Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader (Original Character: Smita)
Genre: Slow-burn, Coming-of-Age, Smut, Emotional Angst, Nightlife AU
Word Count: ~ above 2k words.
Warnings (Chapter-Specific): Alcohol consumption, club setting (loud music, flashing lights, suggestive atmosphere), mentions of anxiety/self-doubt, sexual content (consensual, first time), mild language, identity crisis and self-discovery themes
Summary: Smita doesn’t belong here—not in the club, not in this dress, not in this version of her life. But one night, one risk, and one stranger named Jimin might be enough to make her forget the rules she’s always lived by. For once, maybe it’s okay to stop being the girl everyone expects... and start being the girl who finally says yes.
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The Girl Who Wasn’t Supposed To Be Here
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Smita didn’t belong here.
She knew it the moment they walked through the club doors and the pulse of bass-heavy music wrapped around her like a second skin. She could feel it in her bones, in the way her dress clung too tightly to her waist, in the nervous fluttering of her hands that wouldn’t stop clutching the hem. The lights flashed in strobes of red and gold, casting dizzying shadows on the walls, and every beat of the music seemed to reverberate right through her chest.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered to Aditi, clutching her friend’s wrist as they made their way through the crowd. “This isn’t me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a grandma, Smita,” Aditi laughed, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “You promised me one night. Just one night where you won’t be married to your laptop or your books. You need this.”
Smita frowned but let herself be dragged deeper into the club. The smell of alcohol, sweat, and something metallic filled the air. She winced as a pair of drunken guys stumbled past them, one of them leering openly before being dragged away by a laughing girl in high heels.
“I mean it,” Smita said. “This just... it doesn’t feel right.”
“You’re in a club, not a temple,” Aditi shot back. “Relax. Tonight isn’t about rules. It’s about letting go.”
Letting go. Smita wasn’t sure she even knew how.
They found a table near the bar and ordered drinks. Aditi was already in her element—laughing, flirting, waving at people she barely knew as if they were old friends. Smita kept to herself, nursing a glass of soda at first, determined not to drink. But then came the teasing.
“You’re seriously going to sip that like it’s communion wine?” Aditi said, raising her brow.
Smita rolled her eyes. “Some of us want to remember tonight.”
“Exactly!” Aditi grinned, clinking their glasses together. “So make it worth remembering.”
And so she gave in. One tequila shot. Just one. And then another.
Soon the world grew hazy around the edges, and everything became oddly warm and weightless. The music wasn’t so loud anymore—it was rhythm. The lights weren’t blinding—they were beautiful. People weren’t strangers—they were possibilities.
He was standing near the bar, dressed in black, a half-smile playing on his lips as he talked to the bartender. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing arms toned enough to make her glance again. His hair was dark, slightly messy like he’d run a hand through it, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—were dark and sharp, focused in that casual, confident way that only made them more dangerous.
Aditi noticed her staring.
“Well, well,” she teased, nudging Smita with her elbow. “Someone’s got good taste.”
Smita looked away quickly. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Mmhmm,” Aditi drawled. “And I’m a nun.”
Smita turned back toward her drink, trying to focus, but she could still feel his presence—like gravity tugging at her attention. She hated that she kept glancing at him, that something about him made her forget the ache in her feet and the headache starting to bloom behind her eyes.
Then, as if he could feel her looking, he turned. Their eyes met. A slow smile crept across his lips.
Aditi caught the moment, and with a wicked grin, leaned toward Smita’s ear. “When a guy looks at you like that, baby girl, don’t waste it.”
“Shut up,” Smita hissed, heart thudding.
“Relax,” Aditi said again, then added with a wink, “He’s coming over.”
But before Smita could even turn to check, he was there—right in front of her, tall and magnetic, a presence that somehow silenced the rest of the club for her. He smelled like mint and something smoky... like... incense.
“Hey,” he said, his voice low, smooth. “Sorry to interrupt—your friend seems like she wants to disappear.”
Smita blinked. “Disappear?”
Aditi was already halfway to the dance floor, shooting her a cheeky thumbs-up as she vanished into the crowd.
“Guess it’s just you and me now,” he said, that smile still playing on his lips.
She flushed. “I... I’m not really used to clubs.”
“I can tell,” he said, but there was no mockery in his voice. Just amusement. Interest. “You’ve got this look—like you’re trying to figure out how to sneak out the back.”
“Maybe I am,” she said, sipping her drink to hide her nerves.
“Then I’ll just have to make you stay,” he said, leaning in slightly. “I’m Jimin, by the way.”
“Smita,” she replied, her voice soft.
He smiled. “Pretty name. So, Smita, are you going to dance with me, or should we just talk while pretending not to notice the rest of the world?”
She laughed despite herself. There was something easy about him, despite how hard her heart was beating. He offered his hand, and she hesitated for just a second before taking it.
The dance floor swallowed them.
One song turned into three. His hands were warm at her waist, his breath soft against her neck. Smita didn’t know when it stopped being a dance and started being a blur of sensation—the way his fingers brushed her back, how his lips ghosted her ear when he spoke, how her body leaned into his without permission.
She wasn’t drunk enough to not know what she was doing. But maybe she was drunk enough to want it.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Jimin murmured.
She looked up at him. “Where?”
“Somewhere quiet,” he said. “Just you and me.”
A thousand thoughts warred in her head. This wasn’t her. She was the quiet one, the responsible one, the good girl. But she was also the girl who hadn’t felt alive in months. The girl who had been suffocating under expectations and silence. And tonight, just tonight, she wanted to feel something.
They slipped away. Through a side hallway, down a corridor that felt like it belonged to another world entirely. Music faded, replaced by the beating of her own heart. Her heels clicked against the floor, his fingers intertwined with hers.
The room was small. Dimly lit. A lounge room, maybe, or a private space for VIPs. She didn’t care.
Jimin closed the door behind them.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice soft now. Gentle.
She hesitated for half a second. “Yes,” she whispered.
And that was all it took.
His lips were on hers, warm and unhurried, tasting faintly of whisky and mint. Her fingers found his shoulders, clinging to him as his hands moved over her waist, her back, her thighs. Each movement was slow, reverent. As if he knew this mattered more than it should have.
Her dress slid off her shoulders. She didn’t stop it.
The couch was cool beneath her skin, but his body was warm above her. Kisses trailed down her neck, her chest, her stomach—every touch burned into memory.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t graceful. But it was real.
And when it was over, she lay still beneath him, heart pounding, skin flushed, her soul struggling to make sense of what she had just done.
Jimin rested his forehead against hers.
“You okay?” he asked, breathless.
She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were wide, the silence stretching between them like a thread about to snap.
“I think,” she whispered, “I just stopped being who I was.”
HIII! Author here. 🎀 I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my fanfic. I'll be uploading more soon. Also it'll be really nice if you could follow or repost. Im trying to aim high with this fic. Reposts and follows are my only way of gaining more engagement. :>
