she whimpered, her voice cracking with the vividness of it.

Her hands moved to her chest, instinctively covering the marks she felt there. The roughness of your touch, the sharpness of each slap, only heightened the pleasure building inside her. She could feel every movement—your palm squeezing her flesh, the sting as your hand struck her, and the pressure of your fingers digging into her skin.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a futile attempt to temper the overwhelming sensations radiating through her body. The motion only heightened the intensity, amplifying the heat that coursed through her. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, her entire body trembling as she whispered, “You’re so rough tonight,” her voice tinged with disbelief and raw arousal. “I can feel all of it…”

In your room, your breath came in shallow gasps, your grip tightening on the doll’s hips as your thrusts grew more erratic. The lifelike core pulsed and tightened around you, gripping you with a vividness that blurred the lines between fantasy and reality. Each rhythmic contraction drew you deeper, coaxing every ounce of control from your body, the intensity building with each movement.

Normally, with Karina, you would use a condom. It was an unspoken rule—one born of mutual care and caution, knowing how carefully she had to protect her image as an idol. But now, the rawness of feeling completely bare was intoxicating. The doll’s warmth, its pulsing tightness—it all overwhelmed you in a way you’d never experienced.

You groaned her name, “Jimin,” your voice thick with desperation as you leaned over the doll. Your free hand came down on its breast again, the slap harder this time. The synthetic skin flushed under your touch, and you pinched its nipple, twisting with a force you wouldn’t dare use on Karina.

Karina’s back arched violently as her skin mirrored your actions. She could feel your hand gripping her breast, the sharp sting of the slap followed by the rough pinch. A cry tore from her lips as pleasure and pain mingled, the intensity leaving her gasping for air.

Her body burned, her skin alive with sensation as if you were truly there with her. Every motion was perfectly synchronized, every rough thrust and squeeze sending her closer to the edge. Her chest heaved as she clutched at the sheets, her voice breaking as she cried out, “Yes… just like that…”

The doll’s core pulsed around you again, gripping you tighter, almost pulling you deeper. The sensation was surreal, unlike anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t just the warmth or the tightness—it was the way it seemed to respond to you, as though it were alive. The rhythmic squeezing was enough to drive you mad, and you could feel your climax building with unrelenting intensity.

You buried yourself deep inside it, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. The rawness of being bare, of releasing fully into the doll’s impossibly realistic core, sent shockwaves through your body. Normally the condom muted the sensation, a necessary precaution you’d both grown used to. But now, the sheer vividness of the feeling left you trembling. The pulsing tightness of the doll clung to you, each pump of your release magnified, each pulse drawing out the intensity.

“Ugh fuck,” you groaned, your voice breaking as your body gave in completely.

Karina screamed as the sensation of your release surged through her, a shockwave of impossible vividness that left her gasping for air. It was as if you were truly inside her, every pulse of your release tangible, every rhythmic pump filling her completely. The feeling was overwhelming, raw in its intimacy, breaking through every boundary she had known before. It was not just physical—it was all-encompassing, lighting up her senses in ways she had never imagined.

Her back arched violently off the bed, her legs trembling as the sensation spread through her. Instinctively, her thighs pressed together, her body desperate to contain the fullness, but it did nothing to slow the relentless tide of pleasure. The startlingly real pressure claimed every inch of her, leaving her utterly breathless. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white, her body reacting instinctively to the connection that felt like nothing she had ever experienced.

Lost in the feeling, Karina’s hips began to move of their own accord, grinding upward in a desperate attempt to meet you. Her movements were met only with air, the stark reminder of your absence making the sensations even more surreal and maddening. The futile grinding only amplified her need, her body seeking a closeness that wasn’t truly there yet felt undeniably real.

“Oh, my God!” she cried out, her voice breaking as the intensity of it overwhelmed her. The rhythmic pulses of your release felt endless, each one sending another jolt of pleasure through her. It was as though her body recognized this as something forbidden, something she had never allowed herself to feel—a complete surrender to being filled, claimed, in a way that shattered her carefully controlled world.

The sensations opened something inside her, a deep well of vulnerability and raw, unfiltered pleasure. The feeling of being filled wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a connection so profound it left her trembling. “I can feel you,” she gasped, her voice barely a whisper, the awe and disbelief clear. “Every bit of you…”

Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, each one more intense than the last. The fullness inside her heightened everything, making her body hyper aware of every nerve, every sensation. It was unrelenting, a tidal wave of ecstasy that consumed her completely. Her thighs quivered as her body tightened around the phantom sensation, her hips lifting instinctively as if to take more of you, to hold you closer.

Her climax ripped through her like a storm, an overwhelming, earth-shattering moment that left her crying out in ecstasy. The pulses of your release seemed to synchronize with her own, amplifying the pleasure as if you were truly connected. She could feel everything—the heat, the rhythm, the way you filled her completely. It felt endless, the connection between you growing stronger, the distance between you evaporating in that moment of shared release.

As the sensations finally began to ebb, her body collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The aftershocks rippled through her, leaving her trembling and flushed. Her skin was damp with sweat, her hair clinging to her face as she stared at the ceiling, her mind reeling from the intensity of what had just happened.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You couldn’t resist.” Her voice was soft, filled with triumph and affection, her body still buzzing with residual pleasure. Her hand trailed lazily over her flushed skin, the memory of the sensations lingering like a brand.

She closed her eyes, her mind swimming with thoughts of you. “Good,” she murmured, her voice a mix of possession and tenderness. “You’re mine… just like I wanted.” The feeling of being filled, of connecting with you so deeply, had changed something in her. It was more than just a physical experience—it was a claiming, a bond that would linger, no matter how far apart you were.

Karina felt boneless, her body trembling violently as wave after wave of aftershocks rippled through her. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her thighs quivering as she struggled to regain control. She could feel every inch of you—the impossible fullness, the lingering warmth of your release pooled deep inside her. Her entire body felt raw, too sensitive, and yet her arousal continued to build. Every slight movement seemed to push it deeper, a constant reminder of how thoroughly she’d been claimed.

Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she bit her bottom lip to stifle the sounds threatening to spill from her. Her inner walls throbbed uncontrollably, her body clenching as if unwilling to let go of the overwhelming sensation.

Her back arched off the bed as a sharp sting spread across her chest—a hard slap on her breast. The sound reverberated through the quiet room, and she cried out, her voice muffled as her face pressed into the pillow. Her nipples throbbed, hypersensitive as your grip returned, kneading roughly, tugging and twisting with no mercy. Another hard slap landed, and she gasped, her chest heaving as the pain blurred into pleasure.

Her mind spun as the sensations intensified. Her legs fell open wider, her body yielding completely as the rhythm grew more relentless. Each tug on her nipple sent jolts of heat straight to her core, and the fullness inside her felt like it was expanding, stretching her impossibly more. Her breath caught as she felt your tongue on her skin—wet, warm, and insistent. It circled her right nipple, the pressure teasing and building as you sucked hard, making her toes curl.

“No,” she whimpered weakly, her voice trembling. “No, I can’t—” But her body told another story. She arched into the phantom touch, her breaths growing faster as her nipple throbbed under the attention. The flick of your tongue sent shivers through her, the combination of pleasure and overstimulation pushing her closer to the edge. When suddenly.

Knock, knock.

Her heart leapt, panic surging through her. Minjeong’s voice came through the door, her tone hesitant. “Unnie? Can we talk for a minute?”

Karina froze. Her mind swirled in panic, her body still alight with your touch. She fumbled for her robe, struggling to gather herself. The fabric clung awkwardly to her damp skin as she tied it hastily, her trembling hands betraying her desperation. She forced herself to rise, but the moment she stood, an invisible grip tightened around her neck.

Her breath caught sharply, her head tilting back as the hold constricted her throat. She stumbled forward, her hand bracing against the wall as she gasped for air. The pressure made her lightheaded, yet it only amplified the arousal coursing through her. Her body betrayed her, her chest heaving as she struggled to take another step, each movement sending the fullness pressing impossibly deeper inside her.

“Oh, God,” she choked out softly, her knees wobbling as she reached the door. Her fingers gripped the handle tightly, and the constriction eased just enough for her to force the door open. She leaned heavily on the frame, her face flushed and damp with sweat, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Minjeong,” she managed hoarsely, her voice barely steady.

“Unnie, are you okay? You look… really flushed,” Minjeong said, her brow furrowing.

Karina forced a tight smile, clutching her robe around her. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “What’s up?”

Minjeong hesitated but stepped inside, her expression uncertain. “I just needed to vent,” she began softly. “I messed up during the performance yesterday. It’s been eating at me.”

Karina froze, her body still trembling as the sensations rippled faintly through her. “It wasn’t a big deal,” she said quickly, her voice higher-pitched than usual. “No one noticed.”

Minjeong sighed, sitting down on the bed beside her. “But it was during my highlight part,” she continued, her voice heavy with guilt. “I missed the cue, and I could feel everyone looking at me. I feel like I ruined the whole song.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Karina said sharply, her words tumbling out too fast. “The crowd loved it.”

Minjeong tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Unnie, you’re talking really fast. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Karina snapped, her voice cracking. She crossed her legs tightly, her thighs clenching as the lingering pressure inside her made her shift involuntarily. “I just… I think I left some medicine in my bag in the bathroom. Can you grab it for me?”

Minjeong hesitated, her gaze lingering on Karina’s disheveled appearance, but she eventually stood. “Okay, I’ll check.”

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed. Her legs fell open as her body gave in completely. The grip on her neck tightened again, and her head tilted back as she gasped for air. Her chest burned, her body trembling violently as the phantom rhythm built to a breaking point once more.

Her climax surged violently as your teeth grazed her nipple for the first time. Her back arched sharply as the biting sensation left her trembling, and the wet flicks of your tongue soothed the sting, coaxing her higher and higher. She grabbed the pillow, pulling it over her face as her voice escaped in a strained scream, muffled against the fabric as the grip on her neck tightened further.

Her entire body convulsed, the intensity overwhelming as she felt the fullness inside her deepen with every movement. Her cries turned into desperate, broken moans as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.

When Minjeong returned, Karina barely managed to pull herself together. Her robe was haphazardly tied, and her face was flushed and damp with sweat.

“I couldn’t find anything,” Minjeong said, her tone skeptical. “Unnie, are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been running a marathon.”

“I’m fine,” Karina said quickly, her voice shaky. “I just need to rest.”

Minjeong frowned but eventually nodded. “I’ll go down to the lobby and see if they have anything.”

As the door clicked shut, Karina collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she let out a shaky breath. A weak, triumphant smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “You’re impossible.”

Back at your house, you sat on the edge of the bed, the doll resting before you. The soft glow of the room illuminated it's eerily lifelike features, a testament to the unsettling craftsmanship. Its warmth radiated faintly under your touch, and its pliant texture added an almost unnerving realism. As you worked carefully to clean it, your hands moved methodically, though your mind couldn’t help but linger on how strange and lifelike it felt.

Your fingers brushed against its core, and the unexpected tightening startled you briefly. You shook your head, muttering to yourself about the doll’s unsettling realism. As you continued, your movements remained methodical—careful scoops to ensure it was thoroughly clean. Each curl and shift of your fingers felt oddly precise, the warmth and give of the material blurring the line between artificial and lifelike. You adjusted the angle instinctively, focused entirely on the task while marveling at how well-crafted it was.

Again, Karina jolted violently, her thighs clamping together in a futile attempt to contain the storm of sensations coursing through her. A broken gasp tore from her lips as her fingers twisted the sheets, knuckles white with tension, her back arching off the bed in a mix of helplessness and need.

Each deliberate motion of your hand, precise and unyielding, sent waves of overstimulation rippling through her. Your fingers pressing and curling inside her felt so real it made her toes curl. Her chest heaved with uneven breaths, rising and falling as she struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. She couldn’t escape the unrelenting pressure that pushed her to the brink, her body trembling uncontrollably beneath its weight.

“Stop…” she whispered faintly, her voice shaky and laced with desperation. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, the overstimulation dragging her into a haze of pleasure and vulnerability. “Please…” she choked out, her plea barely audible as her hips moved restlessly against the bed, seeking relief but finding none.

The pressure built relentlessly, her inner muscles clenching involuntarily, her body betraying her at every turn. Her face pressed into the pillow, her muffled whimpers spilling freely, each sound tinged with a mix of desperation and surrender. Her body bucked slightly, her thighs quivering as she tried to resist the sensations flooding her, but every shift only drew her closer to unraveling completely.

Then, suddenly, the sensations eased, leaving Karina collapsing into the mattress. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath as relief mixed with exhaustion, her body trembling in the aftermath of the intensity. The storm had passed, but her emotions churned restlessly beneath the surface. The earlier anniversary dinner weighed on her heavily—a night cut short, the guilt of leaving the call unfinished pressing uncomfortably on her chest.

Unable to bear the feeling any longer, she reached for her phone. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled to your name and pressed the call button. The line barely rang once before your familiar, warm voice answered.

“Babe?” you said, tinged with surprise and concern. “Is everything okay?”

Karina smiled faintly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I just wanted to check in,” she began, hesitating. “About earlier. Leaving dinner like that—I felt terrible. I wanted to hear your voice… to make up for it.”

The soft chuckle on the other end sent a soothing wave of warmth through her chest. “I miss you,” you admitted, your tone gentle and full of affection. “It’s been hard without you here.”

“Tell me about it,” Karina murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I feel it every second.”

A brief silence passed before you spoke again, hesitating as though deciding whether to share your next thought. “You know,” you started softly, “that doll you left behind… It actually helps. I don’t know who made it or how it’s so realistic, but holding it… it reminds me of you. It’s comforting in a weird way.”

Karina’s heart raced at your confession, but she kept her tone steady. “Then hold it,” she said gently. “Cuddle it, like you normally do with me.”

There was a pause on your end, followed by the faint rustle of fabric as you adjusted yourself. Karina closed her eyes, imagining you settling into the bed. Then, like a spark igniting, she felt it—an unmistakable warmth wrapping around her, soft and steady, just like your embrace. A quiet gasp escaped her lips, her body easing into the comforting sensation as her chest filled with an indescribable lightness.

She could feel the gentle pressure of your arms encircling her, the way they always seemed to ground her, pulling her close and making her feel safe. The phantom weight of your hand rested on her back, warm and reassuring, while the faint brush of your breath against her hair felt so real she could almost lean into it. Her body sank deeper into the mattress as she surrendered to the illusion, her heart swelling with a mix of longing and relief.

“It’s perfect,” you said after a moment, your voice rich with affection. “Almost like you’re here.”

Karina hummed softly, her mind drifting into a haze of peace and contentment. She tilted her head slightly, as though nuzzling into your chest, and the sensation met her as if you were truly there. The phantom pressure of your heartbeat against hers resonated, steady and soothing, its rhythm lulling her into a rare sense of calm. Her breaths deepened, syncing with yours as she felt the warmth of you—not just physically but emotionally—envelop her entirely.

Her legs relaxed against the bed, the earlier tension melting away as the embrace seemed to tighten around her. She could feel the way you would normally hold her, firm but tender, your hands moving subtly, like you always adjusted to make her more comfortable. It was so vivid, so intimate, that she couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. The connection she felt—the closeness—bridged every mile between you, anchoring her in a love that felt as tangible as the bed she lay on.

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics—your plans for the week, a funny story about something that happened at work, and little observations about the house—Karina hummed absently, her voice soft and dreamy. Her body felt lighter, weightless even, as if she were floating in the comfort of your arms. Her shoulders, always tense from the pressures of the tour, eased fully into the mattress as her lips curled into a faint smile.

“You should’ve seen it,” you said with a laugh. “The way it played out, it was like something out of a sitcom.”

Her hum grew fainter, the embrace and your voice working together to lull her further into relaxation. She could feel the warmth of your chin resting gently against the top of her head, the comforting sensation of being fully encased in your love. The faintest brush of what felt like your fingers grazed along her arm, and her body responded instinctively, her skin tingling as she leaned further into the feeling.

Unbeknownst to her, back in your room, you shifted closer to the doll, your body responding instinctively to the memory of Karina’s warmth. The moment reminded you of all the quiet times you’d shared before, when she’d curl into you, content and serene, indulging in the quiet intimacy.

It had always been her way of staying close, of feeling connected without urgency, and the thought tugged at your chest. Without thinking, you pressed deeper into the doll’s lifelike folds, its warmth enveloping you in a way that felt startlingly familiar. Pulling it impossibly close, you murmured into the phone, “Do you know how much I miss this? Just holding you like this.”

Karina didn’t answer; her hum had faded into a faint, contented sigh. But the moment you settled fully into the doll, she felt it—a slow, steady fullness building inside her, grounding her in ways words couldn’t describe. Her breaths deepened, your touch wrapping around her like a cocoon. The sensation of you filling her wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, a tether binding her to you.

Her legs shifted restlessly, her body reacting instinctively to the steady warmth coursing through her. The subtle pulsing from within deepened the haze of comfort and security enveloping her. It wasn’t urgent or demanding—just a steady, grounding presence that filled her with a connection she hadn’t realized she craved. She melted into the sensation, her body yielding completely as a quiet, contented sigh escaped her lips.

“I miss you so much” you murmured again, your voice tinged with longing and affection.

Karina didn’t answer; her body was too relaxed, too wrapped in the comfort of your embrace and the subtle rhythm inside her. Moments later, the faintest, most delicate snore reached your ears, and a warm chuckle escaped your lips.

“Sleep tight, baby,” you whispered into the phone, your voice brimming with tenderness. “I love you.”

Back at your house, you remained there for a while, holding the doll as the call stayed connected. The sound of her calm, even breaths filled the quiet room, creating a sense of closeness that bridged the miles between you. You smiled softly to yourself, knowing she’d finally found peace. It was the best sleep Karina had since the tour began—a sleep steeped in love, comfort, and the feeling of being wrapped in your arms, no matter the distance.

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jimxnslight · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 5: Dodgeball

Pairing: Reader x OT7 (Choose Your Own)

Genre: Magic School au, mystery, angst

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: domestic abuse, additional warnings might be added as story progresses

A/N: Exams are finally over, so here's an update. Hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @florabloomgirly @shawtylilsalty

Your gaze stayed fixed on the man before you, hunched over as he cradled his bruised jaw with one hand. Was this what Principal Park had meant when he had said the Academy wasn’t entirely safe? You had assumed that he had been referring to secret abductions in the middle of the night or underlying schemes being formulated in the shadows.

Not outright attacks being done in the centre of the main hall while the morning’s sunlight still shone brightly.

You paused as the sound of expensive dress shoes striking against the marble floor echoed around the hall, each step slow and confident to reveal someone entering through the same doors the guy a few metres away from you had stumbled through just a few seconds earlier.

You would have ignored whoever it was and walked over to the guy still crouched on the floor, but at the last second your gaze caught onto a few strands of dark purple, causing your head to snap towards him in shock.

Jimin’s brother paused at the doorway, scanning the main hall nonchalantly with those familiar occult red eyes. Even without the dimly lit atmosphere and dark shadows he seemed just as menacing as he had last night. The only difference was that now you could just barely pick up on an underlying anger lurking behind the nonchalant facade.

His gaze flickered to you for a moment, taking in your standing form beside the Tree of Life, before it ultimately fell on the guy on the floor.

At the sight of Jimin’s brother the guy pushed himself off the ground quickly with wide eyes and hands hovering upwards in a sign of surrender.

Wait… was he the one that was doing this?

As if to answer your question, Jimin’s brother walked over to him and grabbed his collar with a gloved hand, dragging him with it until he slammed him against the nearest wall.

The main hall began to fill with students from the dining hall, all of whom seemed curious, and clearly entertained, by the current state of events. They all made sure to give the two a wide area of space though, evidently making sure they wouldn’t get involved.

Typical.

You didn’t know if you wanted to get involved either. There was that feeling back in your chest, the one of elation whenever you watched men fight each other; whenever they decided to inflict pain on their own rather than on you. You knew it was wrong to feel that way, your hate didn’t blind you that much, but you still couldn’t seem to help yourself.

Come on, don’t be a monster Y/N, you thought with a sigh.

You forced yourself to take a step towards the two, opening your mouth to reluctantly stop whatever was going on, but then paused as you suddenly recognised who Jimin’s brother had pinned to the wall.

Wasn’t that the guy that had bullied Seokjin yesterday? What was his name… Jihoon?

“Look man,” Jihoon said, hands still up in surrender as Jimin’s brother held his collar, “I don’t understand what I did! Please just let me go, I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Oh?” Jimin’s brother grinned, a devilish glint in his eyes that did not match his calm tone, “not so tough now, are we?”

His gaze dropped to the bruise on Jihoon’s jaw, which was now turning an ugly shade of purple, “that’s disappointing, I was expecting a good fight.”

You watched Jihoon cower a bit when his gaze raised to meet his once again, “you want me to leave you alone?”

“Y-yes,” Jihoon answered, so quickly that you almost felt bad for him. Jimin’s brother nodded slowly, clearly relishing in his fear.

“Okay, but only on one condition.”

Jimin’s brother leaned forward to whisper something in his ear, but to your surprise, Jihoon seemed to freak out at the action. His head immediately jerked backwards, causing it to hit against the wall behind him roughly. A pained groan escaped his lips.

You narrowed your gaze at the excessive reaction. You knew Jihoon was a coward the second you had caught him preying on Seokjin, but still… Jimin’s brother had only leaned forward. Was Jihoon really that scared of him?

Jimin’s brother ignored the reaction, waiting for him to stop groaning over his head, before he leaned forward once again and whispered something near his ear. You felt everyone strain their ears to try and listen to his words, but they were spoken much too low for anyone, including you, to hear.

His words elicited another reaction from Jihoon, but this time it was more of a shocked response than a frightened one.

“You what?!” He said incredulously, his hands dropping to his sides.

But one withering glare from Jimin’s brother suddenly had him nodding instantly, “wait- okay! Okay, I swear!”

“Great,” Jimin’s brother grinned with fake amusement for a moment before it dropped.

“Now get lost.”

Jihoon scrambled away from him the second he was freed, half running through the front doors of the academy. It was almost comical the way Hannah, the blonde foreigner that had been with him yesterday, ran after him while calling his name. The two definitely made for an interesting pair, you’ll give them that much.

You looked back at Jimin’s brother, only to find him already walking out of the hall without another word. His expression was far from the amused cocky bastard from last night, this time filled with hidden rage that you questioned. You distantly wondered what Jihoon could have possibly done to make him so angry.

“Cheonsa,” a voice behind you stated suddenly.

You turned around to find an unfamiliar girl standing next to you, dressed in the same Elitist Academy uniform as your own. Similar to Hannah she was also a foreigner, but her dark brown hair was pulled into short braids under her maroon cap while her light brown skin stood out against her cream-coloured collar.

“Sorry, what?” You asked, unsure of what she had just said.

While the students that had stayed to watch the spectacle began making their way to their classes, she just continued to stand beside you and stare at the door in which Jimin’s brother had disappeared behind, “the guy that just practically beat up Jihoon, his name is Park Cheonsa.”

“Cheonsa?” You repeated, tilting your head slightly, “that’s an… odd name.”

The word itself translated to ‘angel,’ but you’d never actually heard anyone use it as a name before. The irony of someone like him being named angel was also not lost on you.

“He’s the principal’s son, which is why he can get away with acting out like that. I’d be careful around him if I were you.”

You almost snorted, but held yourself back at the last minute so that you didn’t come off as rude. Everyone in this academy had rich parents that allowed them to act however they wanted, it was practically a requirement in order to get into the school.

Still, it was sweet of her to give you a warning anyway.

You gave her a smile, “thanks for the warning… I guess. What’s your name?”

“Oh right!” She breathed with an embarrassed smile, “I almost forgot, I’m Amelia!”

“Y/N,” you offered, “it’s nice to meet you, Amelia.”

“It’s nice to meet you too Y/N, you’re really nice,” she said, then added shyly, “it’s been kind of hard to find nice people in this Academy.”

You regarded her for a moment, contemplating her words. She must have been from one of the more lower class families. In a place where everyone was rich, the students treated each other based on how rich their families were. So while Amelia was far from worrying about when her next meal would be, she and the students like her were probably taking the brunt of the bullying in this place.

It was a sad truth, one that had you sympathising with her.

“People can be real jerks, I totally get it,” you agreed, offering her another smile, “but if it means anything, you can always consider me a friend. Only if you’d like to, of course.”

To your surprise, Amelia frowned, “that’s very kind of you, but… if you’re seen with me, won’t they start targeting you as well? I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, a light chuckle escaping your lips before you could stop yourself, “you don’t have to worry about that, I’ll be fine.”

You were sure word must have gotten out by now about who you were. Whether it was regarding your ability or the identity of your parents, either piece of information would be more than enough to protect you from any kind of bullying.

“Besides,” you continued, giving her a dramatic frown, “I don’t even have any friends. You’re really going to let me die of loneliness?”

Amelia just laughed, shaking her head at you, “I didn’t realise your life was on the line here. In that case, how can I say no?”

With a smile, you checked the time on your phone, noticing that your class was about to start soon, “I have class right now, so I need to get going. Maybe we can meet up during break?”

“Really?” Amelia said, almost in surprise, as her expression brightened at the offer, “of course, I would love to!”

You nodded, “great, I’ll see you later in that case.”

You started to turn around, feeling bad that you couldn’t stay and talk to her for longer since you knew being late to class wasn’t going to do your grades any favours, but was stopped when Amelia suddenly placed her hand on your shoulder at the last second, as if she had needed to work up the courage to do it.

“Hey, listen…” She started hesitantly, “before you go, I just wanted you to know that I’ll stand up for you if people start treating you badly because of me. I’m not the type to just watch a friend suffer silently.”

You smiled at her thoughtfulness. Obviously it was too early to tell, but you had a feeling that Amelia was going to become a pretty close friend after today. Or maybe that was just something you wanted to happen and you were projecting. Either way, you had no issues with getting closer to the sweet girl standing before you.

“You’re joking right?”

Namjoon stared at you incredulously, his eyes narrowing in that way that always seemed to make whoever his target was at that moment feel like they had a baseball for a brain. Hell, it used to make you feel like the dumbest person on Earth until you finally stopped letting it get to you.

You were sitting in the same History of Magic 101 class as yesterday, except the size of the class had evidently decreased. Instead, the lecture hall was now only filled with 8 other students, male students, aside from yourself, just as Principal Park had explained.

“The ability to control magic was completely absent during the Mesozoic era,” Namjoon continued to insist, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sat back in your chair, mimicking his action with a raised brow, “tell that to the dinosaur bones that were recently discovered to have traces of magic in them.”

He scoffed, “humans are the only species with the ability to influence magic, so how could this ability have existed when humans didn’t?”

Making sure to keep your gaze on Namjoon, you focused on your peripheral vision to study Ms. Kari, who was standing on the podium. To your delight, you noticed her hands placed frustratedly on her hips as she gave both you and Namjoon a look mixed with exhaustion and irritation.

“And how do you know dinosaurs couldn’t control magic back then?” You questioned, focusing back on the man sitting a few seats away from you to goad him further, “it would explain the traces of magic found in their bones.”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Cheonsa throw his head back in a muted groan before propping himself forward on his hands with a sigh. The rest of the class looked back and forth between the two of you, whether invested in the debate or confused by it you didn’t know.

“The magic in their bones could have come from anywhere!” He argued, “it could have been absorbed from their surroundings or simply remnants of life magic from when they were still alive! Today’s animals lack the ability to influence magic, therefore it’s likely that the dinosaurs were the same.”

“Not necessarily,” you shot back, “perhaps dinosaurs became extinct due to their ability to influence magic while animals today survive only because they cannot? You ever heard of selective pressures, Namjoon?”

“Then what about-”

“This is the fourth time you both have broken into an argument after I asked a simple question to the class,” Ms. Kari finally spoke, interrupting Namjoon with a scowl, “I understand that you two seem to already have extensive knowledge on the class material, but these outbursts are disrupting my teaching.”

“If they don’t stop, I will have to start taking more severe action,” she threatened, making sure to look both you and Namjoon in the eye, “is that understood?”

Namjoon gave you one last look before turning to face Ms. Kari once again, “yes, Ms. Kari.”

“It won’t happen again,” you added.

But you lied.

It was definitely going to happen again.

If Principal Park wasn’t going to switch your cohort, then you were just going to have to take matters into your own hands. See, if you were to keep causing disruptions in class, Ms. Kari would eventually have to take it up with the Principal. And since Principal Park would have to take action, but can’t kick you out of the school, he would have no other choice but to switch your class. He’d probably switch you to private tutoring, which you were no stranger to.

All you had to do was argue with Namjoon a few times per class, which was beyond easy considering Namjoon’s unlimited ego and his constant need to prove himself right all the time.

If everything went as planned you’d be out of here by the end of the week.

But until then, you’d have to survive your classes the way they were at the moment.

So you did.

The rest of the class went smoothly for the most part, aside from a couple more small arguments you started between yourself and Namjoon, until the bell rang and everyone began making their way to the next class.

You walked into the women’s dressing room, making sure to lock it before beginning to change out of your uniform. Your next class was physical education, which required you to slip into your academy-issued gym clothes. The gym uniform consisted of a white, fitted short-sleeve t-shirt that had been tailored to your exact specifications and loose red shorts that ended just below your mid-thigh. You decided to also pull on the matching red zip-up sweater, with the gold emblem printed on the lapel unlike the formal uniform, wishing that it would protect you from more than just a chilly breeze.

You fixed your hair up into a ponytail as you walked out of the dressing room and started making your way out of the academy. The physical education class was to be held in the field in front of the school, so you stepped onto the grass reluctantly while scanning the area.

The guys had already arrived, each of them wearing the same uniform you were while lounging around or just casually chatting with one another as they waited for the Professor to arrive. Some had opted to wear the sweater while others had chosen to discard theirs haphazardly at the edge of the field.

You chose to stand off to the side, unable to stop yourself from sulking a bit at not having anyone to talk to. It sucked to be in a class full of men, but you reminded yourself that you just had to wait it out for one week. Then, hopefully, your plan would grant you some form of peace.

Too in your thoughts, you didn’t notice Yoongi had walked up to you until he was standing right beside you with his arms crossed over his chest. He stood for a moment, completely unnoticed by you until he suddenly spoke.

“Stop that.”

You turned to him, gaze unintentionally falling on the black patch covering his left eye. It came as a surprise to you that he had approached you and started up a conversation considering he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy talking to others.

“Stop what?” You replied, turning your face away to study the field once again.

“You’re practically burning holes through everyone’s head with your glare,” he commented, “stop it, it’s annoying.”

You scoffed. What was up with this guy and always trying to tell you what to do? Maybe Jungkook was right and he really was some creep that was into that or something.

“If it bothers you so much, you can always just go away,” you said.

You could feel his gaze boring into the side of your head, making you shift uncomfortably before you turned to glare at him. He only titled his head slightly.

“You know,” he started, “Namjoon told us about your obvious hate towards our gender. Care to explain the reasoning behind such strong feelings?”

“No.”

He narrowed his eye, opening his mouth to probably prod you further, but to your relief you noticed the Professor stepping onto the field.

He was a tall guy, maybe one of the tallest men you’d ever seen, and dressed in a dark grey tracksuit and black dress shoes. The zip of his jacket was pulled down halfway to reveal a white collared shirt and a neatly-made maroon tie. Everything about him seemed neat. His dark brown hair was trimmed and brushed tidily to the side while his gleaming black framed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose.

Without another glance towards Yoongi, you made your way towards the Professor alongside the other guys. You all formed a ring around him, waiting for him to start the class.

“This is Physical Education 101,” he said gruffly, “I’m Professor Son, but you will only refer to me as sir. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir!” You all exclaimed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you had joined the military.

“Now I know what most of your old high school Phys Ed classes must have looked like,” he said, eyeing each and every one of you, “they were seen as a break from studying, usually a period to waste time and have fun.”

“But from now on you can forget those days, because moving forward this class will take everything out of you. It will be merciless, just like the real world, so you’ll learn to suck it up, and hopefully, by the end of it, you’ll make something of yourselves.”

Mr. Son rested a hand over his hip as the other stroked his chin in thought.

“Since today’s your first day, I’ve decided we’ll play a game of dodgeball,” he said. Then, as if a thought just occurred to him, he suddenly began to laugh, “hope you survive enough for your next class.”

There was something… scary about his laugh. While Cheonsa’s laugh had sounded like a warning, his just sounded cruel. But you were only playing dodgeball, how bad could it be?

When he finally let his laugh subside, Mr. Son waved a hand around, “now get into two teams, you’re old enough to do it on your own.”

At his words, everyone hurried to place themselves into a group as quickly as possible. Mr. Son was clearly one of the mean teachers, and no one wanted to get on the bad side of a teacher that already had it out for you.

Since none of the guys really knew each other that well, the groups formed pretty much based on how close to each other everyone was standing. In a matter of seconds, groups of four students had formed on either side of you.

The only issue was that you had been standing mostly in the middle of the two, making you hesitate for a moment. With the groups already being equal, and you standing directly in the middle of them, you didn’t know which one you were meant to go into. But under Mr. Son’s scrutinising eye, you quickly shuffled over to the group on the right, barely paying attention to who was in that team.

You unintentionally ended up standing next to Jungkook, who gave you a grin. He was one of the guys who had decided to discard the zip-up sweater and instead wore only the white, short-sleeve shirt with his red shorts. Under the sunlight you could make out an athletic, but toned, body, the thin material doing a poor job of hiding his prominent muscles.

“You have a good eye, Y/N,” he said as Mr. Son turned away from the groups, “you’ve skillfully chosen the winning team, congratulations.”

Your gaze strayed from him to study the rest of the group. It was annoying that you had ended up in the same group as Namjoon, Jimin, and Yoongi, and of course Jungkook. But then again, joining the other group would have meant being teammates with Taehyung, Hoseok, Seokjin, and Cheonsa, who were equally annoying. Basically it was a lose-lose situation either way.

To your left Hoseok, who was on the other team, snorted, but his expression was humorous, “sorry, what was that? Did you say the losing team? Because if so you’d be right.”

“In your dreams maybe,” Jungkook laughed, only for Mr. Son to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, leave the trash talking for the actual game,” he said as he brought out his wand and directed it towards the centre of the field. A neat line of dodgeballs appeared from thin air, bright red and soft-looking under the sun.

“Though we’ll see how much you’ll feel like talking soon enough. Now get in position.”

The two teams immediately separated, walking to either side of the field before crouching over the white line outlining its edge. You opted to crouch beside Jimin, who gave you a quick thumbs up before refocusing on the dodgeballs in the centre of the field.

Even though you didn’t care much about winning a stupid game of dodgeball, you couldn’t help but study the other team anyway. Hoseok seemed the most into it as he called out suggestions to the rest of his team for reaching the dodgeballs before everyone else, while Cheonsa just rolled his eyes at the effort. Beside him Taehyung seemed just as apathetic, but he seemed to at least be a little less apparent about it. Seokjin, on the other hand, seemed like he wanted to be anywhere except here.

The difference in attitude between Hoseok and his team was almost laughable.

The nine of you watched Professor Son walk alongside the sidelines of the field until he paused beside the line of dodgeballs. He brought out his phone, seemingly checking something, before he faced you all once again.

“The game begins at the sound of the whistle,” he announced, earning him a few nods.

“Three,” he began to count, “two”

“One.”

Mr. Son suddenly brought his wand upwards, flicking his wrist so that it rounded into a circle in the air. Not even half a second later the sound of a shrill whistle cut through the silence, as clearly as if someone had blown into one right beside your ear.

“Begin!”

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inkedwithcharm · 16 hours ago

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The Library of Bottled Memories | Park Jimin

Chapter 2

Morning in Namun arrived gently, as if the sun was careful not to wake anyone too quickly.

Light filtered through the crooked windows of the Windkeeper’s Library in soft golden ribbons, warming the floorboards and stirring the scent of old paper and plum tea into the air. The chimes above the front door barely whispered, and outside, a sparrow sang a tune that had no name.

Jimin woke to the sound of pages turning.

He blinked into the light and found Y/N seated cross-legged on the floor, her hair loose around her shoulders, surrounded by open ledgers and small clusters of glowing bottles. She was humming.

Not loudly.

Not fully.

Just under her breath, like a lullaby she didn’t know she was still carrying.

The melody was simple.

It tugged at something behind his ribs.

He sat up slowly, not wanting to disturb it, but the moment he shifted, she stopped.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You’re awake.”

Jimin smiled sleepily. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t.” Her fingers fidgeted with a ribbon tied around one of the bottles. “I was just sorting the spring memories. They tend to get… restless this time of year.”

He stood, barefoot, and wandered toward her without thinking. The floor creaked gently beneath his steps.

“What was that song?”

She blinked. “What song?”

“The one you were humming. Just now.”

Her eyes dropped to the bottle in her hands. “I didn’t realize I was.”

Jimin tilted his head. “It sounded familiar.”

She didn’t answer.

He knelt beside her, slowly, watching the way her fingers tightened around the glass.

He felt it again — that flicker.

Not recognition.

But something close.

He looked around the room, at the rows and rows of memories bottled and sealed like constellations on shelves.

“Do you ever wonder what you’ve forgotten?” he asked quietly.

Y/N didn’t look at him. “All the time.”

“And if you’d want it back if you knew?”

She nodded, but the gesture was barely there. “Some memories… they don’t return whole. They come back in pieces. And sometimes, the sharpest parts are the ones you feel first.”

He looked down at his hands. “I think I knew you.”

The words had fallen from his mouth before he could catch them.

She turned toward him, slowly.

Not startled.

Only waiting.

“I don’t mean now,” he said softly. “I mean before. A long time ago.”

He reached out instinctively.

Not to hold her hand, not quite.

But their fingers brushed — just barely — like two threads tangling for a moment on a breeze.

And in that second, he saw—

Sunlight flickering through plum blossoms

The outline of her laugh in the sky

Two small hands cupping a moth to set it free

A song with no words

Y/N didn’t speak. Her hand trembled faintly beneath his.

“What is this?” he whispered.

“A memory,” she said.

“Mine?”

She hesitated. “Ours.”

He looked into her eyes.

And in them, found something that felt like the ending of a story he had only just started reading.

He let go of her hand gently, as if not to wake it too quickly.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You’re not meant to yet.”

He nodded.

And for a moment, neither of them moved.

The library held its breath.

And outside, the wind began to hum the same melody she had once sung — carrying it over the rooftops and down the hillside, like a song coming home.

It took a full day for the sky to soften.

By late afternoon, the clouds parted like fingers releasing something they had clutched too long. The path leading out of Namun shimmered beneath the light, worn smooth by years of footfall and rain. Wild grass swayed lazily on either side, carrying the scent of dandelion and salt.

They walked without speaking, Y/N and Jimin, letting the wind lead. He had asked no questions when she pressed a scarf into his hands and pointed toward the hill trail behind the library. Only nodded, his gaze steady, as if part of him already knew where they were going.

As if his feet had once walked the road before.

At the edge of the village, the stone markers grew fewer. The trees thinned into silence. Even the birds seemed to hush as they passed.

And then—

The hill opened.

A wide clearing spilled out before them like a held breath finally exhaled.

The air shimmered with heat and pollen. Bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossom. And all around, white flowers bloomed in quiet riot, nodding gently in the breeze. They covered everything—ankles, knees, even the crooked fence post that leaned near the old tree stump where children once tied ribbons and secrets.

The field had waited.

Time had not touched it.

It bloomed the way memory did: not accurately, not precisely, but truthfully.

Jimin stopped walking.

His eyes widened as if something had cracked open inside his chest and light was pouring through.

“I know this place,” he said.

Y/N’s heart ached quietly behind her ribs. She watched him, not moving, not breathing too loudly. Just watching, like one might watch a bird return to a nest it had long forgotten it built.

“I came here… with someone,” he whispered. “We used to pick these flowers. They’d stain our hands yellow.”

“They still do,” she said softly.

He turned to her, a question forming on his tongue, but she shook her head.

“Just be here.”

So he walked forward, brushing his fingers through the blooms.

And with each step, the memories came closer.

Not in sharp flashes this time. No jolt. No pain.

Just warmth.

Laughter caught in tall grass. A swing tied to a branch with ribbon. Paper boats floating in a puddle after rain. A promise made beneath the plum-colored sky. His name called out—not with longing, but with joy.

He dropped to his knees in the flowers.

“I loved this place,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You did.”

“And I wasn’t alone.”

“No,” she said, kneeling beside him. “You weren’t.”

He looked at her. Eyes searching her face not for answers, but for echoes. And there they were—faint and trembling, but real.

“You were here,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And I forgot.”

“I did too,” she said. “But forgetting doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It just means the memory got tired of waiting.”

They sat in silence.

The wind stirred the petals into slow spirals, carrying a hush through the grass that sounded like laughter long ago. A butterfly landed on Jimin’s wrist. He didn’t move.

“I feel like,” he started, then paused. “I feel like I loved someone here. Once. And it felt… like breathing.”

Y/N looked away.

Then slowly, she reached into her coat pocket and placed something between them.

A ribbon. Faded blue. Frayed at the ends.

He stared at it.

And then—

a swing

a promise

a name carved into bark beside another

Y/N & JM

Tears rose without permission.

“It was you,” he said.

“It still is,” she replied, voice trembling like leaves in wind.

He didn’t touch her.

He only sat beside her, the air between them sweet with flower dust and old beginnings.

Sometimes love doesn’t come back all at once.

Sometimes it returns in pieces.

In the shape of a field.

The color of a ribbon.

The memory of someone who waited.

And so, they stayed until the light turned to gold.

No longer strangers.

No longer lost.

Just two hearts remembering how to find their way home.

Night came slowly to the flower field, curling in like a story told in a whisper.

The sky unfolded above them in layers of violet and ash-blue, stars blinking into view one by one like shy eyes remembering how to shine. Crickets began to hum their steady chorus, and the moon rose pale and low, suspended like a lantern over the hills.

Jimin and Y/N had stayed.

They hadn’t planned to. But when the sun slipped past the trees and the field turned the color of quiet, neither of them had moved.

So they stayed.

He lay on his back in the grass, arms behind his head, watching the stars trace invisible paths above him. She sat beside him, legs tucked beneath her, picking petals from a bloom that refused to wilt.

Between them, silence settled. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable. Like a blanket shared between two people who once built whole worlds from borrowed summers.

Jimin was the first to speak.

“I used to believe stars had names.”

She glanced at him. “They do.”

“No, I mean—not the ones in books. I thought they had names only people who loved each other knew. And if you whispered the name to the sky, it would carry your wish somewhere it would be safe.”

She smiled faintly. “Did you make a wish?”

He nodded. “But I can’t remember what it was.”

Y/N looked up. “Maybe the star still does.”

They were quiet again.

The wind stirred the flowers. Somewhere far off, an owl called into the dark.

And then, without turning, Jimin asked, “What did you forget, Y/N?”

She pressed her hands into the earth to keep herself still.

“I forgot… how it felt to be needed. Not for my work. Not because I could bottle pain or archive joy. But because someone wanted to see me, even on days when I wasn’t anything special.”

He turned his head toward her, eyes reflecting starlight.

“I think you were special to me. Before.”

“You were,” she said quietly. “You still are.”

He swallowed, voice gentler now. “Why did you let me forget?”

Y/N didn’t answer right away.

She picked at the fraying thread on her sleeve, the one she always meant to fix.

“Because the day you left, you cried so hard the wind changed direction. And I… I couldn’t carry both your heartbreak and mine. So I gave mine away. Bottled it. Buried it.”

“And now?”

“I think I’d rather remember, even if it hurts.”

The night wrapped itself around them a little tighter.

Jimin sat up slowly, brushing dried petals from his jacket. He turned toward her, the moonlight carving soft silver into the lines of his face.

“I’m scared,” he said.

She blinked.

“Of what?”

“Of remembering something that changes everything. What if the truth makes this—” he motioned to the stars, the flowers, the moment “—feel less real?”

She smiled, sad and sweet. “Memories don’t change what’s real. They just give it roots.”

He reached out, slowly, and brushed a petal from her hair. His fingers lingered longer than they needed to.

“I think I want to remember,” he said.

“Then let the stars take their time.”

And so they sat together, beneath the wide sky that once heard a wish neither of them could name, surrounded by the scent of flowers that remembered everything.

They didn’t need answers yet.

Only this.

The space between their hands.

The silence that didn’t ask them to fill it.

And the stars — blinking gently — as if nodding in quiet understanding.

The light was low. Not because the sun had set — it was still early evening — but because the windows of the Windkeeper’s Library were old and thick with stories, and stories have a way of dimming or brightening the world depending on how they end.

Tonight, they were quiet.

The bottles on the shelves hummed faintly as the Windkeeper walked past, her long sleeves brushing glass like a whisper across wind chimes. She did not speak. She rarely did. Her hands, wrinkled and worn, knew every bottle by its weight. By its stillness. By the way it responded to silence.

She reached the back wall of the library, the one sealed not with keys or locks, but with forgetting.

It was a door most had long since stopped seeing.

But she saw it now.

She drew a small breath, reached into the pocket of her robe, and pulled out a single white thread.

At first glance, it looked ordinary. But when the candlelight caught it, the thread shimmered with a hundred colors, all soft and fleeting — plum blossom pink, field yellow, storm gray, ink black, the pale gold of laughter that once bloomed between two children on the edge of summer.

This was not just a thread.

It was the remnant of a memory never bottled. A memory buried, not lost.

She tied the thread gently around her finger.

And the door opened.

Beyond it, only one shelf stood.

Empty, except for a small silver bottle resting in the center.

Unlabeled. Untouched for years.

She stepped forward.

The bottle had waited longer than most.

Waited through storms and seasons and new shelves being built around it. Waited without flickering. Without sound.

But tonight it shimmered. Just once. Just enough.

The Windkeeper lifted it carefully.

Her fingers trembled.

Not with age.

But with reverence.

Because this was the memory that chose to be forgotten.

Not because it lacked beauty. But because it had too much.

She returned to her table and set the bottle beneath the light.

The glass was cold.

Silver, but not metallic — almost moonlike, soft at the edges. Inside, the memory swirled slowly, like ink dissolving in water, never forming a full picture, only pieces.

A plum tree in bloom.

The sound of waves echoing against a cliff.

A boy calling out.

A girl whispering goodbye.

The Windkeeper reached for her brush and dipped it into the ink that glowed faintly with starlight. She wrote the label not in a rush, but in the space between heartbeats.

Then she wrapped the bottle in linen stitched with protection charms and slid it into a wooden box carved with waves and wind patterns.

When she closed the lid, the air shifted.

Not in weight.

But in promise.

She looked up.

And though she could not see them from where she sat, she knew where they were.

The girl who waited too long to remember.

The boy who had returned without knowing why.

It was time.

And so she whispered their names — not aloud, but into the folds of the wind.

And the wind, ever faithful, lifted the box from her table and carried it through the library’s rafters like a story coming home.

Dawn unfolded like silk across the horizon.

The flower field lay still beneath it, cloaked in the pale hush of early morning. Dew shimmered on petals like breath caught in moonlight. The world hadn’t yet decided to wake. Even the birds hesitated, as if not wanting to interrupt what lingered between night and light.

Y/N opened her eyes first.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But the rhythm of Jimin’s breathing beside her and the warm ache of too much emotion had lulled her into a quiet kind of rest. Not sleep, exactly. More like drifting.

She shifted on the grass, brushing petals from her sleeves, and turned to find Jimin still curled beside her, one hand loosely curled in the grass. His expression was peaceful. Young. The kind of softness that only came before memory fully returned.

And then she saw it.

Resting a few feet away, half-covered in flower dust and morning gold, was a small wooden box.

It hadn’t been there when they closed their eyes.

But the wind had been restless in the hours before dawn.

And the box—plain but hand-carved, etched with wind spirals and sea wave knots—sat between them now like a forgotten promise.

Y/N sat up slowly.

The scent of plum blossoms rose faintly around the box.

Her hand reached toward it before her mind caught up.

She lifted it gently, brushing pollen from its lid. The wood was smooth and warm from the sun. No lock. No ribbon. Just a single strip of linen tied around its center, stitched with a symbol she knew by heart—the seal of the Windkeeper.

Jimin stirred beside her, brow furrowed in his sleep as if his dream had changed its tone.

Y/N waited, heart slow but loud in her chest.

He woke like a leaf uncurling—quiet, slow, unafraid.

His eyes went to the box almost immediately.

They said nothing for a long moment.

The morning breeze tugged at their clothes, soft as a mother brushing hair from a child’s eyes.

Jimin sat up.

He looked at her, then the box, then her again.

“Is it…?”

“I think it’s the last one,” she said.

His eyes were unreadable. Not because they were blank, but because they were full of too many things at once.

Fear.

Wonder.

Hope.

He touched the edge of the box, fingertips brushing hers. The contact sent a quiet shiver through the air.

Y/N didn’t pull away.

She only whispered, “We don’t have to open it.”

Jimin looked at her, and for the first time, the boy who had once danced through a field of flowers with her seemed close enough to touch.

“I want to,” he said.

But then, softer, “I think I have to.”

They placed the box gently between them.

It did not hum.

It did not glow.

But something inside it felt alive.

Waiting.

Jimin ran his fingers along the carvings.

“Do you think it’ll change anything?”

“Yes,” Y/N said. “But not everything.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s enough.”

Together, they began to undo the linen wrap.

The knots were simple, but their fingers shook, clumsy with anticipation.

The final thread came loose.

The lid lifted.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was the silver bottle.

It looked like moonlight frozen mid-breath. No label. No sound. But it pulsed with quiet warmth the moment Jimin touched it.

He looked at Y/N.

She nodded.

And together, they reached for it.

The wind picked up gently, rustling the petals around them into motion.

The flowers bowed.

The sky brightened.

And memory, that quiet and stubborn keeper of time, prepared to return what it had once been asked to guard.

The silver bottle was light in Jimin’s hands.

So light, it almost felt empty.

But as he cradled it in the curve of his palm, the wind stilled. The petals around them stopped fluttering. Even the sky seemed to pause.

Y/N sat beside him, knees drawn to her chest, her eyes locked on the small vessel of all they had forgotten. Her breath was quiet, held just beneath the surface.

Jimin looked at her one last time.

Then, slowly, he uncorked it.

At first, nothing happened.

No flash of light. No sound. Just silence.

Then—

A ripple.

Like a breath drawn too sharply.

Then another.

And suddenly, the world changed.

Not in color, not in shape.

But in remembrance.

The memory poured out like a tide pulled from somewhere beyond the sky. It was not a vision. It was not a dream. It was real, and it bloomed all around them.

They were children again.

In the very same field.

The flowers were shorter then. The sky was closer. The world felt enormous and possible.

Jimin ran barefoot, laughter bursting from his chest, a kite trailing behind him like a tail made of stars.

Y/N followed, her ribbon loose in her hair, cheeks flushed with joy. She held something in her hand—a drawing, scribbled with crooked suns and two smiling stick figures beneath a tree.

They were inseparable.

That summer, they had named every cloud, built cities from rocks, wrote songs in the dirt with sticks. They had shared dreams too big for the village and promises too heavy for children to carry.

But summer doesn’t last.

And one morning, a car came for Jimin.

He cried so hard the trees bent toward him.

Y/N didn’t speak. She only stood there, small and stiff, fingers curled around her drawing like it could hold him in place.

And then—

he kissed her cheek

and whispered

“don’t forget me”

as if he knew she would

But memory is cruel when it protects.

He was taken away.

She stood in that field until night fell.

And then she climbed the hill to the Windkeeper’s door, tears burning down her face.

“I want to forget,” she had said.

The Windkeeper did not question her.

She took the memory gently.

And placed it in silver.

Now, in the flower field years later, Jimin and Y/N sat side by side as the memory returned not just to their minds—but to their hearts.

Tears blurred her vision.

Jimin pressed his hand to his chest, as if trying to hold the ache steady.

“That was us,” he whispered.

Y/N nodded.

“We were just children,” he said.

“But what we had,” she said quietly, “was real.”

He turned to her.

Not the boy she had once known.

Not quite the man he had become.

But something in between.

“I missed you before I even knew your name,” he said.

“And I waited for someone I forgot how to describe.”

She reached for his hand.

This time, he didn’t hesitate.

Their fingers met like puzzle pieces softened by time.

“I thought remembering would hurt more,” he said.

“It does hurt,” she said. “But it also heals.”

The wind moved again.

Gentle. Kind.

As if satisfied.

The bottle, now empty, glowed once—then faded.

They buried it at the base of the plum tree on their way home. No ceremony. No words. Just quiet gratitude.

By the time they returned to the village, the chimes above the library sang a welcome home.

Inside, the Windkeeper waited, a soft smile ghosting her lips.

She didn’t speak.

She only nodded once, as if to say:

You found what you were brave enough to lose.

And what you were brave enough to find again.

That night, in the loft of the crooked library, Jimin and Y/N sat beside the window, watching the stars.

No more wishes.

No more forgotten names.

Just two hands entwined, and the sound of the wind carrying their story out into the world.

Not as a secret.

But as something that once was lost.

And now was whole.

The End.

1 note · View note

bytemee · 3 months ago

Text

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

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