If Jimin looked at me like that, he'd be getting enough babies to rival China's population.

Anywho.

Vote and comment if you would let Jimin throw you out a window and then stomp on your esophagus with his Chelsea boots (for legal reasons, this is a joke), or if you like toast. No one will ever know which one.

Oh, and this story updates twice a week early in EST (around 8 a.m.), which is later in IST (around 6:30 p.m. IST, or 18:30). If that's not a reason to vote to show your support for multiple updates a week, then maybe Jimin crushing your windpipes is (for legal reasons, this is also a joke).

Okay, y'know what, I'll shut up now and get on with the story.

A Wattpad Ambassador is saying all this, btw.

Never change, Wattpad. Never change.

---

Alana

Worst. Party. Ever.

Alana groaned and rubbed her head as consciousness came back to her. That stupid party her sister had dragged her to had consisted of more alcohol than a brewery had, more weed than Snoop Dogg had smoked in his entire lifetime, and music louder than the sound barrier.

Long story short: Alana had a headache.

The last thing she remembered was driving away by herself, sober, and hearing a screeching honk. She didn't know what happened after that; she must have blacked out, or maybe spun out due to the icy roads Buffalo was known for.

Live in New York, they said. It'll be fun, they said.

Alana gave those assholes a mental middle finger as she reached out with her senses to understand where she was.

Below her was... concrete? It felt rough, rocky, and maybe sand-like; like a sidewalk. She felt no cracks or abnormalities, only rough concrete that was warm to the touch. That led her to the feeling of warmth on her face, which made no sense, considering she had left at night. If she had spun out and got rescued, wouldn't she be in a hospital?

She smelled grass. Grass that had to have been cut a few minutes ago to produce that sweet yet strong aroma that had her nostrils twitching. Next came the sound of wind and chirping birds.

Okay, outside, got it.

Alana rubbed her eyes and managed to pry them apart, tossing away the dry particles infecting the corners of her lids as she did so. She winced at the brightness hitting her, and she closed them again to pace herself. Soon enough, she wobbled to her aching feet, massaged her throbbing right knee through her black leggings, and noticed she had nothing on her. No phone, no keys, no scrunchies she had collected in her free time—just her and her leather jacket against the world.

But that wasn't the worst part.

In front of her was a hotel. A giant hotel as larger as a skyscraper in New York City.

What. The. Actual. Mother. Loving. Fuck.

Alana staggered back and plopped down on her ass again, and her braids came into contact with the bushes behind her. She snapped around and noticed the trimmed bushes and the grass patches beneath them, and behind them was a concrete wall blocking off the hotel from the public. She couldn't see anything waiting beyond the walls. No other buildings, no sounds of cars. She couldn't even find an exit.

"What the fuck. What the fuck," she muttered to herself, pinching the back of her hand to see if the pain would bring her out of that dream. It had to be a dream. Why the hell else would she wake up in front of a hotel? A hotel with no identifying marks, at that. No signs, no valet out front, no luggage anywhere.

Just her and her leather jacket against the hotel.

"This can't be real." But the pinch told her otherwise.

Alana jumped back to her feet and realized excessive cursing and denial wouldn't get her any closer to the truth, so she forced herself forward to investigate the arena she stood in.

What surrounded her was a walled-in hotel that was a beige color, and it had more windows than she could count. The entrance wasn't far from her, and she spotted that it had three doors. Two sets of double doors on the left and right, and a revolving door in the middle.

Alana approached and noticed how trimmed bushes made up the exterior walls of not only fence-like walls boxing the place in but the direct exterior of the hotel, too. Otherwise, there were no decorations.

The sun shined in a cloudless sky, and Alana realized there was no way she could be in New York. It was January in Buffalo, and they were going to have a blizzard the day after the party, hence why her sister had dragged her to it. She had been dramatic, claiming it was the last chance to ever go to a party. Yeah, her sister was in her college years while Alana had the privilege of living an out-of-college adult life, so that meant Alana had been brought to every party on Earth.

Alana pushed through the revolving door—something she had always wanted to do—and entered the grand lobby with a high ceiling, glass chandelier hanging down from it in the center, and a small group of individuals inside. The floor was marble with a giant staircase leading to the second floor dead ahead with elevators all the way in the back, likely leading to the countless other stories the hotel had.

"Um, excuse me," Alana said, her voice cracking. The group of four men glanced at her, and if she weren't so desperate, she wouldn't ask them for help. "Where am I? What am I-"

But she didn't get a chance to finish.

One of the four men wearing suits pulled a pistol of some kind out from his pocket, and before she could so much as scream, the gun went off. Something sharp and fast shattered through her, right in her head. Her skin peeled back, blood splattered on the ground, and darkness hit her.

And then, she woke up.

Alana snapped up with a heave and threw her hand over her chest, noticing she was in the same spot she had been in before: laying on the concrete, near the entrance of the hotel. A scream ripped through her lungs, and she pounded the hard terrain until a crimson liquid moistened her skin.

The four men from before rushed out of the double doors, and she tried to scramble to her feet to sprint, but they had the faster reaction time. The gun sprung free, as did the bullet. It hit her in the chest, and agony rocketed into every atom in her. Another shout came, followed by another bullet. That time in the head, she assumed.

And then, she woke up.

The same spot. The same concrete. The same time of day, it seemed.

Alana scurried back and rushed to the left side of the hotel instead, hyperventilating and wishing tears would come, but they wouldn't. The tears would at least remind her she had feelings, though nothing came aside from a dull sting at her eyes that was never followed by moisture.

"What the fuck..."

Alana coughed and wheezed, her vision blurring in and out. Panic attacks were no strangers to her, considering her anxiety, but that one was far more intense than the others. It left her immobilized, her legs stiff, her tongue tasting of dryness, and her skin clammy. No words left her, only cracked whimpers. Blackness wavered in and out, but five, ten, or maybe twenty minutes later, she managed to snap back into reality.

No guards attacked her again. Not yet, anyway. She had survived longer than before, but she still didn't understand it. She doubted she ever would.

In the distance, Alana heard a yell. A masculine yell. Alana peeked her head out from the corner and saw nothing except the shaded left side of the hotel. There was about forty feet between the hotel walls and the walls bordering the land, and concrete pathways ran around the entire building, she imagined. It was like a square within a square within a square, which at least made for a simple layout she could adapt to in a heartbeat, if needed. Her mother had blessed her with a photographic memory, after all.

Alana heard a gunshot, and she flinched, whipping her hands over her chest to see if she was about to succumb to the same fate for the third time. But no. No aches, no pains, no tears, no screams—she was fine. Unharmed.

Another shot followed the first one, and the echo of the gun had Alana flinching. And then, a moment later, her vision went dark, and it happened again.

She woke up. Same spot.

Alana gagged and turned over to vomit on the concrete. That time, tears came, only because of the bile chewing on her throat and mouth. Her ears rang, and she tried her best to recover her senses to no avail. Her mouth refused to taste anything other than dryness, and her nose smelled her fear—which smelled of blood, for some reason. The rest of her senses were so far gone, she didn't bother checking in with them.

"Is anyone out there!" a male voice shouted, interrupting her shudders and soft whines.

Alana wanted to call back and beg for help, but she didn't know if it was yet another trap. But it wasn't like she had much other choice, did she? So, she trotted forward, holding onto the hotel wall for support and wobbling in the direction the voice had originated from: the left side of the hotel.

On the left side was a single man pacing around the concrete, his sneakers squeaking. He had one hand in his mouth, past his plump lips, to nibble on his nails, and from her position about twenty feet away, she swore she spotted a chipped front tooth under his upper lip and chowing down on his index finger.

The man had black hair that went to the lobes of his ears and parted down the center so his forehead, which had a mole in the left corner, would be visible. His skin was tan, maybe made darker by the shadows, but she could tell he had incredible skincare, considering the glow he had even in the darkness.

Alana did her best to speak, but her voice came out as a squeak. Like the sound his sneakers made.

"Hello?"

The man swiveled around at that, his puppy-like, hickory eyes jumping at the sight of her. Alana received a better look at his attire: a black t-shirt with matching drawstring joggers. Nothing fancy, but far cooler than what she was left with. She had worn the most basic fit she could think of to blend in at the party, that way no one would speak with her. Even though she could have never predicted whatever the hell the hotel was, part of her wished she had worn lighter clothes so she didn't sweat her ass off.

"Hi," he said, stuttering over the one word. "Do you-"

"Stop." She stumbled away when he took a step closer, and the man shut up. "I'm sorry, but I don't trust you. Who are you?"

The stranger met her gaze, a single droplet of sweat rolling down the side of his head, dripping off his sharp jaw and to the concrete beneath him. Sounds of heavy breathing broke the otherwise quiet soundscape, but a beat later, after Alana had a moment to collect herself, the man answered.

"Park Jimin."

---

Welcome to Me Without You, a novel following Park Jimin from BTS and an OC, Alana, through a time loop at a dangerous, mysterious hotel. Thank you for clicking on this, and I hope you enjoy it! Remember to vote, comment, add to your library, and follow for more 💋

This will be a Jimin x OC story, though there is not going to be any graphic sexual content, and this is also going to be one of my few works without LGBTQ+ characters or references.

Speaking of being 💅, I have a Jikook racer (Formula One) AU, Starboys, coming out this month to celebrate my 2.5k (now 2.6k) follower milestone, so stay tuned for that.

It's a relatively clean mature story in terms of the naughty naughty, though it's still mature. Even though there's no graphic sexual content, there will still be implied sexual content and spicy scenes (if you thought I was going to write a Jimin ff without them going nomnomnom with e/o's lips and Jimin doing the knee thing, you were mistaken).

Along with that, there will be harsh language, violence, depictions of mental health (i.e., anxiety and PTSD), and death (it's a time loop, so, y'know, the whole point is they die over and over-).

If any chapters require any additional tw, I will add them, though there will be no intense triggers that I am aware of. I.e., there won't be any SA, any ab/se, any racism/homophobia, etc. It's mostly rated mature due to the graphic violence.

If you would like early access to new updates, new stories, additional content, and other behind-the-scenes content, my Patreon is in my bio, and there are both free and paid memberships available! It also exists if you would like to support me more as an author and give me more time to focus on writing instead of working.

Thank you again for clicking on this story, and remember to add this to your library for notifications about updates, vote if you want to help me out in the algorithm (and also just enjoy the story), comment again to help me out in the algorithm, and follow for more like this. Lord knows I have no shortage of BTS stories.

Lastly, the wonderful cover was made by the lovely NotEvenEstella! Thank you for making the cover! I'm just gonna give you a dedication since sis is indecisive about her user lmao.

See you in the next update!