#the sag one has one box and a little bit of bar filled rip
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The Music Box (1/3)
A porcelain figure on a music box sits alone in an abandoned attic until one day he is granted the gift of life. He strikes out on a quest of self discovery, giving himself the name Jaskier, and learns about what it means to be living. As he goes about playing his music, he hopes one day to find the one who made him, and learn why destiny should give him a soul and wait so long after to grant him the blessing of life.
Alt - Jaskier used to be a figure on a music box before wishing to be real.
(wc: 3232)
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Music drifted into the attic, soft and mellow, rambunctious and spirited, earnest and poor. Children’s poems and great ballads of adventure and love lit up the forgotten corners, clearing the shadows from them if only for a moment. At such times, the emptiness and forgetting and damp disappeared. The cobwebs became gossamer curtains. The dust was nearly like snow. For the length of a bar or two, there was life in the abandoned place.
How long ago had it begun, the little porcelain figure wondered? When the music played in the world beyond, his little heart stirred to life and reached out longingly to be a part of it. When did he first have a heart to stir? He thought it must have been long ago, a century or two. It was impossible to tell the passing of the years.
He thought it must have been then, when the little boy turned the key on the box for the first time. The little boy had stared up at the figure in wonder as it sprang to life, spinning round on the lid of the box. Tinkling music, sharp and sweet and sure poured out from inside, enchanting. The little boy asked someone, an old man he thought, if the figure might be a faery in disguise, and if he’d had wings the figure would have fluttered them with joy. He would like to be a faery. He thought he might have seen them in some of the far markets, their eyes shining brighter than they ought. If he were a faery, he might dance or play. But no. He could only ever turn, and only ever in one direction, never singing or dancing. Never playing.
As the years passed and he was exchanged in colorful paper wrappings from hand to hand to hand, he’d grown tired of his song. Always the same notes over and over, without even words. He envied the harp. He hated the violin. The flute mocked him, for they had no such limitations. And oh, how he might shed tears to listen to the people singing! How could any one instrument play so many songs? He could not cry, and he had no voice—why should he have a heart to ache and break for such things at all?
But now, alone in the barren waste of things packed away and left to rot, he wished he might have the company of his song again. He’d been in the attic so long, he’d forgotten the very last of the notes, and there was none to wind his key. Even if he had no music, he might at least be allowed to turn. It was not true dancing, but he could pretend. He did not know why he was allowed such a blessing as to pretend or to feel, but he tried so very hard to use it.
Outside, it was coming on evening. A nightingale perched somewhere nearby, singing its song. Hateful pest! He wanted to rip the heart from his chest and push the broken pieces back together, but his hands would always remain poised. One lifted above his head, and one so tauntingly to his chest. His mouth would always be open to sing, and he could never utter a sound. And here came the nightingale once more to mock him, singing pretty verses and trilling in the fading light.
Once, long ago, a nightingale had flown in the open window to nest among the abandoned rafters. It sang and sang as it built its nest, and there were two. How dare anything come to this place, throwing freedom and music and love in his face, flying and parading around him! He wished they might have the mercy to fly low and knock him from his perch. If he might fall and break, perhaps he might then die and be rid of his longing.
It was a joke. Perhaps he’d watched a faery too closely and it had cursed him for it. He would always live with longing, never dying. For the sin of seeing too clearly, someone in Faerie had cursed him with unfulfillment. He was only a toy, just a simple, decorative knick-knack. He must always look wherever he was turned. He could not help staring.
The night came, bringing darkness with it. He was afraid of the dark, for it was so much quieter when the sun went down, and he knew he was truly alone. He was grateful for clear nights when the moon and stars offered their comfort. Though he was surely faded by exposure to the light, his clothes turned white and grey by the dust, he was the more fortunate for being left uncovered, allowed to see through the small attic window into the heavens. It was his spotlight, bathing him in a single ray of warmth when the sun was high, a pale beam of silver light when the moon rose. It asked him to perform and fill the room with life, and he wished to comply.
The house had long been empty, no audience to perform for. He wondered what had happened to the family. Had they moved on? Had they died? The corner of the roof sagged from years of heavy snow, and the beams creaked in the wind. He wished the house might have ghosts at the very least, but it was depressingly without haunt. There had once been rich furnishings beneath the dost cloths, he remembered. The attic was quite expansive. Maybe the family had been comprised of peers, turned out during some great revolution. He thought of such romantic stories often to pass the time, and it made it difficult to remember. Surely he would have heard the fuss of fighting below. He fancied the rebels would have tried to burn the house down and that only the attic was spared the flames. He would like some looter to come scavenging in his lonely domain. Perhaps then he might be taken and sold, then he might at least see something new of the world. Even the patch of sky outside his window had become too familiar.
Then, there came something new. A brilliant streak of light across the sky. His heart leapt at the sight and he knew if for what it was. A shooting star.
His left hand always reaching, for once in his life he felt it was with purpose. He wished to tangle his right hand in his shirt, for his heart ached with a terrible hope. He reached with his left, beseeching, for once he’d been owned by a little girl who wished on such stars, and he knew the most earnest came true in stories.
He wished. Oh, how he wished!
Living. I want to be living!
He wanted to leave this place. He wanted to sing and play all those instruments that taunted him before, show them who truly knew the depth of music. Who knew music better than the figure on a music box? He wished to taste those songs on his own tongue which the people sang and hummed and whistled! He wanted to frolic! To dance! He wanted to just once—only once!— turn counter-clockwise.
The star disappeared before his eyes and he waited, staring up at the place where it had been. And he waited. In the deafening silence, his heart began to beat painfully in his chest and he willed the star to return. He outstretched arm trembled and he wished to call it back. The attic blurred, tears prickling his eyes. He sobbed, knowing the star would not return, and brought his knuckles to his eyes, wiping away the hot tears as they began to fall.
He stopped.
He slowly tilted his head down and looked at his hands. They glistened in the moonlight, wet with tears. They’d moved. He moved them again and found he could. Quickly, he looked at his feet and saw not a box, but the bare floor below him. His heart beat again—it was beating! What a wonder!—and he laughed, felt the smile on his lips for the first time. He wobbled as he attempted his first step and fell onto the arm of one of the old chairs. Giddy with joy, drunk on this sudden euphoria, he ripped the dust clothes and threw them into the air. At long last, he could move! He danced around the room, exploring all that he could never dream to touch or feel beneath his fingers. In an old chest, he found beautiful festival costumes. He threw off his old tatters and dressed in them. How long had he envied the birds for their changing plumage? Or humans for their ever-changing clothes?
He found a mirror and stood awhile, watching himself so full of life. He smiled, frowned, scowled, and made a hundred funny faces. “Hello!” he said, then he tumbled back from his reflection, startled by his own voice. He’d heard something like it in his own mind, but it had never been anything so loud or concrete. Very quietly, he whispered, “Hello,” again, peeking up at the edge of the mirror from his knees. Shyly, he waved back at himself.
On shaking legs, he stood again. He made a courtly bow. He’d been on the mantle once of a great room in some manor, and he’d seen many a bow and curtsey. It was clumsy at first; he did not yet know how to move properly, but his heart was full to bursting for joy. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, and his words were almost steady. “And what is your name, good gentleman?”
Here his fun came to a halt, for he had no answer.
“Oh. I … who will name me?” he asked. He had no mother or father. He did not even know who had made him and his box.
His box!
He turned round, searching for it. How odd a thing it was to be able to look from this new perspective. And there it was, where it had always been, sitting on the old end table among the clutter. He picked it up, turning it over and over. On the bottom there was writing, but he could not read. He’d never had the chance to see it, though he’d known it sat beneath this feet. It was carved and painted with wildflowers, gilded on the edges. There was some chipping here and there, and the color had faded, but he could not help loving it, for it had so long been a part of himself.
The mechanical bits clicked as he wound the key. He bit back a sob as the music poured out once more. It had been so long. The notes came to him at once, though they stuck now and then, and he could remember how they’d sounded once so very long ago. The little platform on top turned round and round, empty. He turned, spinning very slowly in the opposite direction as he clutched it to his chest. When the spring had wound down, he wiped his eyes and leapt to his feet. He scrambled to the window and threw it wide, reaching out into the night sky.
“Thank you!” he called. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”
One day he would find the words with which to express his gratitude. He swore he would put his heart and soul into such an expression of thankfulness, and he would bless the sight of the generous stars until his dying day! Could he die? Did he eat? There was so much to discover!
He finished his exploration of the attic and collected a bag and change of clothes. Belongings. He had belongings now. There was something grand about owning things. He carefully wrapped his box in a bit of cloth and put it into his bag. When the sun rose in the morning, he’d be off on a journey. Very soon, he’d be part of the world. What song would be the first to greet him? Through the window, he’d seen the beginnings of spring. A seasonal ballad, he hoped.
He explored the rest of the house, going from room to room to examine this strange place that had been his home, so detached from what he’d known. It was a grand house, full of once-fine furniture, walls covered with portraits and intricately patterned and peeling wallpaper. He bent to feel the carpets, excited to touch everything he came upon. He discovered a velvet couch, a silk table runner. He ran his finger along the rods of a carved banister, listening to the gentle thump as he did. In another room there was a lamp with a beaded shade that clicked wonderfully and jingled when disturbed. When he realized the short heel of his boots made a clomping sound, he began to tap them as he walked, skipping now and then until his feet had carried him to the most wonderful discovery of all.
It was a music room. There was a great harp in the center of the room, standing under an old chandelier. He eagerly stroked its strings, only to find it horrendously out of tune. Still, he played to hear the sound. One by one he explored the various instruments. It was not such a vast collection, but it was more than he’d ever seen, and he was filled with the sudden desire to take one for himself. But which? He would play them all until he might make his choice.
The pipe was too shrill for his ears, still so sensitive to such noise. He liked the drum well enough, but it made no more than one or two sounds beneath his beating hands. He’d enjoyed the harp, but it was far too bit to carry. Then, tucked in the far corner, he found a lute. He plucked experimentally at its strings and knew he had found his instrument.
He pulled the strap over his shoulder, his heart aflutter. A great mirror lined the wall and he turned in it, admiring himself. Yes, from here he would make something of this new life! With this gift, he would give something wonderful to the world! He would give music that which none had ever known, and all the Continent would sing his songs!
When the sun rose, he stepped out of the lifeless house and into the wider world. Things were beginning to stir, birds rising, wind waking. Even the flowers seemed to turn up their heads to look as he passed. An hour’s walk saw him in a bustling hamlet, men and women going about their morning work. He scurried up to the first person in reach, tapping the man’s shoulder.
“Excuse me—good morning. What is this place called?” he asked.
“Lettenhove,” the man replied, eyeing the brightly-dressed traveller.
“And what,” he asked, “is that house there beyond the fields?”
“The old Pankratz estate, but you won’t find any work there, bard. The last viscount was taken by pox several years ago. The nearest courts are in Falla.”
Bard! Might that be his name, he wondered? Before beginning his great quest, he must find himself a name. He remembered the writing on the bottom of his box. Would it be some name?
“Can you read, sir?” he asked. “Or might you point me in the direction of one who can?”
The man sniffed and stood straighter. “I can read,” he said gruffly. “Trying to make fun?”
The bard shook his head apologetically. “No, never! I have something that needs reading, and I cannot make it out. Would you help me?”
The man looked at the bard’s flashy clothes doubtfully. Such colorful songbirds were surely educated in reading and writing. Though he quite clearly felt he was being made part of some joke, he held out his hand and asked to see the bit of writing.
The bard unwrapped the music box and handed it to him with delicate care. “The, uh, writing is too small. I’ve lost my spectacles,” he excused, feeling a fool. He’d never been taught to read, but he knew there were some who read with spectacles on their noses.
The man looked more friendly at that. “Well, it’s a poem,” he said, observing the writing on bottom.
“Will you read it to me?”
With a shrug, the man recited the short verse:
With the turning of the year
Little friends shall gather near
In the Spring they shall appear
The lovely yellow bloom, jaskier
The man hummed and said, rather importantly, “The rhyme is good, but the spelling of the last word doesn’t match the pattern. It doesn’t rhyme to the eye.” He smiled and stroked his chin, looking very clever.
“What’s a jaskier?” the bard asked. It was a lovely word, he thought.
“It’s … ” the man looked around, then he stooped down to pick a flower from the grass by the road. “It’s this. Do they call them something different where you come from?”
The bard reached for the flower as it was offered to him and made no reply. He did not know where he was from. He decided it might as well be here.
As he turned the music box in hand, the man admired the flowers on the sides. “Ah, here they are as well. It’s a very pretty thing. May I have a listen?”
The bard nodded and the man wound the music box, listening to the tune. At last the bard could hear words in the notes. When the song finished, the man returned the box and the bard wrapped it once more, tucking it in his bag.
“Thank you,” the bard said.
“Julian!” someone called. The man turned over his shoulder as the caller waved him over. “Julian, move your sorry ass along! We’ve got deliveries to make, you lazy bastard!”
“Stop your whining, Alfred, you old cow! If you didn’t walk so slow, I could make the deliveries in half time!” He turned back to the bard and patted his arm jovially. “Well then, that’s my time run out on me. If you’re still around this afternoon, you ought to play for us at the pub,” he suggested.
“Thank you, but I’ve got to be going. I have a delivery of my own to make,” said Jaskier Julian Alfred Pankratz. He’d found a name, found several in fact—spares, just in case he might lose one—and now he had a new quest in mind. “I’ve got to deliver this music box to its owner.”
“Did you need the address read?” the man asked.
“No, thank you,” Jaskier replied. “But if you might point me in the direction of the nearest market, I’d be much obliged.”
“Thataway. Happy travels.”
“The very happiest!” Jaskier exclaimed.
And he was off in the pointed direction, a spring in his step, and an old song in his heart made new. He hummed as he went, then whistled. And at last, the market in sight, he began to sing the little verse aloud. A spectator tossed a coin into his hat as he stopped to bow to her on his way, sweeping his hat politely from his head. His very first wage, his very first song, his very first morning out in the world!
“Oh, destiny,” he sighed. “At long last, you are a loving thing.”
#witcher#the witcher#witcher fic#geraskier#jaskier#geralt of rivia#fairytale au#my fic#the music box fic
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nine-one-one | dos | pjm (m)
pairing: Jimin x Reader
genre/warnings: angst, smut (to come), fluff, oldflame!pairing, detective!jimin, firstresponder!reader, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of suicide, mentions of mental health problems, mentions of weapons, explicit language, implied stalking, brief scenes of physical assault.
words: 15.3k
summary: all Jimin wants is to whisk you away in an attempt to keep you safe, but how can he truly keep you safe if he doesn’t know who to protect you from?
a/n: part two is finally here!! find the first part here which I definitely reccomend reading before this part so you know whats up! :) I hope you enjoy and please send me lots of feedback and let me know how you feel :P
Before the ringing white noise in your ears manages to clear, things are already in motion so fast your vision begins to blur. Somewhere in the back of your mind you realise Jimin is trying to speak to you, his phone pressed tight to his ear as he speaks rapidly into the end while his hand on your shoulder attempts to rouse you from your frozen state of shock.
Your eyes are still stuck on the screen, unseeing as you stare to the point of your eyes burning, but the extra tears it produces are lost entirely in the wetness still pouring from the corners. Lungs burning, you gasp for air while your frame shakes with hiccuped sobs. The front of your shirt is littered with darkened drops of moisture, the tears dripping from your chin sinking into the fabric quickly.
“_____!” Jimin rips you from your reverie with strong hands grasping your shoulders, and you yelp in surprise as he spins you in place to face him, no longer looking at the computer on your desk. His eyes are wild, alarmed, and even a little scared. And the idea that something could make Jimin scared terrifies you even more. “Breathe, _____, please breathe–”
“J-Jimin–” Collapsing forward, he barely gets the chance to catch you as you sag in your chair, knees hitting the floor painfully hard before he quite gets the chance to get a solid grip. Pulling you up, Jimin holds you to his side as you bury your face in his shoulder, and you can hear him firing off orders as rapid footsteps make their way towards you.
“–and I want that fucking audio file analysed. Get on to vocal recognition. I want a list of all the tenants of her building and the three surrounding. I want their records, all their files, any information possible on that sick fuck.” His swearing cuts deep into your consciousness, and you shiver against him violently enough for his arm around your waist to tighten. “She's coming with me. Organise a squad to be at her address tomorrow at 10am sharp.”
You don’t even see where you’re going, eyelids pressed together in an attempt to slow the tears running down your cheeks, yet even with the state you’re in, you trust in Jimin’s guidance. He’s still speaking to you gently, soothingly, as he pulls you through to the elevator, and as the familiar scent of his cologne starts to fill your senses, your breaths start to come a little easier.
When he releases you it’s to brace you against the rail inside the elevator, but his hold on your waist doesn’t falter even as he shuffles back to choose which floor he wishes to take you. But you don’t bother looking, busy doing your best to calm yourself as your head rests back on the cold metal of the wall behind you. The chill is helping you to focus less on the sound of the killers voice echoing around within your head, and you seek the cold even more, turning to press your wet cheek to the surface.
“Hey, you’re okay.” Jimin notices the shiver you don’t and he quickly returns to your side, hand stroking along the curve of your back slowly as he leans over to look into your eyes. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, yeah?”
“H-He knows, Jimin. He knows where I live–” Jimin shushes you as your emotions start to escalate, and you’re cut off by your own gasp for air, missing the ding and whirr as the elevator stops and the doors glide open.
“I know, _____. I know you’re scared. But I mean it, he’s not getting anywhere near you.” Jimin’s eyes are intent on you, and if you looked hard enough you’d probably be able to see your own reflection in them. He waits, regardless of the way the doors start to glide closed, until you’re completely ready to move. Only then does he guide you with a warm hand between your shoulder blades out of the elevator, and straight towards his car through the parking lot.
__________
A sense of nostalgia fills you when Jimin puts the car into park in the underground of his apartment building, the familiarity and knowledge that nothing has really changed in all these years distracting you somewhat, and you’re grateful for the slight reprieve. The paint and cars have changed just a little but the building itself is exactly the same, and you can’t help glancing around as Jimin leads you up the stairs to the lobby, pausing as you both wait patiently for the elevator.
“Feel weird?” He asks, guessing exactly how you’re feeling with just a look at your face and the idea makes you smile a little, face feeling dry and stiff from the saltiness still coating it.
“A little. Not much has changed.” The strange part was knowing you’d even lived here, shared a tenancy with Jimin while you were together and had so many days and nights together in the room just a few floors up. You can only imagine how wide your eyes must be as they eagerly take everything in, and yet you somehow miss the way Jimin is watching you, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards as you glance around in wonder.
The elevator makes it to your floor, and you dutifully step in after Jimin, automatically crossing your arms and holding yourself together. Jimin had stopped touching you over time, feeling your calm no longer calls for his contact, and you immediately start to miss his warmth, even when you’d hoped you wouldn’t.
“The apartment hasn’t really changed either, maybe just less decoration.” The thought makes the both of you laugh gently, the heaviness that had sunk into your stomach starting to lighten, and you don’t doubt it for a second.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Remember when I tried to explain the point of throw pillows to you?” His laughter becomes a little louder as he recalls the conversation, and you immediately grin. “You were so confused as to why I wanted pillows we weren’t going to actually lay on.”
“I still don't think I get it!” The muscle memory takes you easily through the elevator doors once they open to down the hall, and Jimin laughs as he drags his keys from his pocket. “All I wanted was to nap on my lounge!”
“They were silk pillows Jimin. Proper silk! You drooled on one and I could never get the damn stain out!” The two of you join in laughter as Jimin unlocks the apartment, breathlessness hitting you both as you make it inside, and for a second all you can do is look around silently.
The lounge had been replaced with something a bit more chic, a plain grey futon that had a messily thrown blanket that just screamed falling asleep watching tv, and you note it was one of Jimin’s bad habits. Not to mention you would then be the one hearing him complain the next day of a sore neck, and always having to massage him until he stopped whining. Even more annoying was how cute he could be whilst doing it, and the memory brings a slight smile to your face.
“Sorry about the mess, I’ve been sleeping more than cleaning these days.” Jimin automatically moves forwards to tidy the coffee table, and you simply shake your head, watching as he scurries about and shifts things around for a minute until he’s satisfied. “Do you want something to drink? I think I have some tea in the cupboard?”
“That’d be great, actually.” You smile gratefully, though it feels a little off even to you, but even though he notices Jimin doesn’t say anything about it, only watching you for a moment before moving into the kitchen. Listening as he fills the kettle with water, you walk slowly through the apartment until you reach the floor length windows on the side, wincing as you hear something fall in the cupboard as he digs around. But your eyes never leave the skyline, the sunset turning the sky oranges and pinks as it starts to settle behind the buildings, and you let yourself get lost in the sight.
“Hey, you want peppermint or chai?” Jimin’s voice right beside you makes you jump, stumbling a step away before he drops the boxes of teabags and moves to stabilise you, and you close your eyes to pull a deep breath into your lungs. “Hey, you’re ok, I’ve got you.”
“Sorry, I–sorry.” You’re looking down at the little packets all over the floor, immediately bending to pick them up, but Jimin holds you tightly in place, refusing to let you do so, and after a few seconds of stubbornly glaring down at the mess, you finally look up at him.
“Don’t apologise. I mean it, I’m not letting anything happen to you. No matter where you are, I’m going to keep you safe. Before and after this guy is caught, yeah?” His thumbs rub warmth into the exposed skin just below the hems of your sleeves on your upper arms, and you slowly relax into his grip, walls coming down. “Have I ever let you down before?”
“No.” You speak with confidence, and you can see the way Jimin’s eyes fill with warmth at the trust in your gaze.
“Then believe me when I say I’m not going to now.” He waits for you to nod before rubbing your arms gently and bending down to collect the strewn packets, and when he straightens he wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you along into the kitchen. You let him sit you down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, and watch as he picks out a large mug for you.
“Since when do you keep peppermint tea on hand?” He turns just enough to give you a playful stink eye, before relaxing his expression into a gentle smile.
“Hoseok comes around at least once a week to do casework together and it’s the only thing he drinks; he’s not really a caffeine person.” Turning, he puts the boxes in front of you and gestures between them. “Which would you like?”
You finally start to relax around an hour later, one cup of tea down and the fresh refill warm in your hands as Jimin moves gently around the apartment, taking phone calls and typing away on his laptop as you quietly watch the tv. You won’t admit it, but you really spend way more time watching him than you do the movie that’s playing.
His aura still hasn't changed even after so many years, that same warmth and comforting softness that kept you feeling relaxed and safe for so long still on him like a blanket, and you even find yourself taking comfort in the natural scent of your surroundings. The blanket he’d wrapped you tight in smelled so strongly of his cologne you don’t doubt he’d slept here multiple times the past few weeks, and the pillow you lean down to rest your head on has the same sweet scent that grips you everytime he leans in to hold you tight.
The feeling of his presence is everywhere from the clutter of case files littering each surface, to the fine layer of dust you can smell from the way he’s always forgotten that dusting is a thing. He’s so completely himself, since forever, and the thought comforts you more that any weapon or security system ever could.
“Are you enjoying the movie? You can change it if you want, it’s just what was on.” You blink two or three times before you fully come to, and when you focus once more you find yourself looking straight at Jimin himself, noting the way his cheeks are bunched and his lips are pressed together as though he’s trying not to laugh. And you soon realise it’s because of how you’d been sat, staring hard at the side of his head with your mouth fallen open in concentration.
Jaw snapping shut hard enough to trigger a sharp ache in your teeth, you flush far redder than you care to admit as you jerk your head to the side and refocus on the screen. You have absolutely no clue what’s happening in the movie, but pretending is far better than having to admit to staring at Jimin so intently. “This is fine. It’s good.”
“Okay.” He nods, a smile still pulling at his cheeks, and for a moment he just watches you, enjoying the way your face stays heated under his watchful gaze. But then he recaptures your attention with a loud yawn, arching his chest out as he stretches, and when he refocuses on you his eyes are glassy with moisture, shining like crystals. “I’m probably going to have to get ready for bed soon. Do you want to have a shower?”
“I don’t have any clothes.” Jimin hums, thinking for a second, and you watch as he jumps up enthusiastically, feet scuffling on the carpet as he makes his way across the room, and you watch as he waddles endearingly through the door to the bedroom. You listen as the rumble of the closet doors sliding open sounds, and a slight scuffle before silence, and then Jimin reappears in the doorway, holding a surprisingly familiar item of clothing.
“Here! I found this a few months back in a box in the cupboard. I just kept forgetting to give it back to you.” Your chest bubbles with warmth while your stomach breaks out in butterflies, and you accept the hoodie he hands you with a shocked smile. It’s not yours, not really, but you’d stolen it so regularly it had become an unspoken rule that while he may have bought the hoodie, it was yours far more than his.
“I thought you’d kept it when I moved out.” Your fingers are playing with the softness of the fabric, and a slightly awkward silence falls over the both of you as he watches you roll the cloth between your fingers.
“It was your favourite, I would’ve let you keep it.” You look up at him then, catching something unidentifiable in his eyes before he blinked it away, and then you’re left looking at each other as your hands fall still in your lap. All until he clears his throat gruffly and shakes himself into composure, turning on his heel. “I’ll get you a towel and some pants.”
The walk to the bathroom is plagued with silence once Jimin disappears into his office, and you find yourself gazing out the large apartment windows as you walk across the living room. Your eyes dart from each inch of darkness outside to the next, fear in that now ever-present feeling of eyes on you unshakable, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly your heart beat speeds up. As do your feet as you rush into the bathroom and close the door with a heavy sigh.
You can't help but crank up the heat, steam floating from the tiles at the bottom of the shower to make a mist above your head, and your tense muscles seemingly melt once you step inside. The water burns a little against your tender eyes and dry cheeks, but your skin quickly adjusts as you tip your head forward under the stream, allowing the downpour to drip down your cheeks and off your chin. It’s a little hard to breathe in the thickness of the foggy cubicle, but you start to feel a little lighter once the tingling of heat takes your attention.
The bodywash you find in the shower caddy is the same it’s always been, and you find yourself guilty of holding the open top to your nose just a few seconds longer than should be deemed sensible, losing yourself further in the familiarity of Jimin’s signature scent. Bergamot and pine settle deep in your senses and a blanket of calm covers you, the smell only becoming more pungent as you massage the foam into the skin of your chest and arms. Jimin had always been a symbol of security in your life; safety, love and support, and you’ve never been able to kick that little habit of finding solace in the smallest signs of his presence.
And naturally this had meant that you’d lost your way every now and then after losing that source of comfort, no longer having someone to turn to when things get a little too tough or something goes bump in the night. You’d had to grow a lot since splitting with Jimin, and though now you’d like to consider yourself to be a relatively independent woman; able to pay her own bills, cook, clean and pave her own way in the world, you couldn’t help letting yourself be little selfish when faced with what you’d thought was lost forever.
By the time you’ve used his sweet orange shampoo and conditioner, and lathered yourself until no skin was visible, the entire room is swallowed in a cloudy haze, and your skin is bright pink from the rigorousness you’d scrubbed at yourself with. Stepping from the shower to wrap yourself in a towel, you find yourself cringing at how you instantly begin to sweat from the humidity, and immediately switch on the fan above you.
As the mist clears, so does the mirror, and you finally get a proper look at yourself. Your cheeks are shiny and raw, from fingers pressed a little too hard and the heat turned up just a little too hot, and your eyes are puffy and bloodshot, a clear sign of your exhaustion. It’s not even that late, only going on around eight o’clock, but your body aches with a heaviness that feels like you haven't slept in days, and as you pull the sweatpants up your tired legs, you groan at the way your back twinges in protest.
Foregoing your underwear and bra is surprisingly comfortable under the loose clothes, though you instantly burrow yourself into the hoodie once you step from the bathroom back into reality, arms crossed over your freed breasts and fingers tucked into your armpits to escape the slight chill of Jimin’s air conditioning. It’s like a habit, the way your eyes dart over to the windows again, but your heart calms at the sight of Jimin’s blinds drawn across the glass, hiding you from the outside world.
The man himself is sat in front of the tv, eyes heavy and starting to droop as he watches the program on screen sleepily. There’s a sandwich sat untouched on the coffee table, but the sight of an empty plate beside it leads you to believe he’s already had one himself, which leaves the only assumption to be that he’d made one for you. The thought of eating suddenly has your stomach groaning, and you pat it gently as you approach the lounge, finally catching Jimin’s attention.
“Hey, give me those.” He throws the blanket you’d seen earlier to the side off his lap and immediately reaches out for the clothes you have in your hands, your outfit from earlier. After a slight hesitation you hand them to him, trying not to think about the fact your bra and panties is so clearly at the top of the pile now in his hands. “I have a load of washing ready to be done so I’ll throw them in, okay? That sandwich is for you, you need to eat before bed.”
His no-nonsense attitude is comfortingly familiar as always, and you give his back a slight smile as you watch him disappear into the laundry, picking up your plate and taking a small bite before he reappears. It’s your favourite kind, and your heart flutters at the idea he’d remembered such a minor thing, but you know it’s silly to entertain such thoughts when you know you remember his too.
The tv is the only thing filling the silence as you eat, the two of you sat quietly side by side as a movie you don't recognize plays, and quicker than you thought you could manage, the sandwich is devoured and you’re brushing crumbs off your hands. The clang of your plate being placed on top of his shatters the silence, and Jimin jerks back awake from where he’d begun to doze off to automatically take the plates to the kitchen, but you scoop them up before he can beat you with a heavy feeling of guilt settling in your gut.
Jimin had done the morning shift, no doubt started work before the sun had risen, and yet he’d still hung around until he knew you’d clock off, and now stayed up to make sure you were safe and had eaten. Guilt starts to toxify, transforming into self-contempt, and you suddenly realise how much of a burden you’re becoming on him again.
Which only gets worse when he approaches you in the kitchen where you’re rinsing the plates in the sink and chewing on your lower lip, deep in thought. “I got the bed ready for you, so you can head in whenever you’d like.”
“What?” You frown, turning to him and furrowing your brows further at the sight of him rubbing at his puffy eyes.
“The bed? I–”
“Jimin, I’m not taking the bed from you.” This time he’s the one frowning, and you hug yourself as his lips settle in a slight pout. “It’s your apartment, I can’t take your–”
“You’re not taking it, I’m giving it to you.” He sighs tiredly, and for a second his frustration is clear on his face before he rolls his shoulders with a grunt, joints clicking. “I don’t want you having a crappy nights’ sleep on the couch when I can give you the bedroom.”
“So you expect me to let you have a shitty sleep instead? Jimin you’ve been up since god knows when, I won’t just let you–” Your voice is getting higher in pitch, and you’re cut off when Jimin turns on his heel with a scoff and makes for the lounge. “–Hey!”
Petulantly, you run past him and clamber over the back of the futon, almost falling off in your daring attempt at beating him to the couch, and he stands frozen, gaping down at you from where he’s stopped mid step. You know it’s childish, but you can't help it, and when Jimin laughs incredulously and makes another move to grab you where you sit, you wrap yourself into the blanket and lie across the lounge, eyes closed.
“Are you joking?” Jimin’s voice is full of mirth, and when you peek one eye open to see him laughing silently, your own lips twist in amusement.
“Go to bed, J‘min.” Your voice is muffled by the blanket, but you know he can hear you, and through your one eye you watch as he stares down at you for a moment before shaking his head, and finally walking across the room to his bedroom, quietly muttering to himself with a smile.
In the midst of his absence, you finally notice how soft and comfortable the futon actually is, and the resistance to burrow down into the cushions and relax with your nose filled with Jimin’s scent embedded onto the blanket is futile. In fact, you relax so hard that you’re drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness faster than you’d realised was possible, and you get a small fright when something carefully rubs your shoulder.
“Hm-wha–?” Your voice cracks a little when you squint through the dimness of the room, but your body relaxes instantly when you recognize the figure standing over you, and Jimin smiles down at you gently as you finally spot the pillow and blanket in his hands.
His touch is even more gentle when he lifts under your neck to ease your head up, and you comply easily as the cool cotton of the pillowcase touches your skin. The comforter he places over you then is even nicer than the blanket he'd slipped from you, and you can instantly tell its the one off his bed. Had you been more lucid, you’d have argued against him giving you his personal bedding, but with the way your body is already sinking further into the cushions below, you can’t focus on anything further.
And just before you fully fall into unconsciousness, you feel a cool, gentle palm brush the hair off your cheek, along with the soothing timber of his voice as he mumbles to you good night.
__________
Every inch of your body is on fire as the fingers that are wrapped around your throat tighten. Every fibre of your being screaming for air as you struggle uselessly against the hold, and your fingers and toes start to tingle as your limbs go numb.
“I told you.” His voice sounds far away through the blood pumping through your ears, and as the rush of frozen air glides over your skin, you feel your body start to twitch and jerk. “You’re next. I told–I TOLD YOU.”
The sound that escapes your throat is dry and grating, and though your eyes burn you’re too numb to feel the tears pouring from them even as they drip from your chin. You gurgle and hack under his pulsating grip, and the sounds seem to make him even more enthusiastic, second hand coming up to loop his arm around your neck instead, and your heart starts to slow in your chest as his hand shifts to frame your jaw.
“_____.”
Your muscles shudder and shift, rolling across your bones as though no longer connected, ligament and tendon dissolved into your blood. And in the roaring silence, you realise you can breathe again, the hold on your throat gone, but your lungs are still empty as you whine and gasp.
“_____!”
You see him, stood in the doorway of your bedroom, faceless and shrouded in darkness, and your bones are heavy as lead, even as you try your hardest to hide under your comforter.
“P-Please, don’t!” You can feel the vibration of his footsteps as he steps closer, and your heart starts to beat in time with the thudding of your own feet as you’re suddenly running down a strangely familiar hallway. “H-Help me! Someone help!”
But no matter how hard you push your feet, the end of the hall seems to get further and further away, and the figure looming behind you gets closer…
“_____, open your eyes, sweetheart!” And closer...
“N-No!” Closer…
“Soon.”
__________
“Jimin!” The scream that rips from your throat tears a sharp aching pain down your chest, and suddenly you come to with your body drenched in sweat, face dripping with tears as you rub your sodden cheek against a firm, warm shoulder.
“I’m here, baby. I promise, I’m here.” Jimin’s scent engulfs you where your head is pressed into the curve of his neck, lean body leant half over you where you’re curled up on the futon in his apartment. And as each wave of recognition comes back to you, you sag into the security and comfort he personifies, and he merely holds you close as you sob into his skin.
“J-J’min–” Your legs tangle up in the blanket still caught around you in a small panic, and the moment you’re free from the restriction you half launch yourself into his lap, straddling the leg closest to you even as you drape sideways over his legs. And though he grunts slightly with the effort it takes to catch you, he doesn’t hesitate to pull you even closer, face pressed into your damp hair as he rocks you gently back and forth.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay–” The tenderness with which he tightens his grip and pulls the blanket back over your shaking form sends you through another wave of tears, and he gives a deep sigh as he hushes you again. He’s always been instinctively empathetic when it came to you, and seeing you so drowned in emotion is affecting him more than he wants to let on.
And god, do you miss him. It’s so easy to forget that missing presence when you willfully ignore it’s absence, but being so close to Jimin again...it’s not hard to remember all the reasons you loved him in the first place.
His bare skin is warm against your hands where their clutching at his biceps to keep him close, and for the first time you realise he’s shirtless, face weary with exhaustion with the way he’s been pulled from sleep lord only knows how long after finally settling in for the night, and another wave of guilt envelopes you. It’s a push in what can only be the right direction though, as you quickly swallow enough air to have your breathing back to a more normal rate, and your hands roughly swipe at the moisture on your face.
“Hey,” Jimin catches your hands as they rub the skin of your cheeks raw, and you feel even more pitiful as you blink down at him through the clumping wetness of your lashes. He sighs again, eyes warm and familiar even as they echo with the pain of seeing you in such a state, and your bottom lip wobbles pitifully before you nab it between your teeth. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. Nothing can happen to you here, okay?”
“Hho-okay.” You can’t help but hiccup a little as you finally start to really settle in his arms, and Jimin stays patient through each minute it takes you to relax again. His hand shifts from yours to settle between your shoulder blades, and you’re brought back to reality by the way the inside of his sweatshirt is starting to stick to your sweaty skin underneath. It’d been a while since you’d had such a strongly upsetting nightmare like that, and your body had surely taken the brunt of the toll. “S-Sorr–”
“Don’t apologise.” Jimin’s hand on your back pulls you close again, and you don’t think twice before nestling your face into his neck again as he gently rubs up and down the length of your spine. Your legs are bent relatively uncomfortably under you, and you finally shift up to relieve his thigh from the pressure of your weight on such an awkward angle.
And now you’re fully straddling his thigh, hovering half in the air so as not to settle your backside on his knee, and although your face is starting to burn from the emotions bubbling in your stomach, Jimin’s gaze stays neutral and concerned. But you can’t help the shyness building within you at the sight of his sculpted torso laid out so clearly in front of you, while you sit perched in his lap. And as much as you wanted to reach out and touch him the way you would have in the past, the ice cold water of reality washes down your back in the form of a whisper in the back of your mind that he’s not yours to touch anymore.
Jimin doesn’t stop you as you finally slip from his lap back onto the lounge beside him, but he does stay close, sliding over until your thighs are pressed together, and his eyes stay keen and alert as he searches your expression. “I’m okay, Jimin.”
“I know.” His eyes are warmed slightly as he curls the corner of his lips up into a lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My brave girl. You’ve always been able to overcome this.”
Your blush intensifies for reasons you’d rather not admit, a flutter in your stomach that seems to be specially reserved just for him, and you busy yourself with putting your pillow back into place from where you’d knocked it on the floor. But a gentle palm on your arm stops you, and when you look up Jimin shakes his head.
“Come to bed with me.” You stare at him, almost blankly, and your heart starts to speed up again in your chest. If Jimin recognizes how suggestive the words could be, he doesn’t let it show, choosing instead to swipe the pillow from your hands and hook the blanket over his shoulder, finally hiding some of his toned chest. It takes a few seconds for you to really respond to what he’s asking, but he doesn’t rush you, and when you finally stand he reaches out with a warm hand and laces his fingers with yours.
The steps you finally take into his bedroom is like a blast from the past, and with the way the left side of the bed is bare of pillows, you can instantly tell he still sleeps on the same side he used to. He makes his way to the bed instantly, patting your pillow into place and fluffing the comforter out until it covers the entirety of the bed, and when he turns back to you, you start to grow shy again.
You haven't shared a bed with anyone since the two of you split, and the thought of crawling back in beside him now after so long has a strange ache in your chest forming. If you were to focus on it long enough...you’d recognize it as longing.
“Don’t overthink this.” Jimin takes your stiff silence as discomfort, and he brings you back to the present once more as he slowly walks towards you. His torso is even more visible in the clearer light, warmed by the lamp lit up on his bedside table, and you almost feel the need to avert your eyes as he gets closer, regardless of having seen it all before. You think it’s in the certain way his sleep shorts hang off his hips, and the way the light bends and curves along the toned ridges of his stomach, but he in his entirety has always been a little overwhelming. He hasn’t changed in the few years you’d been apart, and almost regrettably you don’t doubt that you have.
“I-I’m not. I promise.” You nervously sweep the hair falling into your eyes back behind your ear, and his worried expression relaxes as you finally take the few steps towards the bed. He catches you before you can shift the blankets and climb onto the mattress though, a cool hand pressed to your cheek as he notices the way your baby hairs stick to the edges of your hairline.
“You’re warm. Would you rather a sleep shirt instead of the jumper?” At your nod he moves to the other side of the bed and digs through the bottom drawer of his nightstand until he produces a plain black shirt, and when you accept the fabric he holds towards you, he automatically spins on his heel and heads back out to the living area.
He’d remembered you were bare under the sweater, and you give a grateful smile to the empty room as you pull the slightly damp fabric over your head and let it fall off the edge of the bed beside you. The thin cotton of the new shirt is welcome on your humid skin, the cool freshness of the fabric soothing against the heat inside you, and by the time you’re finally slipping down under the covers, Jimin is walking back into the room and closing the door with a quiet click.
The soft padding of his feet against the carpet as he rounds the bed to his side brings contentment that only welcome company can bring, and you find yourself involuntarily nestling down into the bed even more. A gleam of metal shines in the corner of your eyes, something heavy being placed inside the top of his nightstand, and the both of you silently ignore the fact you’d just witnessed him returning his gun to it’s hiding place under a false base in the bottom of the drawer.
“Comfy?” He keeps his voice gentle, pushing the drawer closed smoothly, and you barely blink up at him before you nod your head. The last thing you see before he switches off the light is the sparkle of his eyes as he smiles down at you.
The mattress shifts slightly as he slides under the covers on his side, and the fresh scent of clean bedsheets and Jimin is a heady aroma of comfort when his movements fluff the blankets, and your eyes droop as the night starts to catch up with you once more.
Somewhere in the stillness of midnight, with your body half asleep and heavy, you manage to roll onto your side without thought and gently tuck your face between the softness of Jimin’s pillow and his shoulder. You’re too far gone to hear his soft noise of surprise, nor is it light enough in the room for you to have been able to see the gleam of his smile as he looks down at you. But one thing's for sure; when he rolls onto his own side and pulls your sleepy frame closer, pressing you into the warmth of his chest like you never left, you fall asleep faster than ever.
__________
Your rousing from sleep comes slowly, consciousness strengthening in waves as you gradually get back the movement in your body through the thick dregs of sleep that hold you tight, and once you can feel again you realise how warm your pillow is beneath your head. And only when you nuzzle down further into it and feel the slight pressure of a broad surface against your back do your eyes open to show you a long arm stretched out past your head and dangling off the edge of the bed.
A minute must pass before the night prior refreshes in your mind, and at a closer glance you recognize the rings adorning the fingers as they twitch slightly, and you already assume the sight before you when you shift and turn onto your back.
Jimin is still fast asleep where he’s been pressed against your back, shoulders and chest fluctuating with every breath as he sleeps restfully, and for a few moments you bask in the feeling of his closeness as he unconsciously uses the arm beneath your head to wrap around your back and pull you even closer. And now facing him on your right side, up close in this way you haven't been in so long, every minute detail of his features is more prominent than ever, and you simply lose yourself in his soft, relaxed expression.
You cannot pinpoint how long you stay lain against him, time ticking on without your attention, but when the pressing need for hunger becomes too hard to ignore, you find yourself struggling to climb from his embrace without rousing him. The sound of your feet against the carpet even seems too loud, and you chew on your lower lip when you freeze at a slight shift in his position, but when he gives a heavy sigh and starts to gently snore again, you continue on.
The sight of the city through the blinds when you open them just slightly is an almost dreary view, a haze of grey in the sky with only the slightest slivers of blue peeking through while a light cover of rain pitter-pats against the glass in front of you. It’s not very late in the morning, the sun not yet high enough to light up this side of the building like it had in the evening sunset last night, but the city below you waits for no one, and the bustle continues on through the early morning with cars beeping their horns and people crawling the streets.
Your stomach starts to growl as you set the coffee machine to brew, and when a quick glance into Jimin’s fridge shows nothing of much substance, you turn to the pantry instead and quickly choose a cereal before pouring two bowls. You time it well enough that you’re able to pour milk into your coffee just after your cereal, and as you settle at the counter, Jimin’s bedroom door creaks open just loud enough to catch your attention.
“Morning.” Jimin’s eyes are half open and his voice is little more than a croak, but you know your hair is just as crazy as his is.
“Hey.” He pads across the floor towards you and immediately heads to the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup quickly before settling beside you and tipping milk into his own cereal. For a few moments there’s nothing to be heard other than the scrape of cutlery on porcelain as you both eat in silence, but your mind is still racing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.
“How’d you sleep?” Jimin is far more alert when he finishes his breakfast, standing to take both your bowl and his own to the sink, and when he turns back to face you it takes you a few moments to compute that he’s really still half naked, not helped by the way he stretches his back and sweeps his fingers through his hair.
“Better. Thanks for...taking care of me. Last night.” He’s shaking his head before you finish your sentence, and you’d be rolling your eyes if you weren't being distracted by the way the muscles on his ribs curve and tense with his movements as he lifts his arms over his head to crack his back.
“Don’t need to thank me for that, _____. You know that.” He steps forward until he’s stood beside you, close enough you can feel the heat of his exposed skin, and you feel yourself swallow thickly. “I made arrangements yesterday when we got here. I hope you know I’m not taking any risks when it comes to your safety, especially not until this guy is caught.”
“What kind of arrangements?” You almost dread his answer, and you know he can tell by the way his face twists into a wistful smirk, but you maintain your worried expression. The last thing you want is for things to blow up and for word to get around in your apartment building that something is wrong. As far as you’re concerned the more low-key the better.
“Officers will be on hand around the clock–” you groan before you can help yourself, the dreaded image of personal bodyguards watching your every move becoming very real in your mind, but Jimin just rolls his eyes “–don’t start that. This is for your safety.”
“I know.” You would like to say you’re not whining, but lord knows even you can’t lie that well to yourself, and it’s making Jimin’s smile widen into a grin as he pinches your chin between thumb and forefinger.
“It’s nothing major, I promise. They’ll fit in to regular security and no one will even notice they’re there.” You slowly nodded in acquiescence, and Jimin continues to smile down at you gently. “Besides, this is the closest we’ve come to tracking this guy down, and I will stop at nothing to ensure your safety, you should know that.”
“I do.” You’re grumbling, but the pout of your lips causes his smile to widen, and he releases your chin to take a step back, oblique muscles rippling as he twists his spine with a low click.
“Yeah, I know.” You’re grumbling, but the pout of your lips causes his smile to widen, and he releases your chin to take a step back, oblique muscles rippling as he twists his spine with a low click.
"I'll go grab your clothes from the laundry, and then I've gotta head into work okay?" Jimin snags your empty bowl off the counter and spins to rinse it in the sink quickly. "The team Hoseok organised for your apartment building will be waiting for me to take you home and debrief them."
He turns back to find your lips pouting again, though more ironically this time as you try to ignore the way the hairs on your arms are starting to raise at the mere thought of going back to the apartment. Somewhere that had once felt like a safe haven, now ruined by the revelation of just how exposed your quiet little life has become.
"C'mon, pouty. Let's get ready for the day." He teases, pout of retaliation on full force enough to pull a genuine smile from you as he drags you from the counter.
__________
The next few days passes by slower than any you can remember, and as the morning blends into evening and the moon rises high into the night in a blur of shifting stars and muddy clouds, you almost lose your concept of time passing.
You've not left your apartment since Jimin brought you home, stuck in your fortress as you await the outcome of the past few days, body constantly locked tense and on alert at the mere hint of a noise outside your apartment door. And everytime your phone chimes with an alert, you're stuck dreading the idea it could be more bad news.
It's not until mid morning on the fourth day that you finally crack, the walls closing in on you the more time you spend between them, and you call it quits at the barren sight of your fridge bouncing off the back of your aching eyes. The migraine you'd woken up with intensifies as you prepare yourself to leave the apartment, only to be stopped short by a sharply dressed man holding his hand out between you and the door that exits onto the street.
"I'm sorry Miss, but I am unable to let you leave." You blink up at him, vaguely recognizing him from the group you'd been introduced to as your team of protectors, and he starts to shift awkwardly from toe to toe as your gaze unintentionally turns scathing. But you can't exactly help it, stomach growling from hunger and a painfully sharp stabbing along the base of your skull without rest. "D-Detective Park's orders, Miss."
"Well can I at least go to the corner store so I can eat something today?" He glances back awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his fingers before finally dropping his blocking limb, and when you follow his gaze its to find yet another officer dressed quite casually behind the front desk. If you hadn't been clued in, you'd almost have thought him to be an unfamiliar member of the buildings' staff.
But his stiff posture and sharp gaze being concentrated on you gives him away easily, and by the way he seems to silently warn his partner with another sharp look and an almost imperceptible shake of his head, you can only imagine what Jimin must have used as an incentive for the two to stick to their task.
The man before you turns back around, meeting your tired look with a sheepish expression, and you need not stand there any longer to know you're not getting out of the building alone today.
Rightfully, you should be happy with the knowledge that the officers entrusted with your safety are taking their jobs seriously, but with your stomach grumbling and the thought of getting some good, oily takeout into your stomach from the restaurant just down the street, your acceptance for such a thing is dwindling by the second.
And so you dig your phone from your pocket, frowning at the low battery percentage flashing up at you as you dial, and you don't miss the almost fearful look the boy twists to give the other once more, ignoring them as the line rings.
It takes until almost the final ring for Jimin to answer, a few moments of white noise and muffled speaking before the click of a door shutting silences it and then Jimin's smooth voice is floating through the receiver.
"_____? Is everything okay?" He sounds worried, and you feel a twinge at the fact you're bothering him at work, but the burning need for freedom is hotter than the self disdain you're capable of feeling in the moment.
"I can't even leave my apartment building, Jimin. Are you serious?" You turn away from the officer in front of you to face the elevators you'd just come from, stepping a few paces as though you could get out of earshot in small area enclosing the three of you, and you all ignore the young boy that sometimes works the front desk when he passes by with a glance.
"_____–" Jimin starts with a sigh, a slap in the background that gives you the intense visual of him having thrown a folder down to pinch the bridge of his nose and you frown in response. "I told you what was happening, the perp could be anywhere–"
"So what I just get to sit and be miserable in my apartment while I wait for you to track him down? That could be weeks, Jimin!" He gives another sigh and you sniff, feeling the telltale moisture triggered by your frustration starting to tickle the back of your throat. "I just want to be able to at least live my life. Otherwise, all I can do is sit around and think about him... I don't want to think about him anymore, J'min."
"I know, swee–_____. I know. But I really think this is the safest option until we can organise something better–"
"I just want to go get some groceries, Jimin! Please? Just down the street, that's it!" You sniff again, just short of stomping your feet as you start to grow more flustered, cheeks burning as you speak lowly into the receiver.
"Don't cry, please." Jimin croaks, betraying his exhaustion, and it's muffled as though he's buried his face into his hands. "I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and this is the best way for me to ensure that. I can have one of the boys come and bring you something to eat until we can organise a shopping day."
"J'min, please?" You sound so small, and it only makes it harder for him to say–
"I'm sorry." The gentle beep is far too sharp in Jimin's ear with the way his head is starting to ache, and he stares at the 'Call: Ended' screen until it disappears and the display goes black.
You don't offer the officers in the lobby a second glance, beelining back for the elevator with your head tilted forward far enough to hide your burning cheeks and wet eyelashes from anyone nearby. The ding echoes extra loud as the doors open upon your request, and you bury yourself in the corner with a pitiful sniffle as you complain to yourself quietly, tone akin to that of a child being refused by it's mother to buy candy.
Pushing yourself off the wall with a grunt when the elevator gets back to your floor, you almost stumble over the threshold onto the carpeted hallway. And you only grow more flustered when on approaching your door, they key to your apartment slips out of your fingers and slides precariously close to the slight gap at the very bottom.
Choking on an alarmed gasp, you immediately drop down onto one knee to retrieve it, but as you go to straighten up, there is a metallic shriek at the end of the hall that makes you freeze in fear, eyes flickering up to see the exit door leading to the stairwell. But...for some reason, it almost looks like its...propped open.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up with the instant electricity that runs across your skin, and you nearly drop your key once more as your fingers start to tremble. Staring hard, you ignore the ache in the backs of your eyes as you catch the gap between the door and the wall widen only just enough to be noticeable while you're watching, as though someone had let the door swing shut too fast and was...checking to see if you'd noticed.
But the stairwell is dark compared to the bright hallway, only ever used by maintenance workers and on the rare occasion the elevator is unavailable, and even as you stay unblinking, you cannot discern whether it's the natural shadow of the room beyond the gap...or if that's the silhouette of a person trying very hard to not be seen.
Sweat breaks out across your temples and upper lip, muscles locking up as your fight or flight instincts scream at you to run, and just as the gap wavers again, and you feel the terror start to clog up your throat, your shoulder is grabbed by a large, warm hand.
"_____–ahh!" Taehyung himself yells in shock as you slap his hand away with a horrified shriek, knocking something large and dark out of his hand and distantly hearing it hit the wall next to Taehyung's own apartment door. Holding his reddening hand to his chest, he watches you throw yourself to the side and press your back tight to the wall. And there's a few tense moments of silence as the two of you merely stay frozen, carefully watching the other.
"S-sorry." You break through the tense atmosphere quietly, relaxing slowly against the wall as Taehyung eyes you carefully for a moment before gradually crouching down a few feet from you. And you don't blame his hesitance, positive he's waiting for you to lash out and slap him again, but you merely chew on your lower lip as he frowns down at you.
"Did I give you a fright?" At your nod, he wraps his arms around his knees carefully, fully squatting down in front of you now. "I'm sorry, I was worried something was wrong, you were all hunched over staring into the corner."
"I, uh," you glance back towards the stairwell exit doorway, finding the door as it is usually - closed and flush to the frame, and instantly think better than to admit your crazy sounding reality. "I dropped my key, was just trying to spot it on the floor and got, um, distracted."
Waving said item around in the air, you quickly push yourself back up onto your feet even as your legs shake a little more than you'd like from the fear, and the added pressure of being crouched so awkwardly for longer than you'd initially thought. Taehyung stands as you do, grunting a little as one of his knees clicks quietly back into place, and before you can ask what he'd been out here for, he retrieves his lost item from the floor a few feet away.
"I was just coming over to give you this back. The roof's officially fixed now, maintenance guy just left, no more mini indoor swimming pool!" In his hands is the bucket you'd lent him almost two weeks ago, still in perfect condition, and you hope he doesn't notice the way your hand shakes as you reach out to accept it, gaze lingering on the tightly shut door at the end of the hall.
“What a shame!” Distantly, you wonder if he notices how fake your smile and laughter is.
__________
Squinting, you watch for a few seconds through the peephole as Jimin looks down at his feet, running the fingers of his right hand through the tousled strands of hair falling over his forehead while the plastic of the bag of takeaway in his hand crinkles quietly.
"Hey." He greets you quietly when you open the door, and you mumble the same back to him as he shuffles closer to the doorframe, the bag sounding again as he fidgets with the handles in his palm. "I brought your favourite."
Jimin lifts the bag up to his waist with a lopsided smile as though you hadn't already noticed it in his hand, and you let the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you step back to make space for his entry. He beelines straight for the kitchen, and the sound of your door beeping shut is loud in the quiet that sits between the two of you. The sound of plates being set onto the counter is even louder when you pull them from the cupboard, and the two of you dish up the dinner he'd brought in silence.
The tv fills the quiet as the two of you sit and start to eat, you on the lounge with your legs tucked beneath you and a pillow over your thighs balancing your plate, while Jimin settles on the floor, using the glass coffee table while the necklace he wears tinkles against the edge every now and then.
It would be a lie to say that the lack of conversation isn't at least a little bit awkward, and you're finally finished hyping yourself up to say something, apologise to Jimin, just do anything to fix the painfully tense silence, when Jimin finally speaks again.
"I'm sorry I was so inconsiderate of your boundaries. I should know better than to think you'd be comfortable being locked away like this, that wasn't respectful of your independence." You're already looking at him when he turns to meet your eyes, and your lips press together to hide the embarrassing surprised gape of your mouth.
He twists further to fully face you, pushing his empty plate away, and you drop your gaze to the scraps of food left on your own plate, pushing them around slowly with your chopsticks. You can feel your cheeks heating with an embarrassed flush as your throat closes up on the reprimand you want to give him. It's not his fault, not at all.
"I know," You jump a little in your seat at the feeling of the back of his hand brushing up against the side of your knee, and the blush intensifies. "I know I have the tendency to take things like this a little too far. But it's because I couldn't bear it if something were to happen to you, when I could be there to stop it."
"J'min." You can feel the stress of the day, the week and the month amounting together as the back of your throat gets a little more tight, and the inner corners of your eyes start to feel a little more wet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I acted like such a child this morning."
"You didn't, _____–"
"Yes, I did. And I should know better than anyone that you're just looking out for me." Jimin immediately moves up onto the lounge as your tone gets a little thinner, and you don't stop him when he moves the plate off of your lap onto the coffee table, leaving the pillow in your lap for your fingers to dig into the fraying decorations around the edges. "I was, I was really rude. I'm r-really sorry."
The sting of your teeth splitting into the chapped skin of your lower lip is the only thing holding in the sobs as your embarrassment over your earlier petulance combines with the stress and loneliness of the past few days. The saltiness of tears mixes with the iron tang of blood on your tongue as they slowly track down your cheeks and over your lips, and your frustration surmounts at the fact that you're even crying, because you're stronger than this, truly, but–
"It's so hard." Jimin is close enough for the warmth of his body to radiate onto your skin, and when you tilt your chin down to hide your blotchy, wet face he leans in a little closer to keep his eyes on your pink nose. "This position you've been forced into, it really is. And I don't blame you in the slightest for getting frustrated at me. Hell, I would be frustrated too, you know that."
His fingertips are so very warm when they graze across your damp cheek in an attempt to brush your hair back behind your ear, and you can feel a couple strands stick to the moisture before his thumb swipes them back. His hand doesn't move from there though, the digit continuing it's path across your cheekbone before landing on your right ear, and your body feels the urge to shudder when he massages the lobe gently between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.
Your neck loosens up instantly, head dropping a little into his palm as he continues the motion, and you don't fail to notice the soft smile that breaks across his cheeks, an old, gentle, familiar warmth in his eyes that you can't help but start to lose yourself in. Distantly, you notice the tears slowing until they're little more than a dryness under your eyes, which grow heavier with each circle of his thumb on your ear.
"You've been so strong, but it's okay to be a little bit scared sometimes, baby."
Seconds tick by in silence, nothing but the sound of the two of you breathing the same air as you both sit as still as can be. Your bent legs had at some point dropped to the side to rest against the thickness of Jimin's thigh and you'd relaxed far enough into the offered warmth of his embrace that your side is now pressed against him.
Slowly, desperate not break the moment, Jimin lifts his free hand to cup the other side of your jaw, and you find it a little hard to breathe as his face gets even closer to yours, the light from the lamp beside you shining on the pretty curve of his cheekbone and illuminating the deep v of his cupids bow dimpling his upper lip.
You'd spent more nights than you could remember, imagining what it would be like to press your lips to his just one more time. And to come so close in this moment, with the still very possible chance that you still wouldn't get to feel the plush softness of them again, well; if you weren't crying before, you certainly might after–
Jimin's lips brush over yours softer than a rose petal could be brushed by the wind, and your fingers instantly clutch at whatever available fabric they can grip between the buttons lining his sternum. The hand he'd been gripping the soft flesh of your earlobe with drops and catches your fingers in his as they tremble against his chest, and for a few seconds his digits merely play with yours as he waits for you to react.
You surge up against him with a muffled gasp, lips overshooting and pressing to the corner of his mouth before he tilts his head and rights you with a gentle tug against your chin. He doesn't waver, strong and balanced even as you press yourself against him, and all at once the taste of lips is turning salty again as tears start to fall uncontrollably from your eyes to wet both your cheeks and his.
He doesn't let you rush the kiss, controlling the pace with firm, guiding presses of his lips, and you fall into speed with him as he slowly tilts you back against the couch with a gentle sigh through his nose that tickles your cheek. Jimin releases your hand that he'd braced against his chest to cup the other side of your jaw once again, and when your head meets the back of the lounge finally, he lets the warm digits stroke gently down the sides of your neck until his pinky fingers rest in the divots of your collarbones.
You can't breathe, lungs malfunctioning in the ecstasy that Jimin has so effortlessly injected directly into your bloodstream, and just as you're starting to go lightheaded, there's a low buzz that vibrates dully against the underside of your legs. And for a few silent moments you ignore it, sucking on the plump flesh of Jimin's lower lip and feeling the way he instantly goes to chase your own with his teeth out of habit.
But then his hand drops to his side and jerks against his hip until the vibrating device is free of the fabric of his slacks, and he barely glances at the screen as he pulls his lips from yours with a quiet groan, forehead landing on yours gently.
You're almost embarrassed to note how heavy you're breathing, let alone how tightly your leg had slipped up around Jimin's hip in the few seconds you'd been tangled together, and when you turn your head to the side so as not to breath directly against the receiver, he presses his nose into the soft fleshy part of your cheek.
"Park, speaking." He stops breathing to swallow, holding in the panting breath he wants to take but unable to hide the powerful hammering of his heart where its pressed to yours. You can hear the faintest of conversation on the other end of the line, letting Jimin nuzzle his nose against your cheek while your lashes flutter, and he hums every now and then in agreement or to show he's listening to the person on the line. "Okay, yes. I'll be in soon."
The disappointment must be clear on your face as he hangs up the phone and sits back in his original seat once more, wide smile spreading across his face as he slips the device back in his pocket and stands.
"I've been summoned, sweetheart." He bends just far enough to catch your hand in his, tugging on the limb until you put your shaky legs beneath you and push yourself up to standing just to be close to him once again. Jimin holds your hand all the way up until he reaches the door, thumb running back and forth across your knuckles gently, and you feel your stomach flutter like butterfly wings trapped in a glass jar even as your heart aches to see him leave again so suddenly.
"I'll...I'll see you, tomorrow?" He turns to face you again, car keys tinkling in his hand as he pulls them from his pocket, and he nods gently with another smile. A few seconds pass between you, your hands still in his but the rest of your body stiff with insecurity on how to approach this situation. But Jimin beats you to the punch, leaning down and pressing his lips ever so softly against the corner of your mouth for just long enough to have you melt against him, and stumble when he finally pulls back.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he confirms, stroking from your hand up your arm and then back down again until he can tickle his fingers against the palm of your hand one last time before turning and unlocking the door. "Sleep well, sweetheart."
"I will." You call to him as he begins making his way down the hall, unable to help yourself as you lean against the doorframe in order to watch his departure. And not even the bright grin he gives you as he turns around in the elevator is enough to deter you, only the sight of the metal doors reflecting with a hazy blur finally sending you back into your apartment with a gentle sigh.
__________
The sound of crinkling plastic bags is loud when you duck your head through the back door of Jimin's car, reaching as far as you can to retrieve the groceries pushed further across the seat with a groan. But you don't get very far before the door on the other side is clicking open, the view of Jimin's shiny belt buckle burning bright in front of your eyes before he leans down himself and starts to group a bunch of bags on his hands.
He doesn't seem to notice the way your cheeks instantly began to burn, only glancing up at you when you stop moving with a curious gaze, and you quickly move to grab the rest of your things and step back out of the car before he catches on. It's a little hard to close the door with your hand, given how many bag handles you've managed to squeeze into your grip, but within seconds Jimin is by your side, pushing the door shut with his free hand before quickly snagging a few bags from yours despite your quiet refusal.
The mood during your quiet afternoon of shopping had been...good. Neither of you had mentioned the kiss last night, nor had Jimin instigated a second embrace between the two of you, and it had come to the point of you wondering whether it was ever going to be acknowledged.
When thinking back on it last night after he'd left, you could only truly hope that such a thing would not impact his interactions with you negatively, unable to bear the idea that he could draw back from you at such a point within which you needed his companionship and support more than ever. But as one could only expect Jimin sensed your insecurity upon arriving at your apartment that morning faster than you might've hoped, and seemed to silently reassure you with a gentle touch to your arm when helping you into his car.
And even now he's more than happy to urge you closer to his side when another tenant steps on behind the two of you in the elevator, stepping forward to press the door close button and effectively blocking the space between you and the young man with effortless ease. It's almost awkwardly silent in the metal box, the whirring of the machinery operating the contraption broken apart only by the light crinkling of the bags in your hands and the gentle tap of a foot every now and then.
You unintentionally meet the gaze of the young stranger a few times, catching his eyes as he periodically lifts his eyes from his shoes to flit between Jimin and yourself. There's something about him, the almost bright shine of his eyes contrasting strangely with his hard set jaw, and for a few beats he returns your stare, eyes dark and almost...empty, when he glances at the back of Jimin’s head.
And you know his face, you could swear it. You feel as though you've seen him somewhere before, only...younger. Maybe? His name flickers like a dying torch in your mind, sat right on the tip of your tongue as you forget general decency and hold his stare for what is quickly growing longer than what most would deem appropriate. You could swear you know it, something familiar, something easy to remember, something that quickly starts to form on your tongue as–
"J–"
Ding!
The elevator doors open, and the stranger drops your eyes to quickly rush out into the open hallway, making a beeline for the end as you blink the dryness from your eyes and watch as his retreating back is slowly covered by the silver metal of the doors once more, and you're broken from the moment completely by Jimin's arm gently nudging your own.
"You okay?" He doesn't seem to notice the way you've followed the boy with your eyes so intently, only having his attention caught by the stuttered noise you'd made as he leans over to close the doors again, and you nod distractedly. The thought from before is gone, mind empty once more without the visual of his face to look upon for familiarity, and you feel almost numb once again as the doors open on your floor and Jimin regathers the bags he'd set down and lifts them with a small grunt.
The two of you file out of the elevator in silence, footfalls echoing off the walls as you approach your apartment, and Jimin lags behind you in order to leave you space to unlock the door, and you struggle for a few moments to balance the bags in one hand. You're about to set them down with a cuss of frustration when the door of the apartment beside yours with a chime and Taehyung steps out.
You don't exactly know why you pause, perhaps just the habit of greeting him each time you pass, but you inadvertently wait for him to turn and finally notice you before you speak.
"Hey, Tae." A wide smile automatically spreads across his lips, and he steps closer to you quickly and moves to pull the shopping bags out of your hands. You fluster for a moment, holding onto the handles tightly before conceding and letting him hold them, and for a few seconds you stand there blankly before remembering yourself and turning to look back at Jimin as your hand fishes the key card out of your purse.
Dark. His eyes are glaring daggers into Taehyung even as the other boy fails to notice him right away, and the movement of your head pulls his attention just in time as Taehyung finally glances up and instantly stiffens. "Hey, how are yo–Oh."
"Hello." Jimin thankfully relaxes his face into a more neutral expression, but you know him too well to not catch the tick of his jaw and the strain in his neck as he automatically stretches his shoulders out and straightens his spine in an attempt to make himself seem bigger.
"Hi." Taehyung is no better, lifting his chin and looking down his nose to emphasise how much taller he is than Jimin. And though it's only a few inches, you can see the way Jimin's nostrils flare in retaliation, eyes flashing, and you look between the two for a few silent moments with your hand hovering in mid air.
"Uh..." The two take absolutely no notice of your head turning back and forth to look between them and you finally end up swiping your key card with a sigh, letting the chime of your security system break the tension. One last glance back as you cross the threshold into your apartment at the two has you watching the standoff as they vie for the position of last to enter the apartment, and you roll your eyes as neither of them move an inch.
Something seems to finally break the air, perhaps the silent, worried frustration rolling off you in waves, and Taehyung turns to return your gaze as he comes to his senses and steps into your apartment. Jimin watches him carefully as he crosses the room and sets your groceries onto the kitchen island, following him inside a few seconds later with his gaze hard and calculating.
"So..." You can't seem to think of anything to say, standing stiffly at your kitchen counter as Taehyung and Jimin continue to glance at each other in tandem, and after watching them awkwardly, you grasp at frayed strings in an attempt to break the heavy mood settling over your apartment.
You've dealt with enough drama lately, and you'd really rather not have this add onto your ever growing mountain of stress.
"What are you getting up to today?" Taehyung turns to look at you, blinking slowly as he doesn't seem to fully realise you're talking to him, before jerking slightly and stammering for a response.
"Uh, just about to head off to work, actually." You then realise the uniform shirt under his dark suede jacket, and as you nod with a quiet 'ah' of realisation, his eyes flicker between you and Jimin once more. "What have...you guys been up to. You're not at work like normal?"
"Oh, I've...had a few days off, ha. Just been...relaxing, and stuff." Taehyung's eyebrows almost disappear under the hair covering his forehead, and you barely seem to hide your cringe as he chuckles in surprise.
"You've got to be one of the most consistently working people I've ever met. Never heard of you taking time off work before." He chances a glance at Jimin, and you follow him to see Jimin still standing stoic at the end of the breakfast bar, only looking back at your neighbour when he speaks again. "Is everything...okay? I know sometimes you've mentioned things getting a bit too rough, has that happened again? Are you having those nightmares again?"
"Oh, I–" You look back at Jimin in shock at Taehyung's words, surprised at the fact he'd remembered something you'd only have mentioned in passing, and you chew on your lower lip as Jimin's chin drops to have him aggressively shoot laser beams at the bag in front of him, jaw clenched. "No. No, I've been okay."
"Are you sure? You've been really quiet the past few days, and don't think I don't notice the bags under your eyes. You really do look tired, _____." He frowns, head tilting to the side as he leans slightly towards you over the breakfast bar, and though he's a good almost two metres away, it's habit that has you leaning away a little. "Does the fact you're not going to work have anything to do with the undercover police your friend here has downstairs?"
Your eyes almost bulge out of your head. "Taehyung–"
"That's a matter well out of your jurisdiction." Jimin's tone almost has shivers running up your spine. It's a bass monotone that slides over your skin like thorns on a flowerless rose bush, prickling at every pore until your flesh is crawling with invisible bugs, regardless of the fact you're not technically on the receiving end. "I can assure you, this matter is of no importance to the likes of you."
Taehyung's own eyes flare with a spark that you've never seen before, and to watch as the usually brightly smiling boy's gaze turns into that akin of a snake preparing to strike, your body starts to grow cold.
"I live in this building too." He looks down his nose at Jimin again, and you can see Jimin's fist ball up under the cover of the counter where Taehyung cannot see. "I don't think it is up to you to decide what is, and what is not my business in regards to my home, and my friend."
"I–" The two boys blatantly ignore you, and you step forward slightly.
"I have a badge in my pocket that I'm fairly sure gives me every right to deem what is and isn't your business in regards to events that involve law enforcement." Jimin's had shifts to touch said pocket gently, and it's then you notice the holster on his hip and the shining handcuffs tucked in beside his firearm. "And if you forget that I'm happy to remind you."
"Oh, I don't doubt that." Your eyes flicker back to watch Taehyung as he leans back again, crossing his arms and pushing his shoulders back to emphasise how broad he is, and for a few short moments you half expect the two men to rip off their shirts and start wrestling like a pair of gorillas. "I've heard enough about you to know how important your badge is–"
"Okay!" You finally crack, no longer comfortable being a bystander in your own kitchen as the two become more intent on working the other up, and then they finally turn to look at you. Their eyes are still echoing the thunderous moods lying within, and you feel unsteady on your feet as you attempt to find a common ground in order to alleviate the situation. Or rather, a common ground between the two men who seem to be waiting for your decision on who should stay and who should go.
Jimin watches you carefully, eyes flickering between you and the other male as the heat within his eyes starts to diminish and an almost worried, apologetic expression starts to form on his face. And though you know there is every reason to be just as frustrated at his attitude as you are at Taehyungs, the idea of watching him walk out of your apartment has you aching in your chest. "I think it's time I unpack this food and Tae...I'd hate for you to be late to work, I think you should...go."
He blinks at you for a few seconds, eyes growing cold as he almost waits for you to turn and address the male opposite him, but at the following silence he seems to understand Jimin is the one you're inviting to stay, and his crooked smile turns bittersweet.
"You're right, I should go." Your teeth find your bottom lip as he trades one ore glare with Jimin before quickly turning on his heel and marching towards your door faster than you can catch up with, and you find you almost have to jog to beat the door clicking shut again as he slips through it smoothly.
"H-Have a good night at work-–oh!" You call to him as you catch the door and peek out of the gap, almost jerking back with a gasp as you come face to face with him quite suddenly. He's come to a short stop just outside the threshold of your apartment, and you're only centimetres from having run into him.
Silently, he turns and looks down at you, eyes wistful as he glances back behind you into your apartment and then back again, and the tension that lingers cold in the air is a clear sign Jimin is unmoving, watching the two of you very closely. Wordlessly, Taehyung lifts a hand into the air, letting it hover between you as he seems to consider very carefully his own actions, before dropping it back to his side with a sigh, and you feel your brows draw together in a frown, heart strings tugging at the sadness in his eyes.
You never meant for this to happen, never wanted to be put into this situation where you'd have to choose between them s irrevocably. But the world has a very cruel way of bringing you back down to earth right when you think you're getting lucky.
"See you around, _____." He takes a step, just out of Jimin's line of sight, but keeps his eyes on you for another painful moment. But then he's turning again, and before you know it he's down the hall and disappearing into the elevator, gone in mere seconds.
When you finally close the door and turn back to face Jimin, he's already rustling amongst the various bags covering the counter, pulling the items free and placing them neatly on the bench for you to sort and put away, and you almost feel numb as you cross the space between you and start to gather the cold foods into your hands. A few minutes pass this way, you sorting the foodstuffs between the fridge and the pantry, walking back and forth the space as Jimin finishes emptying bags, and when he's finally done he leans against the counter with a sigh and turns to watch you.
"I'm sorry." You blink at him in surprise, almost dropping the packet of sugar in your hands as you watch him frown down at his feet before pushing off the counter to approach you. "That was unnecessary and...immature. There was no reason to treat your friend that way."
"Jimin..." You sigh, lifting the packet up and putting it on one of the higher shelves before letting the pantry door close with a muted thud. "It doesn't matter now. Besides..." you turn to him, crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back against the wood, "you didn't do it on your own."
He's quiet for a few moments, watching you as you frown a little harder with your eyes on the front door before you finally look at him. And when he speaks again his tone is a lot lower, an unspoken emotion that you can't quite pick colouring it in a way that makes him sounds almost a little sad. "He likes you."
"Does he?" There's no real question in your voice, far closer to a statement, and it makes Jimin wince.
"It's selfish of me to act upon jealousy that I have no right to exercise." You feel a twinge of heartache at his words, unsure of what exactly he's trying to imply, and you can feel it reflected in your expression. "He could make you happy."
"Jimin–" You're reaching out to him, hand catching his as you step into his space, chest tight with the need to hold him, reassure him and keep him close.
But you don't get close enough before he jerks back and pulls away from you, hand torn from yours as he turns to seek the phone on the counter that has started to ring obnoxiously loud, and he answers the call with a few taps on the screen, background noise filling the air as he switches it to loudspeaker.
"This is Park."
"Jimin." You've come to recognise the sound of Detective Jung's voice easily, and the breathless way he calls his name instantly has you on edge. "There's been another find. Two this time, fucked up real bad compared to the others. But the sick fuck seems to be getting sloppy, there's a bit more cctv in this building and the surrounds. I'm organising that to be reviewed for any clues now."
"You're on loudspeaker. Where?" Jimin doesn't look at you as you instantly draw closer, furrowed eyes set on his phone as he picks up the device and awaits his partners information, but he does lift on hand to place on your arm, keeping you at a distance as well as maintaining gentle contact in order to keep you calm.
"Three blocks out." Three blocks? From where? Your blood runs cold through your veins, and you stiffen instantly.
You open your mouth to question him, but Jimin beats you to the punch, fingers twitching on your arm as he fights the urge to pull you closer at your physical shudder of fear.
"You're on scene?" His jaw ticks as he pats his pockets, checking his belongings, and you start to grow nervous at the realisation he's preparing to leave you already upon his partners affirmation. "I can be there in five."
"That's not all." Your eyes are wide as you set them back on the phone, and Jimin freezes in place as he awaits the next few words just as tensely as you. "He's left us a message this time. Real loud and clear."
"What is it?" You speak up this time, and it takes Hoseok a few seconds to reply, more than likely unsure if he should respond to you, but when Jimin calls his name as consent for him to tell you, he gives a sigh that comes through painfully loud in the speaker.
"Blood. On the walls. Says..." He pauses, a rustle and a few footsteps breaking the silence as he seems to move about before coming to a pause. "Says, you're next, 'Min. He wants you to leave her alone, or he'll 'take matters into his own hands'."
"Not if I take them into my own first." Jimin quickly turns furious, eyes alight with it when he sets them on you, and within seconds he's ripped the phone off the counter and pulled it up to his ear. "See you in five."
"J'min–" He hangs up the call and quickly pulls you close, no sign of his earlier guilt over his selfishness as he takes a hold of your face and presses his lips tightly to yours.
You don't realise how quickly you're breathing, gasping in panic as the familiar terror starts to set in again, but your lungs quickly start to burn as he takes away your source of air with a searing kiss. He doesn't move his lips, doesn't try to deepen it nor does he let you do so. Jimin merely holds his plush lips to yours until you're both red in the cheeks and gasping for air when he pulls away, and he rests his forehead against yours while you clutch at his shoulders to keep him close.
"Nothing he will ever do or say will keep me away from you, do you understand me?" You're blubbering, eyes starting to bud with moisture and throat thick with emotion as you let your eyes fall closed. "I don't care what length's he goes to. He's never going to keep you away from me, baby."
"You're gonna g-get hurt, J'min." You're sagging against him, body weight pulling him down as you try to keep him close just a little longer, but as you grow a little too weak in the knees, he reaches down and hooks an arm under your legs, pulling you up and into his arms before crossing the room and setting you down on the lounge gently. "P-Please, I don't–I can't let you get hurt because of me."
"Don't you dare ask that of me." He cups your face with both hands as you try to turn and bury your wet cheeks into the pillow beside you, and you blink up at him slowly, vision still blurry with tears regardless of how much are falling from your chin. "Don't you dare."
It's your forehead his lips find this time, brushing against the skin before pressing once, twice, three times, and then he rests his head onto yours and holds you tight as you shake against him.
"I have to go." The pain is clear in his eyes as your sobs grow even louder, echoing in the silence of your apartment without the tv or pillow to muffle it, but you know that he's right. And so you pull yourself together a little, dialling your cries down into sniffles as he caresses your cheeks one last time before standing from the couch and leaning down one last time to press a kiss to the crown of your head. "I'll come back in a few hours okay? I'll come back to you baby, it'll all be okay."
At your nod, he finally makes his way from your apartment, sadness in his gaze as he looks over your puffy eyes and pink cheeks one last time before disappearing through the door with the chime of the security system activating. And you find yourself so numb with the fear that you could truly never see him again, that you're unable to move from the spot you've curled up in, and within the hour your fear has drained you of all energy, and your eyes grow too heavy to keep open as the sun quickly sets.
You awaken with a jerk however, into the pitch black darkness of your apartment. The blinds had still been closed that afternoon, stopping the beaming bright afternoon sun, and leaving your living room darker than midnight as the lights of the city were completely blocked out. It takes you a few seconds to realise what it was that had ripped you from sleep, the silence keeping you confused as you numbly wonder if you'd been having a nightmare, but then you hear it again, the chime of your front door as the wood clicks closed, and your security system re-activates.
Warm grows in your chest at Jimin's return, and you stretch out your legs from where they'd been tucked up close to your body as you await the call of your name or perhaps the familiar clicking of his shoes as he crosses your entryway to return to where he'd left you.
But like the night shadows drown the sun's light, the warmth quickly freezes over into chilling terror as a dark silhouette moves across the room silently, not a sound following his gentle footsteps as he passes you between you and the only light in the room. The blue glow of the charger dock sitting on the table against the far wall casting an eerie glow over his form, and just as terrifyingly outlining the fact that his height is a good head taller, and his shoulders are a decent few inches wider than they should be.
And as he makes his way far to confidently towards the hallway leading to your room, and that eerie blue light glints off a large silver shape in his hand, you come to the tearful conclusion that you're right.
Jimin did not just enter your apartment.
And you have no idea who did.
#jiimin fanfiction#jimin smut#jimin fic#jimin imagine#bts fanfiction#bts smut#bts fic#bts imagine#sorry it was a little late lol it wouldn't load the image properly TT#let me know what you'd think!!#<3#thank you for being so patient#:))))
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The Early Leaf’s a Flower: 6/11
In different realms, Emma and Killian still think of the other as they search for something to fill in the hole in their hearts.
Yes, Emma and Killian are still separated in this chapter. Before you yell at me, though, this chapter also shows how often they still think of one another. Bear with me, I swear, all of this will make sense later, and I promise a great (steamy) payoff ;)
This chapter also introduces more of our favorite Once characters both in Neverland and the Land Without Magic. Emma does end up in Storybrooke, but I will go ahead and make something abundantly clear: it is an ordinary (albeit quirky) small town in this story. Some of the scenes in the Neverland section may sound familiar to some of you. I have had head canons for ages about Killian’s backstory with the fairies and with Wendy which I explored previously in fics that I have since deleted. They have been resurrected here, which I love because they are now fully fleshed out and in my own au! Anyways, I hope you enjoy my au versions of these characters.
Once again, massive thanks to the mods in the @captainswanbigbang fo organizing the CSRT especially @optomisticgirl who helped me handle self-doubt and writer’s block. B also was invaluable as a beta and in Discord chats as I tried to figure out how magic would work in this au. My other beta, @shippingtheswann whipped this chapter into shape, pointing out sooo many plot holes. Girl, where would I be without you?
Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …
Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape
Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian
Words: Almost 6k in this chapter
** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3
Emma: Age 19
The taxi drives off behind her, and Emma startles, grasping the straps of her meager duffel bag tighter as she looks up at the quaint inn before her. The small wooden sign out front swings in the breeze: Granny’s Inn. Behind it, facing the opposite street, is Granny’s diner. The two are attached by a stairwell. Convenient, since Emma will be working there.
She hoists her bag with a deep sigh as she walks up the stone steps leading to the inn. In her jacket pocket is the recommendation letter from her parole officer. She doesn’t think she’ll need it, but she has it at hand just in case.
A bell rings over the door when she enters, and an elderly woman with white hair and bifocals perched on her nose bustles out. With a pang, Emma thinks of Martha so long ago, though this woman has a stern look on her face, almost a scowl, that Martha never would have borne upon her countenance.
“Need a room?” the woman asks, all business.
“Um,” Emma hesitates, fishing the letter out of her pocket. It’s crumpled from the cab ride, and she feels a bit foolish as she holds it out like it’s proof or something. “I’m Emma Swan.”
“Oh!” the woman cries out, flinging both hands in the air as she bustles around the check-in desk. “My apologies. I was expecting you this evening.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think -”
“No trouble at all.” She glances at the paper in Emma’s hand. “I don’t need that, I’d know you from Marco’s description.”
The woman heads for the stairs, gesturing for Emma to follow. The inn is warm and homey, with vintage wallpaper and wall sconces illuminating the stairs. She follows the woman to the second floor and down the hall to room 210.
“This has a view of Main Street,” she tells Emma as she pulls an old fashioned key from her apron pocket and inserts it in the lock. “It’s a suite with a little sitting area and kitchenette, though you’re welcome to take your meals in the diner. On the house, of course.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh, but I couldn’t. It’s your business.”
Granny waves her off. “I know a waitress’s salary isn’t much. How are you ever to get back on your feet if you have to spend every dime just to live? Besides, it was all in the agreement I sent you.”
Emma just nods, still nervously clutching her duffel. She doesn’t want to tell her that she didn’t actually read it. All the fine print and the legal jargon had made her head spin. Marco had said it was the best deal for a girl like her, and how many options did she have, anyway?
“Storybrooke is a nice little town,” Granny says as she pulls the curtains open to let in more light. “The last girl I helped, Ashley, ended up staying. She’s even engaged to a nice young man who works at the cannery.”
Granny comes closer, studying Emma’s face carefully. “Ashley was pregnant when she came. Marco told me you just gave up a baby. I want you to know, I’ve been there. Back in my day, they just shipped me off to a convent and ripped my little boy from my arms. I didn’t even have a say.”
Emma glances away nervously.
“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve said my piece, and I won’t bring it up again. Just know this is a safe place, and I’ve got your back. And I don’t answer to anything but Granny, okay?”
Before Emma can say anything else, the woman is gone. Emma sinks down on the antique sofa situated in front of the fireplace. She feels out of place, out of sorts. Granny seems nice, and it’s clear she means well, but Emma isn’t staying here. Once she’s saved up enough money, she’s getting as far away from Maine as she possibly can.
Tallahassee still sounds nice.
**************************************
Emma stands in front of the large, mahogany piece of furniture, her dry toothbrush dangling from her lips. It doesn’t look like the one from when she was ten and sixteen: the carvings are far more ornate, and the trim is all wrong, yet her fingers itch to open it and her heart rate picks up just a bit. She’s just about to reach for the little pewter knob when a knock sounds on the door. Emma opens it to find Granny standing there with towels in her arms.
“Thought you might need these tonight,” she says, bustling in without an invitation. “You’re not a guest but an employee, so washing these is your responsibility. The laundry is in the basement. Do you know how to do laundry?”
Emma nods.
“Good. Ashley turned her sheets pink.” Granny says this matter of factly, and Emma stifles a laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you be.”
“Um,” Emma gathers the courage to ask, “this wardrobe . . . “
“Wardrobe?” Granny asks, brow creased in confusion. She sees what Emma is gesturing at, and nods. “Oh, that. It’s not a wardrobe, it’s an entertainment center. Just fits the decor better. There’s a tv behind those doors. A small one, and it’s just the basic cable with fifteen channels or so. Better than nothing, though, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, goodnight.”
Emma’s shoulders fall after Granny leaves. An entertainment center. Nevertheless, she holds her breath when she flings it open.
Nothing but a twenty inch television set, just like Granny had said. It seems even smaller in the large cabinet, and it sits atop a cable box. Emma sighs and closes the doors. What had she expected, anyway?
***************************************
Emma’s feet are sore as she sags against the prep sink and removes her apron. Ruby sees her and laughs in camaraderie.
“The first day is always the toughest,” she encourages.
“I hope so,” Emma groans. She pulls a wad of bills out of her apron pocket and thumbs through it. “I got good tips, though.”
Ruby smiles. “The breakfast crowd is always generous. Lunch? Not so much. Too much take out.”
Emma shoves the cash into the pocket of her jeans. There’s no uniform here, just the matching retro aprons with the pink frilly trim. Ruby is dressed vastly different from Emma in a tiny skirt and a midriff top. Emma wonders if this got the brunette more tips. Not that Emma is going that route, no matter how much she wants to get to Tallahassee.
“Speaking of lunch,” Emma says, “I’m starving.”
“Take a seat out there, and I’ll bring you something.”
“Grilled cheese and onion rings with a Coke?”
Ruby winks. “Coming right up!”
Emma heads for one of the smaller, two seater booths in the back near the jukebox, not wanting to take up room needed for real customers. She still feels a bit guilty taking food from Granny’s business. Of course, Ruby is Granny’s actual granddaughter, and she didn’t bat an eye at Emma’s “order.” She’ll just have to try and get used to generosity, she supposes.
Emma’s surprised when Ruby comes out almost immediately, but it isn’t her lunch on the waitress’s tray. With a flourish, she sets a mug of hot cocoa down in front of Emma. It’s even topped with Emma’s favorite: whipped cream and cinnamon.
“From a secret admirer,” Ruby chuckles with a roll of her eyes.
Emma frowns down at the beverage, and then her eyes flash as the cop she’d served at the bar earlier walks over. She’d recommended the whipped cream and cinnamon, telling him it was her personal favorite. The pervert! He stops at her booth and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, she lifts the mug and flings the cocoa right at him. It wets the front of his dress blues and drips from the badge at his hip. He glances down in shock at the front of him then back up at her.
“You do know I’m nineteen, right?” she snaps. “I may not have the most spotless past, but I’m not an easy score.”
The cop calmly grabs some napkins and pats at the stain on his shirt. “I agree one hundred percent,” he says, focusing on his shirt and not her. “I’m a thirty-two year old man. However, that creep Walsh Oaken over there is thirty-six and likes to sniff around Granny’s girls. I wanted to warn you.”
Emma’s brow furrows in confusion as she studies the cop, then looks over his shoulder at a skinny man who’s also perched on a stool at the bar. He winks at her, and Emma’s face turns red.
“Uh, you mean that guy at the bar? The one who’s been sitting two stools down from you since you came in?” Emma attempts a wry grin at the cop.
He chuckles, and Emma thinks that his eyes look kind, though also sad. The creep Walsh obviously overheard her conversation with the cop, and she suddenly wants to crawl under the table.
“Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke,” he tells her, extending his hand.
“Oh God,” Emma groans, “the sheriff?”
He laughs again. “It’s okay. I admire your spunk. Guys like Walsh obviously have no hope of taking advantage of you.”
“Ew,” Emma says, her nose wrinkling, “he’s gross and old.”
“I’ll overlook the old comment,” he tells her, “since he and I are too old for you.”
“Hello, Graham,” Ruby purrs as she sidles up with Emma’s plate of food. The sheriff’s eyes light up, and Emma is surprised when Ruby, over the top flirt, actually blushes.
“Hello, Ruby.” He replies, and Emma almost laughs at the way the man’s voice hikes up an octave. He clears his throat nervously, then says, “Well, duty calls, ladies. I’ll see you tonight, Ruby?”
“You know it,” the brunette tells him with a wink.
Ruby watches him go, and the sheriff even glances back in the doorway. Emma takes in the exchange with growing humor. When Ruby turns back around, Emma arches both brows at her.
“What?”
“You and the sheriff?”
“Shhh,” Ruby admonishes, waving at Emma, “not so loud, my Granny doesn’t know about us yet.”
“Why would she care? He seems like a nice guy. And you’re old enough for him.” Now that she knows he isn’t a pervert, Emma can acknowledge the man is attractive. She has eyes, after all.
Ruby shrugs. “Well, he lives here in the inn. Granny likes that he does, says he makes her feel safe, especially with the girls she takes in. If she found out I was sleeping with him . . . “
“Oh come on, Ruby, Granny seems more understanding than that.”
“Maybe,” Ruby gives Emma a sly grin, “but there’s also something thrilling about sneaking around.”
Emma rolls her eyes.
Ruby waggles her eyebrows. “Enjoy your lunch.”
*******************************************
The envelope is fat with bills and Emma smiles at the heft of it before she slips it beneath the panties in her underwear drawer. Not the most original of hiding places, but it works. Granny offered to take her to Storybrooke Savings & Loan to help her open an account, but Emma had declined. It’s too permanent, for one, like making a commitment to this quirky little town. But Emma also knows that plastic can be traced, and she has no desire to be found.
Or does she?
The pop and boom of fireworks shatters the silence of her room, and it's followed by a chorus of oohs from the families gathered below in the streets of Storybrooke. Emma merely crosses the room to draw her drapes closed before plopping down on her bed and turning on the tv. Fourth of July celebrations are playing on almost every station, but the last thing she wants to look at are families in the crowds with wide eyed children balanced on their hips. She could walk downstairs and out the door for that.
After she flips through the main four stations and PBS, she finally finds movies instead of fireworks. She’s not surprised by her options: Independence Day (naturally), Top Gun (of course), and a western she’s never heard of before. What’s more American than a western, right?
She settles for Top Gun, though she’s seen it so many times she can quote it by heart, wriggling beneath the covers and propping the pillows behind her head. Ruby had ragged her about living like an old woman, Granny had given her a reprimanding glare over her bifocals, and Graham had gently asked why she insisted on hiding. She supposes he’s right - she is hiding, but it’s for the best. This is merely a stop on her journey, and it’s best for everyone if she doesn’t get too attached.
She may live like an old lady, she won’t deny it, but Emma is still only nineteen years old. Going to sleep when even toddlers are gazing in wonder at fireworks is something Emma finds physically impossible, and by the time the smoke fades from the harbor, she’s antsy and slightly claustrophobic. She crosses to the window and sees the crowd slowly dispersing but not in any hurry to get home. She lets the curtain fall back into place and plops back down to watch Maverick and Goose for a bit longer. Once the credits roll, Main Street is finally empty, the few remaining revelers having headed down to the Rabbit Hole for drinks. Emma grabs a light sweater that’s draped over her desk chair and heads quietly downstairs.
This isn’t the first time she’s made her way through the quiet streets and headed to the docks. It’s one of the things she’ll miss when she leaves because Neal had been wrong. Emma looked it up - Tallahassee isn’t on the coast of Florida. The nearest beach will be over an hour’s drive away.
Emma sighs as she reaches the boardwalk, wrapping her sweater tighter around herself as a cool breeze sweeps across the water. She leans against the railing, looking out at the barges from which they’d shot off the fireworks. She can hear faint shouts from the crew as they clean up from the festivities. She glances over to her left and sees a sailing ship bobbing in the water where it’s tied to the dock. She thinks of a boy from years ago with sea-chapped lips, messy hair that smelled faintly of salt water, and bright blue eyes.
Three years ago, that’s when she saw that boy last. Has he changed as much as she has? Emma crosses her arms upon the wood railing and bends over to rest her chin atop them. As she often does when she comes here, she thinks of the first boy she really kissed and wonders if he’s still sailing the ocean. Maybe he’s a lieutenant now, like he had hoped. Maybe he has a nice, sweet girl who waits for him at the end of each voyage.
Emma isn’t sure why she entertains these fantasies of a boy she knew so briefly. Perhaps because it’s better than other places her thoughts could wander.
Only when her eyelids begin to droop and goosebumps rise on her arms does she leave the docks. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a penny. She holds the copper to her lips and whispers “Tallahassee.” Why she needs to get there so badly, she can’t even say. Nevertheless, she says it like a promise before tossing the penny into the waves.
Killian: Age 19
“Bloody fairies,” Killian mutters as he makes his way deeper into the thick jungle. Tiger Lily and Tink just had to bring up Milah and the need to avenge her death.
He stops at another thick tree truck; the only ones on the island that grow so large and tall. As the fairies had instructed, he slashes his hook across the smooth bark. He leans close on bated breath, and within minutes he has his answer: thick, black viscous liquid seeps from the tree. Hook retrieves a piece of parchment and a stub of charcoal from his duster pocket and makes a mark. So far, he’s counted two dozen dead pixie dust trees like this one and only half a dozen that are still producing.
Half an hour later, sweat is trickling down his back as he hacks his way through the dense bush. Suddenly, Killian spins, his hook at the ready as someone or something comes crashing through the jungle foliage to his right. He takes cover behind another thick pixie dust tree and waits. Pan’s crew are breaking in a new lost boy, most likely. Killian is shocked when it’s a girl, not a boy, who stumbles into the small clearing near his hiding place. Her blonde curls are a matted mess filled with bits of leaves and bracken, and her white gown is tattered and stained. As she scrambles to her feet, the moonlight hits her face, and Killian can make out the sheen of tears. Her blonde hair reminds him of Emma so long ago, and he can scarcely breathe for a moment. Then he blinks, his eyes clear, and he obviously sees that this girl’s hair is darker than Emma’s was.
Killian is so distracted by this strange turn of events, he doesn’t even hear the lost boys coming. They have the girl surrounded before Killian can get a bearing on the situation. The girl spins in a circle, frantically searching for an opening of escape, chest heaving in panic.
Félix stalks towards her, smacking his club repeatedly into his open palm. A phantom pain throbs where Killian’s hand used to be as the urge to pummel Félix with both fists surges through him.
“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy.”
“Please,” the girl begs, “just leave me alone.”
What happens next is a blur of white hot rage. The boys advance, Wendy is on the ground screaming, and Killian is suddenly in their midst, flinging lost boys right and left. Félix has Wendy on the ground by the throat, and Killian turns on him next.
“Run!” Killian yells, but Wendy simply stares at him with wide eyes, trembling as she curls herself into a ball. An image of a nine year old boy, cowering behind the barrels in a ship’s hold, swim up in Killian’s memory.
Félix stalks towards him, the rest of the lost boys regrouping at his back. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think, Captain?”
That’s all it takes to send Killian over the edge. He swings with his hook, slicing down the side of Félix’s face. The young teen howls in pain, and stumbles backwards, blood gushing from his wound. The other lost boys falter as Félix stumbles to the ground, then turn and flee. Wendy has backed herself against a tree, still cowering in fear. Growling in frustration, Killian hauls her to her feet and commands her to run. When she makes no move to obey, he plunges into the jungle, hauling her along with him.
A few moments later, Wendy comes to herself and begins struggling in his grasp. “Let me go!”
He stops, turns, and snaps at her in frustration, “I’m trying to help you!” He gives her a small shake, but stops when he sees the terror in her eyes. He looks down at his hook, still dripping with Félix’s blood. He suddenly realizes what he must look like to her. Trembling slightly, he drops her arm and steps away from her. He points towards a faint trail to his left. “There’s a fairy nearby. Her tree house is that way. It’s hidden from the lost boys. You’ll be safe there.”
Wendy narrows her eyes. “You’re . . . saving me?”
The sound of lost boys echo through the jungle. “Weeeendyyyy! Come out, come out, wherever you are! We only want to play!”
Killian gestures with his hook, “Go!”
Once Wendy is heading for the tree house, Killian takes off in the opposite direction, crying, “Wendy! Run!”
He can hear the lost boys behind him, following him far away from the little lost girl.
The sounds of the lost boys are distant once he stumbles onto the beach where he’s left the dinghy. He hasn’t finished his task with the pixie dust trees, but that will have to wait. The lost boys were never supposed to know he was here.
“Bloody fairies,” he mutters again as he scrambles into the boat.
“Going somewhere, Captain?”
Hook’s blood boils as he turns to find Pan hovering nearby, his arms folded over his chest and his head tilted at a cocky angle. “Do you have a death wish, boy?”
“You can’t kill me,” Pan scoffs, “or you would have by now.”
“I can try!” Killian growls, leaping from the boat and onto the sand.
Predictably, Peter flits about around Hook’s head, but his taunts aren’t what the pirate expects and makes his blood run cold.
“You can’t save them both, Hook.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re old friend Tiger Lily or your new friend Wendy? Which should die today?”
Killian gives a feral yell as he grabs ahold of Pan’s ankle and flings him to the ground. He pins the demon there, his hook to the lad’s throat.
“What game are you playing now?”
Pan smirks, as if cold steel at his jugular is of no consequence. “Wendy was a gift for Felix, and you ruined it.”
“You hate girls.”
“But teenage boys have needs, unfortunately. It was long overdue.”
Killian presses his hook just enough to break some skin. “Wendy is safe, and what do you know of Tiger Lily?”
Peter laughs. “My crew has Tink’s treehouse surrounded. And as for Tiger Lily, well . . . let’s just say I hope she can hold her breath long enough for you to save her. Skull Rock fills up with water when the tide comes in, you know.”
Killian hauls the imp up and tosses him across the sand as he plunges back into the jungle.
“You don’t have time to save them both!” Pan calls after him. “The tide is coming in soon, Hook!”
Killian ignores him as he slashes his way through the thick brush towards Tink’s place. He’s racing so fast to get to the innocent little girl that he doesn’t see the flash of two blond heads coming from the opposite direction. He collides with Tinker Bell with such force, she tumbles to the forest floor, taking Wendy down with her.
“What the bloody hell, Hook, are you trying to kill us!”
“Tink, thank the gods!” Killian exclaims as he hurriedly pulls first Tink and then Wendy to their feet. “Pan said -”
“That the lost boys had found my hideout?” Tink finishes for him. “Yeah, I got that already.”
“Hurry!” Wendy screams when they hear shouts in the jungle behind them.
“Let’s go,” Tink orders, yanking Wendy by the arm down a ravine nearby. Killian brings up the rear, his sword at the ready in case he needs to slow down the enemy. Soon they’re racing along the bed of a trickling stream, and the sounds of the lost boys fade into the distance.
Tink stops in front of a large boulder covered in moss and pushes at a curtain of thick vines to reveal a shallow cave.
“This doesn’t look like much of a hideout,” Killian mutters.
“Do I look dense to you, Hook?” Tink snaps.
Killian arches a brow and tilts his head at the fairy. “Don’t answer that,” Tink mutters, and Wendy giggles. He winks at the child and is pleased when he elicits a blushing smile from her. Tink taps on the back wall of her cave with her wand, and a door appears.
“Bloody fairies,” Killian says for the third time that day, but this time with affection. That makes him think of - “Tiger Lily!” he cries. “Will you two be okay?”
Tink rolls her eyes. “Of course.”
He gives a tremulous smile to them both, then turns back, taking a different route back to the beach from the way they had come.
*********************************
Skull Rock is a hulking menace in the distance, staring at Captain Hook with vacant eyes as he rows across the choppy waters. Rowing isn’t easy with one hand, even with his hook, and he wishes he’d thought to bring one of his crew along today. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be performing a rescue mission.
Killian curses himself, because – once again – he has mucked everything up. Just like with Milah, he has put a friend in danger. He just hopes Tiger Lily forgives him for going to rescue Wendy first. If she lives, that is.
Curse that wretched demon of a boy! His stomach turns remembering the lad’s mocking laughter on the beach.
The tide is rising faster, filling up the cavernous, yawning mouth of Skull Rock. Killian rows harder and swears again as the waves crash against boulders as he draws closer to his destination. Killian’s row boat is almost knocked sideways as he makes his way through the mouth of Skull Rock. There’s Tiger Lily, lifting her chin to call for help. The water splashes into her mouth, and her thick braids float on the surface of the water. Killian abandons the boat; there’s no more time. He dives beneath the waves, kicking his way to where Tiger Lily is tied to a rock. He comes up for air in time to see Tiger Lily’s wide and panicked eyes just as the tide completely closes over her. Killian inhales deeply and dives back under, hacking at the thick rope with his hook. Finally, it breaks free.
Killian grabs Tiger Lily around the waist and kicks upward. When they surface, they both gasp for air. The waves are beating harder, sending the row boat farther away from them. If they don’t catch up to it soon, water will completely fill the cavern, and they’ll both drown. Tiger Lily doesn’t need any instruction; she kicks her legs and swims alongside him. When they reach the side of the boat, Killian pushes her inside, then shoves the row boat through the opening of Skull Rock that has become the narrowest of exits. Killian dives under to follow the boat.
He swims with long strokes as far as he can, hoping he has cleared the rocks. When he breaks the surface, gasping for air, he’s relieved to find himself in the open air. A hand reaches down, and Tiger Lily hauls him over and into the boat. He barely has time to catch a breath before her hand connects with his cheek. The sound of her slap echoes across the water.
“What the bloody hell was that for?” he shouts.
“Hook, you are a dirty pirate, and I never want to speak to you again.” She yells, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What did I do? Pan was the one who tied you up in there!”
Tiger Lily glares at him, her arms still crossed. “And the only reason he found me was because YOU told him where I was!”
“Why the bloody hell would I do that?”
Tiger Lily deflates slightly, her brow furrowed. “In exchange for some of your crew.”
Killian arches a brow. “And you believed him?”
“Well, I . . . “
“I would have been here sooner, but I had to rescue Wendy.”
Tiger Lily shakes her head, even more confused. “Wendy?”
“A girl Pan had his shadow bring to the island. To . . . entertain his teenage crew.” Killian can barely get the words out.
“Pan hates girls, and he’s never cared . . . unless . . . “
Killian’s eyes widen. “Unless Wendy is bait.” He thinks of Mason and Felix telling Pan that he didn’t have the mark. “He’s looking for someone specific. He’s looking for -”
“A little boy,” Tiger Lily finishes for him, “very young.”
“But why tie you up in Skull Rock?”
Tiger Lily’s eyes widen as she takes up the oars. “A distraction. Where is your crew?”
Killian shakes his head as he too takes up the oars. “The ship is docked in Pirate’s Cove while I’m gone.”
“Exactly. No pirates to rescue lost boys from the shadow. Does Wendy have any brothers?”
Killian scowls. “I’m guessing the answer to that is yes.”
*****************************************
“Don’t they ever sleep?” Tiger Lily mutters from their hiding place behind a large rock. In the clearing, the Lost Boys are hunched around the blazing campfire, dipping spears and arrowheads into the sticky black sap of dreamshade.
Killian arches a brow at Tiger Lily. “Not much. Not without a mother.”
Tiger Lily tilts her head in confusion. “What?”
He shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind.”
The fairy crouches lower and tightens her hold on her bow as she draws closer to Pan’s camp on soft feet. Killian follows her, his palm sweating as he grips the hilt of his sword.
“They’re preparing for battle,” Kilian hisses to his companion.
“But why?”
Killian doesn’t reply; he’s too distracted by the rustling in the branches above them. He scowls when Tink drops to the forest floor beside him.
“Bloody hell, can you warn me before you drop out of the sky like that?”
“Tink,” Tiger Lily admonishes, “there isn’t enough pixie dust left for you to flit around like that!”
“Shut up both of you, and listen to me! I had to fly here, it was an emergency. Wendy is gone!”
“What do you mean she’s gone? ” Killian snaps. “I left you not an hour ago!”
“She was dirty and covered in scrapes, so we went to the stream for water. She swore she heard her little brother crying. I turned around for a second, I swear -”
“Shit,” Killian mutters, “it’s not a battle they’re preparing -”
“-it’s a hunt,” Tiger Lily finishes for him.
The three of them split up, knowing that covering more ground is the only hope for Wendy and her brother. His heart pounds in his chest as he makes his way up Dead Man’s Peak, thoughts of his brother swimming up from the dark recesses of his mind. He can’t let Wendy lose hers. He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath. Barreling around won’t help the children; he needs to focus.
Holding his hook aloft and using his sword to push aside the foliage, he continues his search. He wishes he had a lantern, but the risk of drawing the Lost Boys’ attention was too great. Thankfully, the moon is full tonight, and its light bathes the ground more and more as he ascends the peak, the foliage becoming sparser. His eyes scan the meager sized clumps of bushes, hoping for a glimpse of Wendy’s white nightgown.
Yet it’s a pair of green eyes that halts his steps. For a moment, his heart slams against his ribcage. The shade is so similar to Emma’s from long ago. As his gaze lands on those green eyes, they widen and he hears a small gasp. The bush from whence the sound came rustles, and he recognizes Wendy’s voice as she whispers, “hush!”
Killian sheathes his sword and lowers himself to his knees, not wanting to startle the children. “Wendy,” he hisses.
“Hook?” she asks in a wobbly voice.
“Yes, it’s me,” he says gently, easing around the bush. It grows right up against a wall of rock, and beyond it he hears the gurgling of Rainbow Falls. He pushes aside the foliage shielding the children, and the moonlight falls across them both. Wendy has her arms around a little boy of about four. For a moment, he looks up at Killian with wide, light green eyes, but then he shudders and buries his face against his sister’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Michael, the pirate is our friend.”
“Come, children, quickly. The Lost Boys are on the hunt for you.”
“They don’t want me,” Michael says hoarsely, peeking out at Hook again. “I’m too little, and I don’t have marks.”
Killian’s brow furrows. “Marks?”
“Here,” Michael says, holding out his arm.
Killian blinks, thinking back to Felix yanking at Mason’s arm a year ago. He doesn’t have the mark. Yet he has no time at present to contemplate it further as the shouts of the Lost Boys echo from the canyon below. Killian reaches for the children, urging them to hurry, but he stills when he sees a large palm leaf resting near Wendy’s knee. Water shimmers in the center of it, reflecting the moonlight.
“Where did you get this?” he asks Wendy.
“From the falls,” she tells him, “we were thirsty.”
“You drank from Rainbow Falls?” he asks, his heart plummeting to his stomach.
Wendy tilts her head. “Yes, of course. Why?”
Killian puts on a brave smile as he scoops up Michael. “No time for that now. Let’s get you back to the fairy’s cave.”
“I want to go home,” Michael whimpers as he clutches the edges of Killian’s coat.
“Hook will help us,” Wendy says with so much faith, that it makes Killian want to weep.
He says nothing in reply. He doesn’t have the heart to tell them that they doomed themselves the minute they drank from Rainbow Falls. They will never be able to leave the island.
Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @teamhook @bethacaciakay @let-it-raines @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @courtorderedcake @branlovestowrite @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ekr032-blog-blog @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @spartanguard @shireness-says @scientificapricot @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms@delirious-latenight-laughs
#cs ff#csrt#captain swan rewrite a thon#cs neverland au#cs canon divergence#magic wardrobe#soul mates#angst#childhood sweethearts#slow burn
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Under the Influence
Summary: When Rae gets hurt, one brother comes to the rescue. Will relocations and pharmaceuticals pry some growing feelings into the open for the other brother?
Characters: OFC Rae Himmel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel
Warnings: description of injury/treatment, bad language words, pharmaceuticals, Winchester shenanigans, mutual pining, fluffity fluff fluff
A/N: Oft requested, here is a continuation of Rae >>> and the Winchester brothers! Other tales about Rae & the brothers can be found on my MASTERLIST.
A huge thank you to the effervescent, enthusiastic, & estimable @pinknerdpanda for beta-ing this for me. So many panda-hugs to you, girl!
gif credit: https://tenor.com by CasMcKenzie5
Now
The feel of the metal stairs scraped pleasantly under his boots as he trotted down into the war room. A long overdue supply run had kept him out for a bit - the latest batch of credit cards awaited them at the post office. Both brothers needed new socks, and the sporting goods store also had the best deal on rock salt in the hunting section. Yahoo for DIY deer licks. Shifting box, bag, and bundle, he strode his way into the library.
“Anybody home?” No answer. A brief flicker of surprise shrugged his shoulders as the items plunked and rustled to the table. Apple, cinnamon, and rosemary in the air tickled his nose, stretching a smile up into crinkles by his eyes. Rae had been busy. He’d been hoping to catch some time with her today. The silence in the bunker told him he had enough time to clean up a bit before he invited her to watch that new Marvel movie with the nonchalance he’d practiced and perfected in the car. Plan in place, he hastened his steps towards the hall before the smug, teasing brother gaze found him.
And there she was. Sprawled out on the hallway floor like a cute little pile of laundry. With her left arm bent and bandaged to her torso and a magnificent blue bruise decorating her left eye.
“Rae?”
“Hiya, there! Oh, crap, it’s him.”
45 minutes ago
Bopping along to Bobby Darin, Rae gave a satisfied nod to the rosemary apple pie steaming expectantly on the counter. Hopefully, the unique recipe would dodge scorn from the brothers. A stack of Men of Letters files waiting for research were calling her name. She hip-checked an open drawer closed, scooted the towel over the oven door handle to dry, and grabbed her phone. As she turned towards the library door, the “pantry” shelves caught her attention. The jar of molasses on the top shelf had tipped over - if that sucker kamikazed and broke, that would be actual hell to clean up.
Sighing, Rae glanced over her shoulder at the folding step stool that lived behind the sink. For the boys, with their muscles for days, it was easy to extricate. For her? She’d wrenched stuck paper from copier guts more easily. Rae didn’t hesitate; she scrabbled up the shelves and reached towards the jar.
Rae would later be ready to swear on Dean’s sacred stack of vinyls that stupid jar jumped. Right off the shelf. Onto her face.
In the heartbeat it took for the pain to hit her vocal cords, Rae reared back instinctively, one foot slipping from its perch. Her feet probably could have skated for purchase and saved her if her hand hadn’t decided to kung-fu-grip the shelf on her way down. Pain ripped through her left shoulder in the same heartbeat the pain in her face caught up, mixed with the fear the brief freefall sparked. Her scream echoed through the bunker as she hit the floor. Actually, first the weird metal pole in front of the shelves, then hit the floor.
Pounding bootfalls ran in her direction.
“Rae! What the hell?!”
Now
“Molasses ain’t slow, Winchester. It’s faster than two shakes of a tog’s dail. Tail’s dog. Is that right? I think that’s right.”
Her eyes had sagged shut during her speech as he quickly crouched beside her. At his touch on her face, she dragged her eyes back open. Swollen left eyelid tried twice before the right decided to make an effort and blinked wide.
“Oh, my God, you’re so damn cute. Don’t tell Sam I said that!”
Shock blew his own eyes saucered - right before his excited grin could appear, he cleared his throat.
“Rae, are you drunk? What happened?” he asked as he leaned to help her sit up. He hesitated, though, unsure where to grab her, so he yelled for his brother. His cute little pile of laundry sighed and smiled.
“Yep, yep, yep. Cute, cute, cute.”
43 minutes ago
“Watch it, gigantor!”
“Hang on, I’ve gotta see the damage.” Rough fingers pressed carefully around her eye, nose, and cheekbone. “No fractures, just one grandaddy of a shiner.”
A pained sound growled from Rae. “That’s because all the fractures are in my arm!”
He huffed as he scooted around to her side, ignoring her grunts and whimpers as he examined what he could get to around her flinches and flails.
“OW! Watch it, that hurts!”
“Okay, okay. So, it’s fairly simple. The humeral head has been forcibly propelled out of the glenoid fossa.”
Rae glared up at him through the hot pulse of unhappy blood vessels in her face. “English, you fool! Don’t spew those big words at me!”
His lips twitched as he tried to hide a smile. She is adorable when she’s mad!
“You’ve got a dislocated shoulder there, Grace Kelly.”
Now
“What’r you doin’ on the floor? I left you in your bed. Remember? You wanted my blanket?”
“What happened?”
“No blanket can hold me. I freedomed for my fought….what blanket?”
“What happened?!”
“That extra soft goldish brown one.”
Rae’s eyes were still closed as the brothers carefully hauled her to a sitting position. She sighed dreamily. “I love that blanket. It’s just like his hair. All fluffy and soft and kinda...you know, kinda….brown. I love his hair.” Her eye popped open and she stared up at blanket-owning brother. “Is that weird? That I love his blanket hair?”
The brothers stared at each other, one of them going red right up into his ears.
“What the hell happened?!?”
38 Minutes
“Just amputate it and put me out of my misery!”
He rolled his eyes as he helped her move into place on the infirmary bed. “We’re not gonna amputate it. I’m telling you, I can fix this.”
The glare she shot him was all squinty suspicion. “I’m not sure I trust you, Winchester. You said that after I caught you eating my last Oaks Candy mini Melty Bars.”
“And didn’t I have Garth swing through Oshkosh after taking care of that wendigo outside Algoma? He was in cornfield heaven.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do what you’re going to do.”
Shaking his head with a grin, he coaxed her to lean forward slightly as he cupped the front of her shoulder with his left hand, his right warm between her spine and shoulder blade. “Okay. On three.” He felt her shudder as she tried to brace herself, exhaling in preparation of a deep breath. “One -”
SNAP.
Lungs empty, Rae couldn’t even squeal as she crumpled forward like a paper bag. Additional, abominable pain seared sweat into her armpits and tears into her eyes as she sucked in air, slamming her good fist into the mattress beneath her. Dropping to his knees, her tormenting saviour peered up at her worriedly. Oh crap - did I make it worse? What if I made it worse?
“You okay?”
“You - lying - no! What happened to ‘on three’?!”
He cringed as the words croaked from her tight throat, gingerly patting her knee and ready to duck if she swung at him. “Hey, I learned that move from the best. Look on the bright side. The worst is over. I’ll wrap it up real good for you, and I’ve got some fantastic pain killers!”
Carefully leaning on her good arm, Rae shot him the evilest glare from her one eye she could muster.
“You better wrap up both arms for your own protection, mister!”
My brother’s gonna kill me.
Now
“I ought’a kill you!”
Dean rolled his eyes as he helped get Rae’s limp-noodle-legs into Sam’s arms. “She’s fine! I did a Boy Scout badge worthy job of wrapping her up and gave her some of that Demerol you think you hid. Rest, ice, compression, elevation - she’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” He glanced down to see his patient happily hanging her head upside down over Sam’s arm as she stared at the number on the door in front of her.
“Didja know that our...our numbers’s over 1,000 years olld? Sam told me that. Sweet, smart Sam. I love his sweet, smart brain.”
Fresh heat flooded more red up into Sam’s ears as he glared at Dean. “How much of that Demerol did you give her?”
Dean shrugged, hiding his smirk. “Two, same as I take it.” The older brother immediately took a step back when Sam’s eyes popped wide and the vein in his forehead throbbed visibly.
“You idiot! Those are 100 milligram tablets!”
“Yeah, so?”
“She’s almost half your size! Half of one tablet would have been more than plenty! I’m amazed she’s even breathing!”
“Oooooo…” Cringing, Dean took another step back as Sam tried to move Rae right side up. Her one good eye stared up Sam dazedly before she slapped her hand over his mouth.
“Rae! Stop talking! Stop saying words ‘bout Sam’s brain! And his hair. Oh, my lord, I love his hair. Shhh!”
Bitch-face-level 99 burned from Sam’s eyes over Rae’s hand, and Dean decided a tactical retreat was in order.
“I’m gonna go...somewhere...not here.”
Distantly, Rae gathered that Dean and Sam were having words, but she couldn’t marshal together enough thoughts to worry. All she knew was that she was warm, her shoulder and face didn’t hurt anymore, and she really, really liked Sam. Where was Sam, anyway?
A wonderful, floaty, rocking motion made her head spin, and something tickled her hand. Her eye slowly tracked up her arm to see her hand plastered across Sam’s mouth, and he was trying to say something. Seeing him so close filled her with pure happiness.
“Hi, Sam! Hiya! It’s Sam!”
Sam couldn’t help but smile at his little limp laundry girl as he carried her to her room. “Hi, Rae. Just hang on a second, and I’ll have you in bed.”
She plopped her head on his shoulder, sighing dramatically. “Oh, my God, he can have me in bed any time. Hoo, boy. I mean - arms. So much arms,” she drawled, poking his bicep.”
Sam almost choked on his own breath, heat arrowing through him. “What? No - I mean - not now, just - hang on,” he stammered out, striding into her room, eager to get her situated and flee before things got any more ridiculous. The gold-brown chenille blanket from Dean’s room lay in a wrestled pile on the floor that he stepped over before carefully depositing her on her bed. Trying to lift her to prop her on pillows was like trying to fold a sleeping bag - soft, sprawling, and sticking to him like static. When he finally situated her into place, he glanced up to find their faces so close, he could count the freckles on her nose. That little skip in his heart he felt so often when near her jumped to life, and the temptation to kiss those soft lips was almost irresistible.
Surrounded by warmth and strength, Rae felt blissfully safe. The scent of Sam’s cologne tickled her nose, causing a grin to tug briefly at her lips. Everything was dark, though. Why was everything dark?
“Did Sam turn off the lights?”
“Uh...no?”
“Then, why is it so dark?”
“Because your eyes are closed.”
Oh. That made sense. With a series of facial gymnastic maneuvers, Rae managed to stretch her eye open. Sam’s topaz gaze waited for her, shining in autumn-colored glory down on her. A swirl of giddiness heralded a bloom of warmth in her chest, and she couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to stretch right off her face.
The smile lighting up Rae’s warm pecan-pie-brown gaze sent Sam’s belly flip-flopping, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Before he could blink, her mouth suddenly dropped open as she gasped in something like horror, her hand slapping over his eyes.
“Ohmygaw, don’t look at his eyes! They’re a trap, Rae! They’re too pretty!”
Sam couldn’t stop the grunt when one of her fingers jabbed into his left eyeball, hurrying to peel her hand away before she blinded him. Blinking the pained tears away, he still couldn’t stop his smile as he rubbed the offended orb.
“You think I have pretty eyes?”
Rae’s head swam, but whether it was his dimples or whatever had happened before - memory suddenly escaped her - she couldn’t say for sure. To protect herself, she clapped her hand over her own eyes.
“The dimples of doom!” she whispered. “I’m done for.”
Fresh surprise sent Sam’s eyebrows skyward. “Dimples of doom?”
A strangled sound croaked from Rae as she sank back into the pillows. “I want to kiss them!” Just as quickly, she snatched her hand away and sent him a puppy dog look that rivalled his own. “Can I kiss them?”
Sam reeled back when he caught himself leaning towards her, steeling himself against her pleading gaze. Everything in him practically begged him to grab her, kiss her dimples, and not let her go for the foreseeable future. Hearing her drug-induced confessions set his heart pounding - he’d had feelings for her for so long. But they were just that - ramblings fueled by inadvertent opiate overdose. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - take advantage of something Rae didn’t mean.
“I think it’s time I get out of here so you can get some sleep.”
“You mean, I can’t kiss them?” She sounded downright hurt. Sam forced himself to his feet.
“Rae, you’re high as a kite on the meds Dean gave you. You won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”
Not 100% sure what he said, Rae only knew he wasn’t beside her anymore, and he looked sad. A couple of his words untangled in her brain, and she frowned.
“You listen here, Wam Sinchester. I remember stuff just fine!”
“It’s okay, Rae, just get some rest. I’ll check on you later.”
Addled though she was, the dismissal came through loud and clear. Anger tried to shove aside the drugs as she fought to sit up, failed, and settled for giving him a serious stink eye.
Sam blinked when she fixed a weird, squinty look on him, then turned to head for the door, hoping to strengthen his resolve. He failed miserably - one glance over his shoulder saw the dim light from the desk lamp shining amber lights into her wild, messy curls, and he was snared once again.
“You - you - oh!” she groused. “You say you take one fake sugar in your coffee, but you take three reg’lar ol’ sugars when you think no one’s lookin’. When you watch a for’n movie the first time, you do it without th’ sub...the subt...the words on the bottom ‘cuz you like to listen to the language. The first time I saw you came back from joggin’, I stopped breathin’ for a second, ‘cuz - damn, boy. Ever’ time you touch my shoulder an’ give me that quick smile, I can hardly stop myself from huggin’ you. You like peanut butter an’ raspberry rhubarb jam sammiches. You don’t like trail mix with dried bananas. And you!” she swore out dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at him, “you keep stealin’ my ‘spensive shampoo!”
Suddenly exhausted, her eye starting to twinge, Rae flopped back onto the pillows and burst into tears.
Sam stood frozen - shocked like he hadn’t been in a long time. A man of keen observation, Sam knew a lot about Rae. She could eat breakfast food three meals a day. She scorned Cheetos but powerhoused through Cheese Nips. Fancy scented candles gave her headaches, but lavender essential oil went with her everywhere. The first time she smiled, his heart damn near stopped. She killed him when she wore that grey tunic-length ‘Namastay in Bed’ t-shirt; the navy lace bralette she always paired it with was just visible through the light fabric, and her boobs...whoa. She always kept a hair band around her wrist, even if she wore one in her hair. And, yes, he stole her shampoo because it kept the scent of her with him.
So, yeah - he knew a lot about Rae. All the reasons why he’d fallen for her. He’d never dared hope she knew him, too.
The fat tears dripping down her swollen, purpling cheek sent Sam’s heart straight to his belly. In one quick step, he sank to his knees at her bedside, snatching up her free hand.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, don’t cry!”
She grabbed for him; powerless to resist her, Sam tucked her face into his neck and breathed her in.
“I tol’ you I ‘membered stuff!”
“You did. You do.”
“An’ ‘s okay you steal the shampoo ‘cause...pretty hair.”
“Thank you for letting me steal it.”
“An’ it just hurts ‘cause I want to hug you all the time. You an’ your stupid pretty eyes.”
Smiling so wide his stupid, pretty eyes nearly crinkled shut, Sam softly stroked her hair.
“You can hug me anytime you want, Rae.”
“I can?”
“As long as I can hug you.”
Snuffling pathetically, Rae nodded against his skin. “Okay.” Completely spent, she sagged against him in a boneless sprawl. “Tired, Sam. Can’t...my eyes can’t.”
Sam gently eased her back down, stroking her unblemished cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay, Rae, you rest.”
“Stay?” she mumbled out before a slight snore buzzed from her. Sam sat for a moment, just gazing at her and basking in the warmth of shared affection. Then, he pulled off her shoes along with his own, and drew Dean’s prized blanket over both of them as he cuddled her to him carefully. Tomorrow would come soon enough to talk clearly about these confessions. For now, he was staying right where he was.
A long time later, when two gentle snores back-and-forthed in the room, Dean carefully cracked the door open, grinning smugly at the two curled up together. Closing the door soundlessly behind him, he didn’t flinch when Cas appeared in the hall.
“Did it work?”
“Like a charm. Just call me Cupid. Nope - strike that. He’s a dick. Call me...Dr. Love,” the hunter drawled out proudly, flipping a pill bottle up before catching it.
“So, I adjusted the dosage correctly to not kill Rainbow?”
Rolling his eyes, Dean turned for the library. “Yes, Cas. Just needed her under the influence enough to get those two lovesick nerds talking.”
#Under the Influence#Sam Winchester x ofc#Dean Winchester x ofc#sam winchester#dean winchester#castiel#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfiction#shy vy writes
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