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downbad4yoongi · 11 months ago

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Fall from Grace

🤍Pairing: Demon!Jin x Angel!Jimin 🤍WC: 5,058 🤍Genre/warnings: angel and demons au, betrayal, smut, fluff

🤍Rating: R

🤍Summary: The rules for angels and demons are simple and straightforward, and can be summed up as: don’t interact.

A/N: This story is part of BTS Fests' Angels & Demons Fest!

Thank you to my betas: @colormepurplex2 and @moonleeai. Many hugs to @colormepurplex2 for my banner.

A Flicker in the Twilight

The twilight hums with the city’s heartbeat. Neon gods of advertisement pulse against the fading sky, casting a garish glamor on the throngs below. Lost in the kaleidoscope of chrome and flesh, Jin savors the symphony of human anxieties. They pulse through him, a delectable chaos dancing on his tongue. It is like the finest wine, this mortal cocktail – intoxicating, unpredictable, infinitely more thrilling than the bland ambrosia of his celestial past.

Leaning against the side of a building, Jin, once a grotesque tapestry of shadow and bone, now shimmers with angelic grace, courtesy of a botched mission and a particularly potent curse. He revels in the dissonance, the whispers of his true nature tickling the edges of his angelic façade. Humans, constantly oblivious to the storm brewing inside him, mistake his charm for benevolence, his mischievous grin for a divine smile. He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a predator in a sanctuary of light.

He twirls a strand of hair as he watches the countless hordes of faceless humans stride past him. Humans, like fireflies, flit across the avenues, their souls like flickering flames. Most hold no interest, their predictability a dull ache in his immortal boredom. But then, a glint of pure, celestial light catches his eye. An angel, disguised in the borrowed flesh of a human youth, stands on the corner adjacent to him, radiating an aura as vibrant as a sunrise. He watches on as the angel, resplendent even in the mortal flesh, navigates the human tide with an awkward grace.

Jimin's name echoes in Jin’s mind, a whisper plucked from the supernatural airwaves. Jin cocks his head, watching the celestial, discerning that he is a novice. Jimin is inexperienced, a wide-eyed fawn in a wolf’s den.

Jimin’s innocence is like virgin snow, pure and untainted, waiting to be imprinted with the dark designs of Jin’s twisted amusement.

The perfect game piece.

A thrill dances through Jin like a lightning bolt, not the usual hum of predatorial amusement, but something altogether sharper, more intoxicating. A mischievous curl creeps onto Jin’s lips. With a practiced grace, that has been honed from centuries of deception, he weaves through the throng, the city lights glinting off his unseen wings.

“Lost, little lamb?” Jin’s voice, honeyed and smooth, cuts through the city’s cacophony.

Jimin turns, his cognac eyes widening in surprise. The golden rays emanating from his disguised form cast an ethereal glow across the chaotic street. But it is the darkness, a whisper hidden in the depths of his gaze, that draws Jin in. A flicker of rebellion, a crack in the otherworldly armor.

Jimin, drawn by a force he can’t comprehend, steps closer. The aura around Jin, a faint hum of darkness, should send him fleeing. Yet, he finds himself drawn deeper, a curiosity eclipsing his fear, curiosity over encountering another being like himself.

“N-no,” Jimin stammers, adjusting his borrowed human form with self-conscious fiddling. “Just…observing.”

Jin chuckles. “Observing the fascinating creatures of this earth, are we?” Jin offers a hand. “Well, allow me to offer some guidance. I know these streets better than any moonbeam.” This isn’t just amusement anymore. This is a challenge, a dance on the precipice of forbidden desire.

Jimin hesitates, the wings under his human guise rustle like whispered prayers. Then, with a sigh that ruffles the city air, he takes the offered hand, his fingers brushing against Jin’s with a spark that sends shivers down the demon’s spine.

“Thank you,” Jimin breathes, his gaze lingers on Jin for a beat too long, a whisper of starlight battling the celestial fire in his eyes.

The walk through the bustling city offers a motley of sights and smells for Jimin. Jin, his guide and tormentor in equal measure, navigates the throngs with practiced ease, a picture of casual charm. Jimin, on the other hand, is a clumsy swan in a human pond, his borrowed skin prickling with unease.

“So, earth delights you?” Jin asks, his voice a silken thread woven through the city’s hum.

Jimin blushes, his celestial aura flickering like an overeager candle. “It’s…overwhelming,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “So much chaos, so much life.”

Jin chuckles a rich, dark sound that resonates in Jimin’s chest. “A chaos that dances to its own rhythm, wouldn’t you say?” He stops abruptly, his eyes glinting with an amusement that sends a tingle down Jimin’s spine. “Does it resonate with you, little angel?”

Jimin’s wings twitch under his borrowed skin. He knows he shouldn’t linger, and he can sense that there is more to Jin than he sees. Yet, Jin’s presence is a maelstrom he can’t seem to resist.

“There’s something…” Jimin begins, his voice barely a sigh. “A spark in this chaos, a warmth that draws me in.” He meets Jin’s gaze, the astral fire in his eyes battling the forbidden embers that flicker there.

Jin’s smile deepens, a knowing curve that sends a shiver down Jimin’s spine. “Ah, the forbidden fruit, angel. Sweetest when plucked from the branches of danger.” He leans in, his breath a whisper of brimstone against Jimin’s ear. “But remember, little one, even the most tempting fruit can leave a bitter taste.”

Jimin’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a gilded cage. The spark in Jin’s eyes, the warmth of his touch, draws him in like a moth to a flame.

“I…I don’t care about the consequences,” Jimin whispers, his voice barely a tremor. “I only know that this moment, this feeling, it’s worth the risk.”

Jin’s smile widens, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Foolish angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress. “Then let us dance, shall we? Let us taste the forbidden fruit and see if its sweetness outweighs the sting.”

He slips his hand around Jimin’s, his touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through the angel’s borrowed form. And with that, they step deeper into the city’s twilight.

Eventually, their journey finds them using a fire escape to settle on a rooftop. The city sprawls out beneath them like a glittering tapestry. The wind whispers secrets through the night, carrying the scent of jasmine and asphalt. Jin feels a flicker of something unexpected. Not the sharp thrill of anticipation, but a pang of something akin to regret.

Was it the way Jimin’s youthful face pales in the moonlight or the earnest tremor in his voice as he whispers, “This place is beautiful,” that touches a dormant chord within Jin?

For a fleeting moment, Jin sees himself reflected in Jimin's starlit eyes. Not the monstrous entity of shadow and bone, but the young, ethereal creator he once was before the curse, before the fall. An echo of the celestial light he had long extinguished in himself.

Jin feels a strange vulnerability bloom within himself, a yearning for something he can’t name. Standing back, observing Jimin’s awe, he shakes himself. This is just a game, a predator’s pursuit—no room for hesitation, no space for compassion.

Yet, as Jimin turns to him, his face alight with wonder, Jin finds himself hesitating. For the first time in centuries, the predator holds back, the wolf unsure of its prey.

The game had just begun, and the rules, it seemed, were about to change.

Jin’s façade trembles under Jimin’s gaze, the carefully crafted mask of charm threatening to crack under the weight of an unwelcome emotion. The devil within him snarls, urging him to pounce, to exploit the celestial’s trust. Yet, the merest whisper against the infernal damnation of his being echoes louder, a flicker of empathy he can’t quite extinguish.

Jin swallows the tightness in his throat, forcing his lips into a familiar, playful smirk. “Beautiful indeed, little lamb. This is just the beginning. There are secrets woven into this city’s very fabric, waiting to be unraveled.”

Jimin tilts his head, the naive curiosity in his eyes still undimmed. “Will you help me find them?”

The question hangs in the air, a challenge and an invitation. Jin stares into the depths of those starlit eyes, searching for a hint of suspicion, a flicker of fear. But there is only trust, a pure and unadulterated yearning for knowledge and adventure.

In that moment, the predator falters. The game, he realizes, isn’t just about to change. It is about to shatter. He could still twist the knife, manipulate Jimin’s trust for his own amusement, but the thrill feels hollow, poisoned by the unexpected pang of something akin to…responsibility.

He takes a deep breath, the scent of night air filling his lungs. “Yes,” he says, the word heavy on his tongue. “I’ll help you.”

The decision tastes like ashes in his mouth, a bitter compromise between his monstrous nature and the ghost of his celestial past. He watches the smile blossom on Jimin’s face, a light that could rival the moon. Jin knows this isn’t just a game anymore. It is a dance on the precipice, a perilous tango between darkness and light, with the fate of two celestial souls hanging in the balance.

His gaze lingers on Jimin, the forbidden yearning gnawing at this resolve. This isn’t part of the plan, this impossible, intoxicating pull. But as Jimin’s eyes meet his, a larger spark of uncertainty ignites within the demon, and the fragile dam around Jin’s desires crumbles. Jin’s breath hitches. He knows the danger, the impossibility of their connection. But in the face of Jimin’s vulnerability, his own desire pulses with a forbidden fire.

Their lips meet in a kiss, a clash of celestial fire and demonic embers. It is a taste of forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating. As their lips part, a gasp escapes Jimin's mouth, a flicker of fear battling with the dawning realization of what they were doing. Jin sees it, the internal war raging within the angel. And in that moment, he knows the game has definitely changed. This isn’t just a dance with fate; it is a tightrope walk over the abyss, a gamble with their very souls.

But as the city lights shimmer around them, casting their forbidden tryst in a seductive glow, Jin can’t help but smile. He is a demon in angel's clothing, and he has just found his most tempting sin.

The night stretches before them, a blank canvas waiting to be painted with the colors of their forbidden desire. And as they stand there, bathed in the twilight, the city holds its breath, waiting to see what masterpiece would be born from the ashes of their celestial clash.

Whispers in the Moonlight

The city, a pulsing tapestry of sin and salvation, thrums with the electric tension of their forbidden entanglement. As dawn bleeds into dusk, Jin and Jimin meet in the shadowed corner of a long abandoned courtyard, hearts echoing a forbidden rhythm. Jin, cloaked in starlight, leads Jimin on a waltz through the neon wilderness, every whisper a searing brand against the angel’s soul.

Jimin, wings folded beneath a borrowed human skin, wrestles with the celestial fire simmering within. Duty whispers harsh reprimands, yet defiance roars like a caged beast. Jin, the devil on his shoulder, grins with eyes like bottomless pools, each touch a whispered promise of rebellion.

The city lights shimmer on Jimin’s skin, turning his eyes into molten gold. He trembles, not from fear, but from the intoxicating mix of temptation and longing that Jin ignites inside him.

Jin leans in close enough for Jimin to feel the warmth of his breath against his cheek. “Do you hear it, angel?” he utters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Jimin’s spine. “The city’s heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of our forbidden song?”

His words are steeped in temptation. Jimin feels the celestial fire flicker, threatened by the seductive darkness Jin offers. He yearns to know the taste of rebellion, to shed the shackles of angelic rigidity and fly on the wings of his own desires.

Jimin, his heart a frantic drum against ribs, swallows hard. He can hear it, echoing in the symphony of car horns and distant laughter, a primal pulse that mirrors the yearning of his soul.

“It’s… maddening,” he whispers, his voice barely audible above the city’s din.

Jin chuckles, a sound like tinkling ice against velvet. “Maddeningly beautiful, isn’t it?”

His thumb brushes the crest of Jimin’s cheek, the touch sending a jolt of forbidden electricity through him. Jimin’s eyes melt even further under the neon sky and meet Jin’s, the heat of their gaze a silent conversation—unspoken questions dance in the air between them.

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a discordant note introduced to their orchestra. Jin’s smile falters for a moment but is quickly masked by his impassive façade. “And what, angel,” he drawls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge, “is it that you can’t do?”

Jimin flinches at the challenge in Jin’s eyes. He knows he is playing with fire. While romantic dalliances with other angels aren’t forbidden, they aren’t looked on kindly, which is enough to deter most.

But something, some spark of rebellion, ignites deep within him, refusing to be silenced.

“I can’t deny this,” he says, his voice gaining strength with every word. “This…this fire that burns between us. We may be angels, Jin, but we are also men. And this city, this dark and beautiful chaos…it sings a song that my soul yearns to hear.”

The silence that follows Jimin’s confession is thick with unspoken tension. Jin’s eyes, usually warm and playful, flicker with a hidden storm. He takes a step toward Jimin, his gaze raking over him with an intensity that sends a shiver down the younger angel’s spine.

The city lights, once a backdrop to their clandestine meetings, now throb with a new meaning. The neon signs bleed into their vision, painting the shadows on their faces with a kaleidoscope of emotions. The symphony of car horns and distant laughter becomes a seductive song, urging them closer to the edge of what is and what isn’t permissible.

Jimin, emboldened by the defiance in Jin’s eyes, reaches out, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Jin’s jaw. The touch is a spark, igniting a wildfire that threatens to consume them both. Jin’s breath hitches, and for a fleeting moment, his celestial façade flickers, revealing the hungry demon beneath.

Jin, feigning reluctance, breathes, “We can’t. The consequences…”

But Jimin, his heart pounding a forbidden drumbeat, cuts him off. “Consequences be damned,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jin’s ear.

With that, he pulls Jin into a kiss, a desperate, hungry press of lips that speaks volumes of unspoken yearnings. The kiss is a rebellion, a declaration of defiance against the sterile order of their celestial existence. It is a taste of the forbidden fruit, a glimpse of a world where love, not duty, dictates their actions.

As they break apart, breathless and reeling, the city lights seem to dance in celebration. The air crackles with an electric tension, the very fabric of their world shimmering with the weight of their choice. One of them knows the path they are embarking on is fraught with danger, while the other leads them down this defiant path. In that moment, surrounded by the cacophony of the city, they only see each other, a beacon of light in the darkness.

The moon, a pearl amidst the velvet tapestry of night, bathes the hidden courtyard in an ethereal glow. Jasmine tendrils, heavy with moonlit secrets, cling to the crumbling brick walls, weaving a fragrant canopy above Jimin and Jin. Here, within the shadows, the celestial rules morph and blur, their breaths forming wispy constellations against the obsidian sky.

Jin, his dark hair a curtain against the lunar silver, cradles Jimin’s face in his hands. “There’s more to existence than humans and harp strings, angel,” he murmurs, his voice a caress against Jimin’s trembling lips. “The world whispers forgotten stories.”

Jimin, his resolve a fluttering moth against Jin’s intoxicating whispers, surrenders. He longs for the taboo secrets Jin offers, each a forbidden fruit bursting with a thousand forbidden flavors. Jin speaks of earthly music that makes the soul quake, of laughter that echoes through cobbled streets, of the bittersweet tang of tears shed for love and loss. He paints the world with his words, worlds where angels dance with mortals, where moonlight sculpts shadows into lovers’ embraces.

“And you,” Jin murmurs, his lips trailing along Jimin’s jaw, “you, my angel, hold within you the music of a thousand unplayed instruments. Let me hear your orchestra,” he pleads, his voice raw with the hunger for what they both know is improper.

Jimin, his hidden wings trembling like fervent prayers, traces the forbidden map of Jin’s lips. “I… I fear the melody might be discordant,” he breathes, his voice a thread lost in the music of the night.

Jin chuckles, a sound like wind chimes kissed by the starlight. “Then let me be your maestro, angel,” he whispers, his lips brushing against Jimin’s ear. “Together, we’ll orchestrate a symphony that will defy the heavens themselves.”

And so, under the moon’s silent gaze, they meld into one as their clothes litter the cobblestone around them. Jin’s hands overflow with the ample bounty of Jimin’s ass as he eliminates any molecule of space between them. The air around them resonates with the vibrations of their moans as their thickened shafts slide against each other.

As their bodies move in harmony, a symphony of passion and desire, the boundaries between heaven and earth blur. Jimin clings to Jin, his nails digging into the smooth expanse of Jin’s back, each thrust of their hips driving them closer to the precipice of ecstasy. The courtyard, once a sheltered sanctuary, now bears witness to their entwined forms, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon their skin.

Their rhythm quickens, urgency fueled by the forbidden nature of their love. Jimin’s breath hitches as pleasure courses through him like an electric current. He presses his forehead against Jin’s, their eyes locked in a fierce gaze that speaks of devotion and rebellion. At this moment, they are no longer angels bound by celestial laws; they are simply two souls set on fire, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.

The symphony of car horns and distant laughter fades into the background as their moans fill the air, mingling with the rustle of the jasmine tendrils above. The earthy scent of the cobblestones mixes with the musk of their desire, the ground trembling beneath the force of their passion.

Jin leans in, his lips brushing against Jimin’s neck, his voice a whisper against his skin. “Fear not, my love,” he says. “Our music is perfect, even in its forbidden form.”

Jimin gasps as Jin thrusts harder against him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He reaches up, his fingers tangling in Jin’s hair, his nails biting into his scalp. “Yes, Jin,” he moans, “make me your muse.”

The two continue their dance of passion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The jasmine tendrils above, heavy with blooms, seem to sway in time with their movements, adding a sweet fragrance to the air. Their moans echo through the courtyard, the sound of two souls joining together in a forbidden ensemble. The moon watches over them, its light casting silvery beams upon their entwined forms. As they reach the crescendo, their bodies colliding and surrendering to the forbidden music, the world around them seems to pause in reverence.

Finally, the moment arrives. The tension between them is palpable as they stand on the brink of the abyss. Jin's eyes lock onto Jimin's, his gaze intense and full of desire. In that moment, their connection is tangible. Jimin's fingers tug at Jin's hair, pulling him closer. Jin's lips devour Jimin's in an all-consuming kiss, the taste of forbidden fruit on their tongues. The air around them crackles with electricity, singeing the air surrounding them.

Jin's hips thrust harder against Jimin, their movements syncopated and raw. The heat from their bodies radiates outward, leaving the rest of the world behind. Their existence is limited to this moment, this place, this kiss.

As the last shuddering breath leaves their lips, they collapse against each other, their bodies spent. The moon's gaze fades, and the courtyard returns to its quiet solitude.

In the aftermath, Jin and Jimin lay entangled in each other's arms, their breaths slowing and their hearts beating as one. Jin knew this moment would come, but he had not anticipated the depths of emotions that would ensue. He feels a mix of euphoria and trepidation, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jimin, on the other hand, struggles with the implications of their actions. He had thought to quash his longings, keeping them hidden beneath layers of celestial duty. Now, he finds those same longings have become impossible to ignore.

The consequences of their tryst linger on the horizon, a faint dissonance in the night’s melody. But for now, they bask in the lingering traces of their forbidden love. Jimin's fingers trace delicate patterns on Jin's bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He looks up into Jin's eyes, the weight of their actions and the uncertainty of the future settling upon him like a heavy cloak.

"What have we done?" Jimin whispers, his voice laced with both regret and longing. "Is this worth defying everything we know?"

Jin's gaze meets Jin's, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions that Jimin can't fully read. "Perhaps," he replies softly, "love is not meant to be bound by rules and expectations. Maybe it is meant to be wild, untamed, and willing to risk everything."

Jimin's heart swells at Jin's words, his fingers tightening their grip on Jin's body. He knows that the path they have chosen is treacherous and that they will face obstacles unlike any they have encountered before.

Celestial Fear

Dawn creeps through the cityscape, painting the courtyard in a blush of pink. Jimin stirs, his eyelids fluttering open to the sight of Jin’s sleeping face, the warmth of his breath tickling Jimin’s cheek. The forbidden intimacy of their entwined bodies sends a shiver through him, a delicious echo of their celestial rebellion.

But as Jimin traces the line of Jin’s jaw with his fingers, a shadow flickers across Jin’s eyes, a darkness deeper than the city’s nocturnal embrace. It was fleeting, gone as soon as it appeared, yet it left a tremor in Jimin’s heart.

“Jin,” he whispers, his voice hesitant, “what was that?”

Jin’s eyes flutter open, the celestial depths replaced by a flicker of embers, a glimpse of something wild and untamed. He sits up, pulling away from Jimin, and for a moment, Jimin feels a chill crawl down his spine.

“Nothing,” Jin says, his voice strained, “just a memory, a whisper from before.”

But Jimin isn’t convinced. The darkness that tinges Jin’s eyes, it isn’t mere nostalgia, it is something colder, something sharper. A doubt, a seed of suspicion, begins to sprout in Jimin’s mind.

“Before?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before…what?”

Jin hesitates, his gaze flickering away. Then, with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of centuries, he turns back to Jimin, his eyes lock on his his with an intensity that makes Jimin’s heart pound.

“Angel,” he says, his voice husky, “before I met you, before all this… I was… different.”

A cold dread washes over Jimin. He knows, instinctively, that the answer he is about to hear will shatter the fragile world they have built in these stolen moments.

“Different how?” Jimin whispers, his voice trembling.

Jin reaches out, his fingers brushing against Jimin’s cheek, a fleeting touch that sends shivers down his spine. “I’m not an angel, Jimin,” he says, his voice barely audible. “I am…” he pauses, his eyes searching Jimin’s face for any sign of rejection, “I am fallen.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the revealed truth shattering the foundation of their forbidden love. Jimin stares at Jin, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Fallen. The word conjures images of rebellion, of darkness, of everything his angelic existence is supposed to reject.

But then, another truth dawns on him. The way Jin’s eyes had softened when he spoke of forbidden knowledge, the way his lips had burned against Jimin’s, the way he had whispered promises of defiant symphonies… could it be…?

“Jin,” Jimin breathes, his voice thick with emotion, “does that mean… you…”

Jin cuts him off, his lips crashing against Jimin’s in a kiss that is both desperate and tender. “You became the sun I couldn’t turn away from.”

The world spins around them. The city lights blur into a smear of monochrome. In that kiss, Jimin tastes not defiance but vulnerability, a demon confessing his love for an angel of light. And in that moment, Jimin knows, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that he is falling too.

The consequences of their love looms larger than ever, a storm brewing on the horizon. But for now, under the fading blush of dawn, two souls, one fallen, one faltering, hold each other close, their defiance a whispered promise in the face of the impossible.

As the days pass, they steal fleeting moments together, each touch and stolen glance an act of rebellion against the heavens. In these stolen moments, they discover truths about themselves and each other that make their love burn even brighter. They learn that love can be both soft and fierce, a gentle caress one moment, an inferno of passion the next. And as their love grows deeper, so does the danger that lurks around them.

Whispers begin to spread through the divine airways like a dark fog descending upon their fragile haven. News of their trysts reaches the ears of the celestial council, a gathering of angelic beings who uphold the laws of the heavens. Their verdict is swift and unforgiving: Jimin and Jin's love is an abomination, a stain on the purity of their existence.

Perched on the brink of rebellion, the city quakes beneath a moonlit sky. Whispers of divine punishment swirl in the air, a constant reminder of the consequences for defying heaven's orders. Jimin feels his heart tremble as he gazes at his celestial flames, their once radiant white glow now tinged red with fear and doubts. He wants to retreat to the safe, sterile world of angels but cannot suppress the fiery longing that burns within him.

"Turn back, angel," booms a thunderous voice, sending a chill down Jimin's spine. "This path leads only to darkness."

At his side stands Jin, the fallen star, his obsidian eyes ablaze with defiance. His words are a whispered song of chaos tempting Jimin towards rebellion. "Choose, angel," he purrs, his seductive tone pulling him closer to danger. "Embrace the fire within or extinguish it under the rain of heaven."

Caught between duty and desire, Jimin stands at a crossroads with a heavy heart. Will he continue to follow his angelic purpose or surrender to the all-consuming love that threatens to devour him, wings and all? It feels like the city is holding its breath, an audience for the final act of this unlikely love story. Jimin must choose: remain shackled to heaven or fly free in Jin's embrace.

As the weight of his decision hangs in the air, Jimin feels the world around him blur into a hazy backdrop. His thoughts swirl in a tempest of conflicting desires, tearing his celestial essence apart. To choose Jin is to abandon everything he has ever known, forsaking his place among the heavens and casting aside his angelic duties. But to deny himself this love would be to wither away, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to dance and illuminate the darkness.

Jimin turns and gazes into Jin's eyes, and he sees a different kind of light - untamed and exhilarating. It beckons to him, calling him away from the predictable world of angels and towards a life filled with passion and uncertainty.

At that moment, Jimin knows what he must do. With trembling hands, he reaches out to Jin, feeling the electric current that courses between them. The celestial flames flicker their once vibrant glow, reigniting with newfound determination.

"I choose love," Jimin whispers with conviction, his voice carrying through the night sky. The heavens quake in response, thunder rolling across the city as if signifying a shifting balance of power.

As Jimin’s words echo, the air crackles with anticipation. The celestial council, shrouded in a halo of divine light, seems to hesitate, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. Jin, his face alight with a mixture of relief and defiance, grasps Jimin’s hand. Their fingers intertwine, a testament to the love that challenges the very fabric of the heavens.

The lead celestial, his voice laced with disappointment, speaks, “Your decision defies the sacred laws, angel. Are you truly prepared to face the consequences?”

Jimin, his voice unwavering, meets the celestial’s gaze. “I am,” he declares, his stance resolute. “For love, I am willing to forsake the heavens, to dance with the shadows, to face whatever judgment may come.”

A wave of murmurs sweeps through the council, some laced with disapproval, others with a glimmer of understanding. The lead celestial, his expression unreadable, ponders their response.

Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the heavens, engulfing Jimin and Jin. It is a baptism of sorts, a celestial test of their resolve. As the light subsides, they stand there, transformed. Jimin’s angelic wings, once pristine white, now bear streaks of obsidian black.

“You have chosen,” the lead celestial booms, his voice echoing. “You have defied the heavens, and now, you shall bear the mark of your rebellion.”

Despite the mark, Jimin doesn’t feel shame but a surge of empowerment. They have chosen each other, defying the celestial order and embracing the unknown. Their path won’t be easy as the council’s judgment isn’t the end. They are now outcasts and will be hunted by celestial forces who see their love as a threat to the established order.

While their journey will be fraught with danger, heartbreak, and moments of doubt, their love will be their anchor.

#bangtanwhq #kim seokjin #park jimin #jin x jimin #bts fanfic #bts #bts ff #bts smut #bts fanfiction #demon jin #angel jimin #deception #celestials #fallen angels

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lachimolalajeon · 1 year ago

Text

What a beautiful story! You really write so well. This got me crying again. 😭

Anywhere but here

You wake from a traumatic injury to find everything around you isn't the same.

Pairing: Jimin x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Nurse Jimin, smut, angst

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Swearing, sex, traumatic injury, hospitals, memory loss

When you wake, it’s like you’ve been reset to factory settings. You’re not a robot, but there was a you before, and now there’s a you after.

The accident cut your life into halves, and that’s the reality that you’ve been dealt.

The people around you are nameless faces apart from your family. Your parents, your younger sister and a man you don’t know but he says he knows you.

You can’t imagine what it’s like for them to lose the woman that was the old you and pick up the new you, metalwork in your thigh and a scar along the back of your head that they gave you an uneven choppy haircut to fix.

You don’t have the headspace to try and remember the names of everyone else who cares for you.

There’s the slim woman with a ponytail and kind eyes who always smiles cheerfully when she greets you.

There’s the stern looking older woman who never smiles but has gentle hands.

And then there’s the young guy who looks like he belongs in a magazine who you find a little intimidating, to be honest.

The brain injury means you take longer to process, sometimes you know what you want to say but the words won’t come. It’s annoying but you’re assured it will get better.

More pressing is the frame on your leg from where you broke your femur in multiple places. It took you a while to get used to trying to get around on crutches without help, because there was no way you were going to ask the young guy to help you to the bathroom.

You don’t think there’s anything left of your dignity but you’ve got some pride still.

You’re sitting awkwardly on your bed, listening to the man you don’t know but who seems to know you, trying to shift positions because your leg is singing a chorus of pain, when the young male nurse walks into the room wheeling a portable blood pressure monitor.

‘Time for some observations,’ he says, politely.

You take the opportunity to move into the chair and hold out your arm.

The nurse frowns a little. ‘Your blood pressure and heart rate are up. Are you in pain?’

‘A bit,’ you admit, an understatement.

‘I’ll get you pain relief,’ he says.

It’s another fifteen minutes before he comes back with the meds, another fifteen minutes after that before you can draw a breath.

The man who you don’t know but you’re told you used to love is telling you about people you don’t know, and it’s not nearly distracting enough.

When he leaves you want to cry with relief.

The door to your room opens, the nurse walks in. He checks on the IV that’s running, you hold out your arm because that’s the routine.

As he disconnects the drip, he turns to you.

‘There’s a call bell,’ he points out. ‘If you’re in pain don’t wait, just call and one of us will come.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. You’re wrung out, emotionally exhausted, physically stretched, and all you want to do is pull the covers over your head and be alone.

You’re never physically alone in hospital, there’s no fucking privacy, and somehow you feel lonely anyway.

***

The calendar on the wall orientates you to the day and month, and you’re not so bad that you can’t remember the year.

It’s your birthday today they say, another year older even though you’ve gone nothing but backwards since the accident.

Your family bring you cake, fluffy slippers, and love that makes you feel warm. The man, you know he’s called Taemin, that you were about to marry him, why do you think of him as ‘the man’ in your head?

He calls you sweetheart and you think he means it less and less every day.

Today he kisses you, lips on yours and you weren’t expecting it, weren’t ready.

He pulls away, a flicker in his eyes that looks like disappointment that you see before he can hide it.

You want to say that it’s not fair, that you can’t be expected to be the person you were before, but the words don’t come.

You stammer an apology, make it worse.

You only feel relief when he leaves.

Lately they’ve been letting you wheel yourself down to the restaurant, out to the front of the hospital.

It’s tiring, but it’s nice to be out of your room.

You press the call bell, and the male nurse comes in.

He looks rushed, busy, but he’s already here so you might as well ask.

‘Can I borrow a wheelchair to go downstairs?’

He says, ‘yes, of course. It’ll take me a while because it’s quite busy at the moment, but I’ll try and bring one up when I can.’

You thank him and settle in by the window to wait.

The late afternoon sun turns into early dusk, and he doesn’t come back.

You’re getting ready to manoeuvre yourself back into bed when there’s a knock at your door.

It’s the male nurse, dressed in his street clothes instead of scrubs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It got so busy, I completely forgot.’

You look at the wheelchair he’s handling.

‘Would you still like to go?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re worried you sound desperate but you’ve been cooped up in your room all day and you want to go out even if you don’t get to see daylight.

He helps you into the chair. The ID badge tucked under his jacket says ‘Jimin.’

You try to commit it to what remains of your memory.

‘Jimin,’ you say, hoping that saying it will make it stick.

‘Y/N,’ he replies, giving you a smile that makes his eyes scrunch up.

‘Were you on your way home?’ you ask.

‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘Thank you for this,’ you say. You put your hand on his arm, and he moves it away so quickly it’s hard not to feel stung.

‘Sorry,’ you say, putting your hands in your lap.

He’s quiet as he pushes you to the lifts.

‘I can push myself,’ you tell him. ‘You should go home, it’s past your shift.’

‘I’m heading down anyway,’ he replies, very politely.

You sneak a glance at his profile as the lift descends.

He’s pretty, even fourteen hours into a thirteen hour shift. His nose is straight, lips full, and his skin glows like it’s lit from within.

You catch a glance at yourself in the mirrored wall. Your uneven hair that you’re still growing out makes you grimace.

You look down at your lap quickly.

‘Are you ok?’ he asks.

You force a smile. ‘I know the docs saved my life, but they ruined my hair,’ you say, trying to make a joke of it.

Jimin’s quiet again.

‘I was joking,’ you say, quickly. ‘I’m grateful for everything.’

Thankfully, the lift doors open.

‘Good night,’ you say, smiling at him.

He asks,’will you be ok?’

‘Yes,’ you say. Wild horses couldn’t drag any other answer from you.

He looks at you for a moment longer, then he nods and turns to leave.

***

Physical therapists are demons in disguise, you think disgruntledly to yourself as today’s therapist tries to encourage you to get out of the chair.

Your thigh is screaming in pain, you’re tired and dizzy and sweating from exertion.

As soon as the therapist leaves, you press your call bell and a nurse arrives.

It’s not someone you’ve met before, you know they’ve been short staffed lately.

His ID badge says Matsu.

You ask for pain relief.

He says, firmly, ‘you shouldn’t ask for pain relief unless the pain is bad. The last thing you need is an opiate addiction.’

You’ve never been denied pain relief before.

You feel a wave of shame.

Is he right? Are you addicted? Does it matter?

The pain’s bad though, your stomach’s churning and clenching.

‘The pain is bad,’ you say, dignity be damned, pleading.

‘I’ll check on you in an hour and if you’re still in pain I can give you some then,’ he says.

He’s out the door before you can formulate a reply.

You sit very still, try to distract yourself. The pattern on the ceiling’s swirling, you’re concentrating so hard.

The door opens, the male nurse called Jimin comes in, and you bite your lip so hard you taste metal on your tongue.

He’s saying something, but you can’t hear it over the rush of blood in your ears.

He comes closer, leans over you, voice firmer now.

You can hear your name.

You gaze up into his face, and he looks so kind, and concerned, the tears start trickling down your face.

‘Please,’ you whisper. ‘I’m in pain.’

Jimin leaves and comes back, hangs an IV on the drip stand above your head, connects it up and opens the port.

The cold trickle through your veins makes you shiver but soon enough relief comes, so sweet and welcoming you start crying again.

You don’t know how much time has passed before you realise Jimin’s still in your room, typing notes into the computer.

He says, ‘don’t let it get that bad next time.’

His voice is quiet, neutral, but you can’t help the flash of anger.

‘I asked for the painkillers, and the nurse told me to hold out as he didn’t want me to be addicted,’ you reply, sharp.

You can hear the tone of your voice as it comes out, and you hate it. The thing that you resent most about the constant pain is the way it’s draining away your generosity, your indulgence, your humour.

You can’t stand yourself.

Jimin, instead of snapping back, somehow manages to reply with a kindness that makes you feel even worse.

‘I’m sorry the nurse said that,’ he says, sounding regretful. ‘Please know you can ask for pain meds anytime.’

You’re still crying, indulging in your moment of self-pity, wallowing in it.

God, you hate yourself.

The only thing you hate more is the pain.

***

You’re going for another trip out, you’ve started spending more time outside now that the weather’s better.

You’re waiting to be let out of the double doors to the ward when the nurse, Jimin, passes by.

‘There’s a hairdresser in the hospital,’ he tells you. ‘They’re open now, and they didn’t have any customers when I checked.’

You look at him, considering.

‘Since you said you didn’t like your hair,’ he adds.

You smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll check it out.’

You look at your reflection in the mirror of the elevator on the way down, and impulsively, decide to visit the hospital hairdresser.

It takes you a bit of back and forth to find it, you’re sweaty and frazzled by the time you press on the buzzer.

A woman with bright orange streaks in her hair answers. She gives you a once over, then smiles, kind.

‘You must be Y/N? Jimin said you might come.’

You’re surprised. ‘You know Jimin?’

‘Honey,’ she says, taking the handles of your wheelchair and pushing you in front of one of the mirrors, ‘everyone knows Jimin. He’s a sweetheart.’

‘He’s easy on the eyes too,’ agrees another woman, smirking. The tag on her chest says ‘Suzie’.

‘Jimim said those neurosurgeons did a number on your hair,’ the first woman says. She winks at you. ‘Lucky for you I’m an expert on cleaning up after them.’

You’re startled into a laugh.

Her smile brightens. ‘You’re so pretty! And you’ll look even better when we’re done.’

An hour later, you find yourself in the lifts on the way back to your ward.

You can’t stop staring at yourself in the mirrors.

Is this what you used to look like? You’ve seen a few pictures of you. Taemin’s lockscreen is a picture of you and him on a beach, but you don’t think you look exactly the way you looked before.

Rhonda, the hairdresser who greeted you at the door, had waved you away when you tried to pay her, saying all patients got their haircuts on the house.

You’re waiting to be let back into the ward when you hear a familiar voice.

It’s Jimin, smiling at you so broadly you blink a little at how pretty he looks.

‘You went! Your hair looks beautiful,’ he says.

You look at him searchingly but he seems perfectly sincere.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him. You give him a half-smile. ‘They like you a lot down there.’

Jimin laughs. ‘That’s because I let them do whatever they want to my hair.’

He rakes a hand through his hair to illustrate, and you notice he’s got a new undercut beneath the blonde curtain of his hair.

‘Pretty,’ you say, admiring.

Jimin glances at you. ‘Just like you,’ he replies.

You laugh, because he can’t possibly be serious. ‘Please, in this old thing?’

You pluck at a fold in your hospital gown, and Jimin says, deadpan, ‘the green specks in the fabric really complement your eyes.’

You laugh again.

Jimin asks, ‘Need a push back to your room?’

‘Nah,’ you say. ‘I can do it.’

Jimin nods. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

It’s only when you get back to your room that you realise that your conversation with Jimin, short as it was, is the first real conversation you’ve had in a long time.

***

Taemin’s looking at you very seriously, and a sudden flash of intuition tells you what he’s going to say before he says it.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he tells you.

You concentrate hard on the hand he’s put on top of yours.

Was his touch ever familiar to you? All you feel is detached.

You search his face, the curve of his brow, the line of his jaw. He’s attractive even now, but did you ever really love him the way he said you did?

It’s only been a few months since the accident.

Did he ever really love you if he’s this keen to move on without you?

The tears come as a surprise.

He looks alarmed now, as the wetness spills from your eyes, down your cheeks.

You know it’s unfair for you two to be in limbo like this, especially when you don’t think the old you is ever coming back.

It’s just the new you, the now and forever you left.

You assure him you’re fine, that it’s the right thing to do.

He tells you he’ll pack up your things and deliver them to your parents’ house.

You tell him to throw everything away.

What use do you have for the trappings of a life you can’t remember?

It seems like hours before you gather yourself together enough to go back to your solitary room.

You put yourself to bed because you think you’ve had enough of today, and you can only hope tomorrow will be better.

***

It’s Halloween, and you’re amusing yourself with the thought that you don’t even need a costume this year to look frightening.

You’ve had another operation, your leg’s healing well enough that the surgeons have taken the frame off, leaving a collection of red scars and a leg you don’t trust without the external metalwork.

Without the scaffolding that held you upright for months.

Your hair’s grown out, the scar across the side and back of your head is covered but if you run your fingers along your scalp you can still feel it.

The doctors tell you that you’ll be home before Christmas.

You refrain from telling them you can’t remember a home apart from this hospital bed.

Nobody likes a killjoy.

You glance up as someone knocks on your door.

It’s Jimin, a satin cape over his scrubs, plastic fangs peeking out between his lips.

‘Are you here for my blood?’ you ask.

It’s a joke you wouldn’t have been quick enough to make a month ago.

Jimin frowns at you. ‘Where’s your costume?’

You gesture to your leg. ‘I’m the Tin Man,’ you tell him.

‘You are pretty heartless,’ Jimin agrees.

You snort. ‘You’re a nurse, aren’t you supposed to be caring?’

Jimin says, ‘I do care. There’s going to be fireworks later, I got permission to take you to the park if you want.’

You can’t believe your ears. ‘The park? As in, out of the hospital? Do you mean the car park?’

Jimin smiles. ‘I mean the park next to the hospital. An actual park.’

‘When?’ you ask, guarded, not letting yourself get excited, worried he’s going to tell you it’s a joke.

‘I clock off at eight, I’ll take you then.’

You know how hard he works, you’ve been on this ward for months and you think he’s been here almost as much as you have. And you literally live here.

You want to ask why he’d spend his precious time off with you but god help you, you want to go to the park more.

You haven’t been off hospital grounds since you were admitted, a mangled mess of broken bone and blood.

Jimin’s looking at you. ‘If you don’t want to —-‘

‘I want to!’ you say, so quickly you startle both of you.

He’s still eyeing you carefully, so you say, ‘I just feel bad taking up your time off.’

‘It won’t be long. I don’t live far from the hospital anyway,’ Jimin says.

He smiles, and he looks so kind you feel like crying. ‘So are we going?’

‘Yes,’ you tell him. ‘Yes I’d love to.’

***

You feel an unfamiliar fluttering of butterflies in your stomach as you wait by the entrance to your ward for Jimin to finish handing over his patients.

Jimin hurries up to you. He looks a little tired, but he smiles kindly at you. ‘Ready?’

He’s dressed in his street clothes, a plain t-shirt, a hoodie and jeans, and you catch yourself thinking how pretty he looks, even in casual clothes, tired after a long shift.

Shit.

Do you have a crush on him?

At least you don’t have to think about him having a crush on you, you think ruefully. All he’s seen of you are your dumb jokes which you can’t even blame on your brain injury, your hideously scarred leg and your terrible post neurosurgery haircut.

You think you’re good.

Jimin takes the handles of your wheelchair as you leave out the main entrance of the hospital.

‘Thanks for taking me out on your own time,’ you say, wishing you could see his face.

‘It’s not a problem at all,’ Jimin tells you. ‘Like I said, I live close.’

You feel lighter the further you get from the hospital, the fluttering in your stomach getting stronger.

Is this what happiness feels like? Excitement?

Jimin parks you by the side of the lake.

‘I’ve got some time off after this, anyway,’ he says.

‘Yeah? Going skiing?’

Jimin looks at you, bemused.

‘Sorry,’ you say, apologetic.

Your injuries are from a skiing accident. At least that’s what you were told. You sure as hell can’t remember it.

You want to say something else, but you’re distracted by the sudden eruption of fireworks, over the lake.

A starburst of metals burning in the sky.

You don’t realise you’re laughing until you notice the way Jimin’s looking at you.

His face gleams red and orange in the light reflected off the lake.

He’s beautiful.

You stop, self-conscious.

‘Don’t,’ Jimin says. ‘Don’t hide it on account of me, you look so happy.’

A shower of purple falls gently, and it’s so pretty you could cry.

You could keep watching forever.

‘I haven’t seen your fiance in a while,’ remarks Jimin.

Distracted, you say, ‘we broke up.’

Jimin looks at you sharply, you feel the need to explain.

‘He said he couldn’t do it anymore,’ you tell him. You shrug. ‘It’s ok. I know I’m different to how I was before.’

Jimin says, casual, ‘What a dick move.’

You’re startled into a laugh. ‘Isn’t it? But I don’t have any feelings for him either, not now anyway. It would have been a farce.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jimin says. ‘If you’re committed in health ——‘

‘I don’t know how committed we were,’ you say quietly. ‘I can’t remember a damn thing about us.’

You’re both quiet for a moment.

You ask, to break the silence, ‘what are you doing with your time off?’

‘I’m going travelling,’ Jimin says. He looks at you sideways. ‘I’m going to Tuscany with friends.’

You’re excited for him. ‘I’ve always wanted to go to Tuscany,’ you say. ‘You’ll have to show me pictures when you get back.’

Jimin smiles. ‘Of course. But at the rate you’re healing you might not even be on the ward when I get back.’

You hadn’t even considered this.

‘I’ll be gone three weeks,’ Jimin says, gently.

‘Well, send me a postcard,’ you say, laughingly. ‘You know where I live.’

‘Deal,’ Jimin says, offering his hand. You shake, as the lights rain down around you, burning bright in the dark.

***

You’re struggling at physical therapy today, more so than usual. Your breathing’s heavier, and it feels like you’re fighting through mud.

Your physical therapist, Mara, finally stops you, just as you’re about to ask for a break.

‘Are you feeling ok?’ she asks, concerned.

‘I’m fine,’ you grit out. ‘I can do more.’

‘I think we should stop.’

You just have enough consciousness left to hear her calling for help as your vision goes dark.

The padded mat is cool under your cheek.

You hear rapid footsteps, voices, and then, nothing at all.

***

You lose two and a half days before they allow you to wake.

First and most pressing, the tube in your throat that it hurts to swallow around, pushing air into your lungs. Breathing for you.

The line in your neck, the stitches holding it in that itch, madly.

You would scratch it but your hand’s tethered with the weight of a probe on your finger, another line in the back of it.

The tube in your nose, hooked up to a pump.

The catheter between your legs, attached to a bag hooked carelessly on the side of the bed.

You’re in intensive care.

When your breathing tube comes out, a cough and a splutter, you ask what happened.

It turns out you had a wound infection that made you septic. You’d collapsed after a physical therapy session.

If you hadn’t already lost half your life to the skiing accident, you’d mourn the loss of the last few days. As it is, all you can do is what you’ve been doing.

Try to move on.

Your muscles, painstakingly built up through months of physical therapy, have weakened even though you’ve only been asleep for two days and change.

Breathing becomes an exercise in endurance that you’ll never take for granted again.

The lines come out, one by one, and then, at the end of your first week, you’re finally line free, untethered again.

Just your battered body for company.

Sohee, the older nurse with gentle hands, coaxes you through your bad days.

You think of Jimin, more than once, sunstreaked and golden in the fields of Tuscany.

You hope that wherever he is, he’s having the time of his life.

Your family, initially terrified by your deterioration, are now talking about where you’ll live when you get discharged.

Trying to help you get over the setback from your sepsis.

You’re trying not to let your discomfort show on your face as Matsu tries for the third time to draw blood from your abused veins.

He buries the needle, deep, and you bite your lip at the throbbing that results.

The door opens, and you look up, grateful for the distraction.

It’s Jimin.

He’s tanned, and glowing with good health, and he stands out like an angel in these four walls that have been your home for months.

‘Jimin!’ you say, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face.

‘Y/N,’ he says, with such warmth there’s a glow in your chest.

You flinch as Matsu moves the needle in your arm, and Jimin’s face darkens.

‘Hey, Matsu, I can take over.’

The tone of his voice brooks no argument.

Matsu nods, and Jimin takes his tray from his as he leaves.

‘I had a little jaunt to the ICU whilst you were gone,’ you say, lightly. ‘It’s not as nice as Tuscany, but it was a change of scenery at least.’

Jimin smiles. ‘I heard. I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece.’

His hand is warm on your arm as he prepares to draw blood.

‘They did a number on my veins,’ you say.

Jimin hums. ‘I know,’ he tells you. He’s gentle, thumb pressing on your skin as he searches for a vein.

‘There goes my life of being a junkie,’ you say dramatically. ‘I wouldn’t be able to find a place to shoot up.’

Jimin says. ‘Tuscany was lovely. You should go someday.’

‘Yeah?’ you ask, interested. ‘Tell me more. Where did you stay? What did you do?’

You feel the prick as Jimin draws blood, and he says, quietly. ‘I’m in, you can relax, ok? I’ll be done in a minute.’

You close your eyes as Jimin tells you about the vineyard where he and his friends stayed. His voice is low, melodic, and he distracts you so well you barely realise when he’s done.

He places a plaster on your hand, thumb smoothing the edges.

His touch calms you in a way you haven’t felt in weeks.

You turn to him. ‘Thanks Jimin.’

‘I’ve been doing this for years,’ he says.

‘Not just for this,’ you say, gesturing to the plaster. ‘Thanks for the company.’

‘Apparently you like it so much you got septic so you’d still be here when I got back,’ Jimin says, grinning at you, easy.

You laugh. ‘One day, when I get out of here, I’m going to make you breakfast, and the best coffee you’ve ever had.’

Jimin snorts. ‘Can you even cook?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit.

You both laugh.

‘Well, I look forward to it anyway,’ Jimin says. He gets up, holding up the vial he’s just drawn from you. ‘I should get this labelled up and sent off.’

You’re still smiling long after he’s left the room.

***

It’s Christmas day.

Your family are visiting, they’ve even brought in turkey, your favourite roast potatoes which you used to love, and you haven’t had such a good day in a long time.

You’re still in your Christmas pyjamas, looking out the window after they left, when there’s a knock on your door.

Jimin steps in, slightly bemused at the collection of food and presents you’ve been bequeathed.

‘I know you don’t know who you were before, but you’re very loved,’ he observes.

You’re oddly touched.

‘They left me a tonne of food, have you eaten?’ you ask.

Jimin smiles. ‘I’ve been eating all day, all the staff working today have brought in things for Christmas lunch.’

He pauses. ‘And dinner.’

He laughs. ‘We’re all set until the end of the year, I think.’

‘Dessert?’ you offer. ‘It’s my mum’s sticky toffee pudding, I won’t be able to finish it.’

Jimin considers the container you show him. ‘I can heat it up and we can share it?’

‘Deal.’

Jimin disappears with your container and comes back with two bowls and two spoons.

You eye the tiny gummy snowman candy he’s placed on top of your helping.

Jimin sees your expression, laughs. ‘They’re good. Sohee gave me a whole bag of them.’

He perches next to your window, and you eat in silence.

‘There’s a big tree in the main hospital, do you want to go and visit it after this?’ Jimin asks.

You nod. ‘Also, I got you a present.’

You rummage in your pile of presents for the gold box your sister helped you get.

Jimin accepts, looking shyly at you. ‘You shouldn’t have got me anything,’ he says.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t expect special treatment,’ you tease. ‘I know you save the best treats for Mrs Kim in room 12 anyway.’

Jimin laughs. ‘May I?’

He unwraps the box, and a moment later is staring at the gold Christmas bauble ensconced in delicate tissue paper.

He runs his thumb over the design etched in the glass. ‘The tree of love,’ he says.

You smile. ‘When you came back after your holiday, you looked so happy and recharged, and I thought this would remind you of it.’

Jimin smiles back at you so bright and pretty he’s blinding. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’

He puts it carefully back in the box. ‘The tree I was going to show you isn’t as beautiful as this, but shall we go now, anyway?’

‘Sure.’

You grab your crutches.

‘I can get a wheelchair if you want –’ Jimin offers.

‘It’s my Christmas present to myself,’ you tell him. ‘I’m not going to use a wheelchair again.’

Jimin looks at you for a long moment.

When he opens his mouth, his words aren’t what you expected.

‘I guess I could carry you, if the worst happened,’ he says lightly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Lead the way, Park, I’m fine on my crutches.’

Two lifts and a walk across the link corridor later, you find yourself standing in front of the giant Douglas fir in the front foyer of the hospital.

It’s huge, at least 20 feet tall, and covered in blues and silvers.

You sigh. ‘It smells so good.’

You catch Jimin looking at you.

‘It reminded me of you when I saw it,’ he says.

‘Does it also have a bad leg?’ you ask, teasing.

‘I used to go hiking with my family, every weekend,’ Jimin tells you. He’s looking up, away from you, at the star on the top of the tree. ‘This tree reminds me of that.’

He turns to you. ‘My dad used to do a bit of woodworking, and his favourite type of wood was Douglas fir. You can paint it easily so it can be any colour you want, and at its core it’s light and strong. Look after it, and it lasts a lifetime.’

You’re trying to think about how this relates to you when Jimin says, ‘You’re rebuilding your life, painting yourself different, but you’re the same person at your core. You’re one of the strongest people I know.’

You don’t realise you’re crying until he reaches out, gently, to wipe your cheek.

‘Do you believe in fate?’ Jimin asks.

‘I don’t know what I believe in now,’ you say, honestly.

‘I never did,’ Jimin says. ‘I wanted to leave nursing for a long time. I actually put in my notice last year.’

You’re surprised to hear it. From what you’ve seen, Jimin loves his job. He’s damned good at it.

‘I was on one of my last shifts when you were brought in,’ Jimin says. He’s looking at you now, an expression on his face that makes your heart skip several beats.

‘Seeing you pick up the pieces after you had something so devastating happen to you —-’ he breaks off, throat working as he swallows.

‘It made me realise how much I love my job,’ he says. ‘I think I was meant to do this. I’m good at it.’

‘You’re great at it,’ you say, earnest.

Jimin reaches out and puts his hand over where yours is braced over your crutch.

‘Here’s to next Christmas, when all this is behind you,’ he says.

You don’t know what to say, so you grasp his hand. ‘Merry Christmas, Jimin.’

‘Merry Christmas, Y/N.’

You stand there, hand in hand, admiring the sparkly tree, enjoying the relative lull in activity in the normally crowded hospital foyer this Christmas night, until your legs start to give out, and then Jimin walks you back to your room.

***

You’re in your room, just back from physical therapy, when Sohee walks in. ‘We need your help,’ she says, brisk.

You look up, curious.

‘It’s Jimin’s birthday, and the tradition here is that if you work here and it’s your birthday, you get slimed.’

You’re incredulous. You can’t imagine anyone would ever dare to slime Sohee, with her perfectly starched uniforms and her stern demeanor.

‘Park manages to evade us every year, but this year, he has a weakness,’ Sohee continues.

She looks right at you. ‘You.’

You splutter. ‘Me? How am I Jimin’s weakness?’

‘He likes you,’ Sohee says, matter of fact. ‘He’d never act on it, not whilst you’re in his care, but he likes you, and this year, Park Jimin’s going to get what’s coming to him.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ you ask, nonchalant.

‘I’ll get the catering staff to give you an extra helping on Sunday roast day,’ says Sohee, like she’d been expecting you to ask exactly that.

‘I don’t want to hurt Jimin,’ you say.

Sohee rolls her eyes. ‘No one wants to hurt Jimin. But he’s the quickest out of all of us, and he’s slimed us all over the years, and no one can catch him.’

‘Come on,’ Sohee wheedles. ‘You’ll be discharged next week anyway.’

You sigh. ‘What do I have to do?’

***

You shift nervously in your chair as you wait for Jimin to respond to the call bell Sohee activated before she left.

He knocks on your door and enters, a smile already on his face. ‘Are you ok, Y/N?’

‘I’m sorry,’ you start.

Jimin’s two steps away when the door bursts open, and Sohee, Matsu and the other nurse, Alice, rush in.

Jimin looks at them, then you, and steps in front of you quickly. ‘Ok, ok, you can slime me,’ he says, hands out. ‘Just don’t get anything on Y/N.’

Jimin stands perfectly still as Sohee and Matsu unceremoniously dump buckets of green and purple slime over his head.

You don’t miss how the slime makes his scrubs top mould to his torso.

Jimin turns, slips, and you reach out to stop him from falling.

You lose your balance and Jimin, trying to stop you from falling, slides to put his body under yours as you end up in a heap on the floor.

Jimin’s looking at you, concern in his eyes. ‘Are you ok?’

He looks so ridiculous, covered in green and purple slime, that you can’t help but laugh.

A moment later, he’s laughing too.

‘I’m sorry,’ you tell him.

He’s still smiling. ‘I can’t believe you helped them,’ he complains. He shifts a little, and suddenly you’re very aware of the hardness of his torso under you, how his thighs strain against his scrubs bottoms.

‘I’ll leave you kids to clean up,’ Sohee says, not unkindly, ushering Matsu and Alice out of your room. ‘Happy birthday Jiminie!’

Jimin helps you get up. ‘Be careful, it’s slippery,’ he says, holding your arm.

You’ve never been this close to him before.

He wipes his hand on his thigh, then brushes a streak of slime off your cheek. ‘I’ll get cleaned up, then I’ll come back and clean the room, ok? Can you get cleaned up on your own?’

You nod. His hand is still against your cheek.

You’re thinking about what Sohee said about Jimin liking you. Is she right?

Jimin pulls his hand away, and you mourn the loss of his warmth.

‘See you in a bit,’ he tells you.

***

You take one last look back at the room you’ve spent the last few months in whilst you’ve been recovering from your injury.

You came in, in pieces, and now you’re walking out, changed in ways you can’t even fathom.

Your dad and mum are in the car with your things, you’ll be staying with them for a while until you learn to live independently again.

You’ve said your thank you’s and goodbyes. To Sohee, who made good on her promise to get the catering staff to give you extra roast potatoes on Sunday. To Matsu, who you’ve seen grow in compassion since the initial days when he wouldn’t give you pain meds. To Mrs Kim who was constantly saying how much you reminded her of her daughter.

To Jimin, who dropped by after his shift yesterday and gave you his number. He’d told you to call him and it’d seemed like he meant it.

You close the door behind you and see Jimin, rushing down the corridor.

‘I was worried I’d missed you,’ he says.

‘You’re not even at work today,’ you remind him.

‘I live close. Besides, I couldn’t not say goodbye on your last day.’

Jimin smiles. ‘Ready to face the big bad world again?’

You smile back. ‘All my monsters are in there,’ you say, gesturing to the empty room behind you.

‘We should meet up,’ Jimin says. ‘You owe me a breakfast and the best coffee I’ve ever had.’

‘We can meet up,’ you say. ‘Anywhere but here.’

You reach out, and enclose him in a hug.

‘I’ll see you soon, ok?’

He holds you a moment longer, then lets go.

‘Yeah.’

You walk down to the ward doors, press the button to let yourself out.

You give Jimin one last wave, and then, you’re out.

***

You’re watching TV with your parents after dinner, when the news comes on.

‘Hey, that’s your hospital,’ you dad says.

You watch, interest piqued as the newscaster reports on upcoming nursing strikes.

‘They should strike,’ you say. ‘They’re underpaid and underappreciated.’

Later, in your room, you’re looking at the number Jimin saved on your phone.

It’s been two weeks since you left the hospital, and you’ve not got in touch with him.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to him, but you’re worried about what things will be like, now that you’re out of the hospital.

You think of the news report you saw, and you make a decision.

***

It’s the first time you’ve really been out since you left the hospital. You’ve been with your mum to the store, round the corner to the park, but you haven’t made any longer trips than that.

Your leg’s completely healed, you don’t even need crutches anymore, but some days there’s still an ache deep in your bones.

You get headaches but they’re nowhere near as bad as they were.

You hear the chanting, the sound of a hundred conversations, as you walk over to where there’s a crowd gathered, picketing in support of the nursing strike.

Every face is unfamiliar, and you’re starting to wonder if it was wise to come and support the strikes when you see him.

He’s dressed casually like the other times you’ve seen him in off-duty clothes, his hair styled back, holding a placard that says, ‘Safe staffing saves lives’.

Like he senses your eyes on him, he turns, and your eyes meet.

In an instant, he’s making his way through the crowd, to you.

He stops a step in front of you.

‘Is it really you?’ he asks.

You smile.

Jimin wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer as a group of people push past.

‘What are you doing here?’ he scolds. ‘You shouldn’t be in a crowd like this —’

You put your hand against his cheek, and he stills.

He moves his head, closer, so close your lips touch.

You’ve wanted this for so long, and this new version of you takes what she wants.

You kiss.

Jimin makes a soft noise, deep in his throat, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head as your lips meet again.

By the time you come up for air, you feel flushed, giddy, your heart pounding a million miles a minute in your chest.

Jimin presses another soft kiss on your cheek before he pulls away.

‘I’m so glad you came,’ he says.

***

Jimin’s shucking his shirt over his head in the quiet of his bedroom, only the moonlight to show you the beauty of his form.

He gathers you back into his arms like he couldn’t stand even that short time apart without touching you. You don’t think he’s stopped touching you at all since you met him at the picket line.

You’re not complaining.

Jimin pulls you closer so your lips meet again. His lips are soft, full, pressing against yours firmly.

He doesn’t shy away, so you don’t either.

He tugs your top over your head, litters your breasts with kisses, tugs the cups of your bra down so he can get better access.

He laves your nipples with his tongue, like he enjoys the sounds you make as he sucks on your flesh.

You can feel his hardness against your centre as he strokes his tongue and hands over your skin.

You reach down to touch him, and Jimin grunts as you curl your fingers around his cock.

‘We don’t have to—’

‘I want it,’ you tell him, lips against his skin, hand on his ass.

‘I want to give it to you,’ Jimin groans. ‘Fuck, are you sure?’

You’ve never been surer of anything in your life.

Jimin rolls a condom onto himself, hissing a little. He positions himself above you, and you move to make room for him between your thighs.

He nudges in a little, gentle as he’s always been with you, and the stretch is so good you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

Jimin presses his face to yours. ‘Tell me to stop if —’

‘Don’t stop,’ you say. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

Jimin seals his lips to yours as he drives the rest of himself into you. He stops when he’s all the way in, stills.

He lifts his head to look at your face. ‘Are you – is this ok?’

You smile, breathlessly. ‘Can’t you tell, Jimin?’

Jimin groans as you clench around him.

‘You’re so wet. Fuck —’

He moves, and your eyes close with the pleasure of it.

‘Fuck, Jimin —’

He moves again, and you cry out as he rocks his hips against yours.

It’s overwhelming, the weight of him against you, the way his skin gleams with sweat in the moonlight, the soft whines he makes on every thrust. The feel of him inside you.

It’s his voice that eventually tips you over the edge. ‘You’re so pretty,’ he vows against your ear. ‘I can’t believe you’re here —’

You cry his name as you come, and he keeps going, seeking his own release now, gentle even when he’s taut with need.

He kisses you again, grinds hard, deep, and then he’s holding you like he doesn’t want to ever let you go.

***

You can hear Jimin moving in his bedroom, and sure enough, he emerges, shirtless, hair mussed from your fingers through it.

You admire the beautiful lines of his cut torso as he walks towards you.

‘Who knew you were packing all this under those blue scrubs?’ you ask, teasing.

Jimin smiles, pulls you into a hug. ‘What are you doing in my kitchen?’

‘Making you breakfast,’ you tell him. ‘A promise is a promise.’

Jimin leans down to kiss your neck, and you shiver at the touch of his lips.

‘Later,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll make us breakfast later. Come back to bed.’

He grasps your hand, and you follow him back to his bedroom.