#St. John's Harbour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hamsterclaw · 4 months

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Bangtan Christmas 2023 drabble 4 - read the rest here.

A wounded man falls out of the sky and lands in your garden, plunging you into a world of danger and dragons. Part of the Royal Pain AU (Royal Pain, Dragonfire), featuring dragon rider! Jimin.

Pairing: Jimin x f! reader

Genre: Dragon rider! Jimin

Rating: 18+

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, mentions of blood and injury

The man who lands in your garden looks like he’s fallen out of the sky. He’s hurt, bruised, bleeding from a long gouge that runs down the side of his neck to his chest.

It takes you a while to drag him into your cottage but you manage eventually.

You start piecing him together again, wound by wound. First, the wound on his neck, that you clean and stitch together, using your finest embroidery thread, a remnant of your mother’s fondness for crafts.

The other bruises and grazes you smother in a salve made of St John’s wort your grandmother used to swear by.

You replace his ruined clothes and finally, exhausted, lay him to rest in your bed. You curl up next to the fire in your hearth and go to sleep yourself.

You awaken, with a start, to a growl in your ear and a pressure against your neck, under your jaw.

‘Who are you?’ demands the man you saved. His eyes are fiery, his grip on your throat surprisingly strong considering how injured he was.

You stammer your name, and haltingly explain how you found him.

‘Where am I?’ he asks.

It’s when you’re telling him that you’re on the outskirts of Ijil that he seems to calm, a little, enough to release his hold on your neck.

It’s a few moments until you get your breath back.

He watches you, eyes hard and cold, a sharp contrast to the softness of his features.

The man you rescued has blond hair, warm, honeyed rather than icy platinum. He has a jawline so sharp it looks like it could cut you, but his lips —-

His lips are full, rosy, and look like they’d be soft to kiss.

You realise you’re staring at him.

‘I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t have taken you in and tended your wounds if I intended to do you harm,’ you say.

There’s a trickle of wet down your neck, where the point of the knife he held against you pierced your skin.

Moving slowly so as not to startle him, you press your fingertips to your skin, wincing as they come away bloodstained.

His grip on the knife he must have found in your kitchen loosens. He puts the knife down, watching you.

‘I’ve got bread, and stew, if you’re hungry,’ you offer.

He says nothing, but follows you into your kitchen.

You pour him a glass of water as you heat up the food you made. You pass him a hunk of bread.

He tears into it like he’s ravenous.

You’re so busy watching him it takes you a moment to catch up when he speaks.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he says.

His accent isn’t an Ijil one, but you’re not surprised. You’d seen the mark on his chest when you’d undressed him.

He’s a dragon rider.

Half a year ago, an Ijilian woman and child had been kidnapped by a dragon rider from Eosul. Attempts to rescue them had resulted in a huge fire that had burned down half of an Ijilian village.

Ijilians are good at magic but not known for fighting skills.

The unrest and bad blood since the kidnapping has gradually built up, to the point where if one of your clients knew you were harbouring a dragon rider, you’d fear for his safety.

You patch up the small, deep cut on your neck from the knife whilst the dragon rider eats.

You wash your hands and take the seat across from him, filling your plate.

You eat in silence.

‘I’m Jimin,’ he says, when his plate is empty. You offer him more food but he declines.

He gestures to his neck. ‘I’m sorry I cut you.’

‘It’s fine,’ you tell him. You pick up your empty plates to clean.

‘You can stay here until you heal up,’ you say, meeting his gaze. ‘You’re safe.’

You don’t think he entirely trusts you, but he’s too tired and injured to question you.

‘I woke up in a bed,’ he says, and you notice that he’s gone a little more pale and sweaty. ‘Is it yours? I can sleep elsewhere.’

‘Just take the bed,’ you say, brisk. ‘Are you in pain? I have a pain powder you can have.’

You see the flare of suspicion in his eyes, and know he’s going to refuse before he says it.

‘I’m fine,’ he insists. He turns and walks stiffly to your bedroom.

You clear up and prepare a herbal blend for one of your clients before you go to sleep yourself.

***

You wake to a knocking at your door. The sun, when you peer blearily out of the window, is high in the sky.

It’s a stunning day, bright and crisp. You open the door and greet Adara politely. Adara is one of the elders of the village you live on the outskirts of, a shrewd woman with powerful blue magic. She was a great friend of your grandmother’s.

You hand her the herbal blend you formulated for her tea and offer her a drink.

Adara declines. You’re turning away when her hand touches your chin.

‘What happened, love?’ she asks, concerned. ‘Did Bern get rough with you again?’

‘No, it was an accident,’ you tell her.

Adara narrows her eyes at you but lets it slide.

‘You should get more sleep,’ she says to you, kindly. She wraps her shawl tighter around herself and bids you goodbye.

You’re still thinking about Adara when you go to wash your face. You push open the door to your bathroom and stop in your tracks.

Jimin’s got his hands braced against the washbasin. His bare back is tense, muscles rippling as he washes his face.

Your eyes meet in the mirror.

‘I’m sorry,’ you apologise, quickly. ‘I’m used to living alone.’

You’re backing out of the bathroom when he says, ‘wait. I’m finished.’

He steps carefully past you. His shoulder brushes against yours. He stops for a moment, looking at your face.

‘I’ll fix breakfast,’ you tell him.

He says, ‘thank you,’ quietly.

You nod and step into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

***

Jimin sits opposite you at your little kitchen table. He looks tired still, and in pain, but he’s less pale than he was.

He grimaces as he lifts his right arm, the side of the long gouge on his neck. You’re not surprised, you’d seen the bruises over his chest and torso.

‘Why are you helping me?’ he asks.

‘You fell into my garden,’ you remind him. ‘I couldn’t just leave you there.’

‘You know I’m a dragon rider,’ he says. It’s not a question.

‘Are you?’ you say, pretending to be surprised.

For a moment he stares at you, then he laughs.

‘Are you a healer?’ he asks.

‘My grandparents were. I inherited some of their magic.’

Jimin takes a tentative sip of the tea you brewed him. He glances at you, appreciative. ‘This is delicious.’

You’re pleased he’s enjoying it.

There’s another knock on your door.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bern’s one of the very few people your age in the village. He’s a spellcaster, which would be fine if he wasn’t also convinced he’s Jaesu’s gift to womankind.

He’s been handsy with you in the past, sometimes a little too rough. You’d be loath to do business with him if he wasn’t one of your biggest customers.

He looks curiously at Jimin, sitting at your table.

‘He’s a cousin, from Eosul,’ you say, quickly. ‘Jimin, this is Bern, he lives in the village.’

Jimin nods.

‘He’s not a dragon rider is he?’ Bern jokes. His gaze sharpens on Jimin’s wounded neck.

You laugh and push Bern’s order into his hands.

‘If I knew a dragon I’d get him to burn your ass,’ you say, cold.

Bern takes the package and catches your wrist as you pull your hands away.

‘Mouthy,’ he says.

You tug your wrist out of his grasp.

‘Thanks for your custom,’ you say, voice heavy with sarcasm.

You let Bern out and lean against the door, hand rubbing your wrist absently.

Jimin speaks up from the table. ‘Is he always that way?’

‘That’s him on a nice day,’ you reply, thinking of the time he pushed you up and pinned you against your kitchen door, just long enough that you started to get worried.

You start to clear up. ‘You should get some rest, if you want.’

‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘Not looking like you’re about to keel over,’ you reply. You regret the harshness of your tone as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

You apologise. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going into the woods to forage for herbs. I’ll be back in the evening. Will you be all right? I’m not expecting any other customers today.’

Jimin gets up, slowly. ‘I should head back to Eosul.’

‘You can barely walk,’ you point out.

There’s silence as you gaze at each other across your tiny kitchen.

‘If you go, there’s food in the pantry, and medicine,’ you say. ‘Help yourself to anything you think you’ll need.’

‘Thank you,’ Jimin says.

You nod, lift your cloak off its peg, and leave.

****

Your little cottage is dark when you return from foraging, arms full.

You push open the door and step over the threshold.

It takes you a few practised movements to light the oil lamp in the kitchen, a few more to get a fire going in the hearth.

You don’t sense anyone else.

You’re a little disappointed that Jimin’s left but you guess as a dragon rider he’s used to being injured.

You wash up, get changed and go back to the kitchen to store your herbs.

The kitchen door’s standing open, letting in the chill.

A moment later the shape of a man fills the doorway.

‘Sorry,’ Jimin says, slightly winded, carrying an armful of timber for your fire. ‘I saw you were nearly out.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. He stores the wood whilst you separate your herbs.

‘I was going to have dinner. Would you like to join me?’

Jimin smiles at you. The light of the fire flatters his beautiful skin, picks out the gold in his hair.

‘I’d like to stay.’

You heat up yesterday’s stew whilst he cuts the bread and fills a jug of water. He frowns as the back door swings open.

‘The latch is broken, I’ve been meaning to fix it,’ you explain, pulling the door to, tying the makeshift latch you’ve fashioned with a bit of old rope and a plank.

Jimin says, ‘here.’

He steps forward and ties an intricate looking knot, fastening the plank tightly.

‘It should hold until I can fix the latch,’ he says, looking at it critically.

You smile. ‘You’re a guest, an injured one at that,’ you say, gently. ‘Come on, the stew’s ready, let’s eat.’

Jimin seats himself opposite you, startles you by reaching for your neck.

You put up a hand reflexively, and he puts his hands up.

‘Your neck,’ he says, frowning at the cut in your skin he made yesterday.

‘Ah,’ you say, self- conscious. ‘I should have gone to wash up.’

Up in your small washroom, you clean and patch the cut, take the opportunity to splash your face with water.

Back at the table, Jimin’s served the stew.

‘Can I look at your neck later?’ he asks. ‘I can stitch too.’

‘It’s fine,’ you tell him.

There’s an awkward silence, then you say, trying to explain, ‘there’s a problem with my blood, all my family have it. We bleed easily, and it takes us a while to heal. Ironic really, given we can heal others.’

Jimin looks at you, and there’s an odd flicker of what almost looks like concern in his eyes.

He’s started to warm to you, but this is unexpected.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, sincerity in his voice.

‘It’s fine, please don’t mention it again.’

You don’t wish to discuss it further, you don’t need a dragon rider from Mount Halji delving into your family history.

You’re clearing your plates after the meal when Jimin says, ‘let me help.’

‘You shouldn’t be doing work,’ you chide. ‘You’ll pull at your stitches.’

‘I’m stronger today.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ you agree. ‘But you did fall out of the sky just yesterday.’

You bite back a smile at his chagrined expression.

‘Do you want to sit in the garden after this?’ you offer. ‘The lavender’s blooming, and it’s a clear night.’

Jimin ends up insisting on helping you put things away before you head out.

You take a seat on the bench at the bottom of the garden, gesture to Jimin to join you.

You hadn’t realised it’d be as tight a fit with two, but Jimin doesn’t seem to mind.

He leans back, face tipped to the sky.

His profile, outlined by dim light from your kitchen, is beautiful, features sharply delineated but with a softness to them that draws you in.

‘Something on my face?’ he asks, quietly.

‘You’re very handsome,’ you tell him, honestly.

He looks almost shy at your compliment.

‘It’s not important for what I do,’ he says, simply.

‘I’m sure it doesn’t hurt,’ you say, teasing him.

He laughs a little. ‘The men I fight aren’t admiring my looks, I can assure you.’

‘Probably not in the middle of battle,’ you agree.

The stars are brighter than ever tonight, you admire the shapes you can trace from point to point.

‘What’s it like?’ you ask. You face Jimin. ‘Being a dragon rider.’

He takes his time answering.

‘I was born into a family of dragon riders,’ he tells you. ‘My mother was one, as was my grandfather. I don’t know much about anything else.’

‘Cygnus is my bonded dragon,’ he continues. ‘We were battling the spirit thieves east of Maisan.’

He grimaces at the memory. ‘We were losing, badly. Namjoon had put out the call to retreat, but I was close to their leader and I thought I could take him.’

He’s tense beside you. ‘I couldn’t let my rashness hurt Cygnus. The instant I realised my folly I jumped. Cygnus wouldn’t have left me otherwise, he would have fought to his death.’

You can’t imagine being responsible for protecting a creature as powerful as a dragon.

‘Did he get away?’ you ask.

‘I think he did,’ Jimin says. ‘I’d feel it if Cygnus was badly hurt.’ His hand stops over his chest for a moment, over the dragon rider mark you saw when tending his wounds.

Jimin gets up.

‘I’ll sleep by the hearth tonight,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave in the morning. Thank you for helping me.’

You look up at him. Even injured, and weary, he’s beautiful in the moonlight.

You feel a pang of wistfulness. He’s the most interesting person you’ve met in a while, you’ve lived your whole life in this village.

You’ve never even ventured to the plains of Daljeon.

You smile a little sadly. ‘No of course, it was my pleasure. I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

You watch as Jimin re-enters your cottage.

You stay outside for a bit longer, looking up at the stars, thinking.

***

True to his word, Jimin’s left by the time you wake in the morning.

Your latch is fixed, and the salves you’d left on the table for him, along with some supplies for the journey, are gone.

You set about your daily tasks, mechanically at first, but by midday, you’re inspired.

Turns out having a dragon rider fall into your herb garden was just the push you needed to start planning for all the things you’ve dreamed about doing.

You’re going to visit Daljeon. You know Adara’s got family members who live there who would happily put you up for a night or two, and you’ve always wanted to see the plains.

You’re humming to yourself whilst tending to your rosemary, lost in the pleasure and excitement of planning your trip, when you hear the crash in your kitchen.

Your kitchen door bursts open, and Bern and another man, Kit, exit into your garden.

‘What do you want?’ you ask, standing, your fingers tightening around the garden shears you’re holding.

‘Where is he?’ asks Bern. He’s breathing hard, nearly spitting the words.

‘Who?’ you ask, feigning ignorance.

He takes another step towards you. ‘Your cousin from Eosul,’ he sneers. ‘The one that looked a hell of a lot like a dragon rider.’

‘My cousin left,’ you say, ‘and he’s not a dragon rider.’

The lies fall from your lips easily enough, you don’t owe Bern or Kit any explanations.

‘Now get off my property,’ you say sharply. ‘I don’t want you here unless it’s for business.’

Bern’s quick, you’ll give him that.

In two steps he’s on you, big hand squeezing the wrist holding the shears until you cry out with pain and drop them.

‘Your smart mouth’s going to get you in trouble one of these days, soon,’ Bern says.

He deals you a backhanded slap so hard you end up on the ground, knocking the side of your head on the crate that you keep your seedlings in.

You wish you were brave enough to grab the shears and fight back, but you’re mainly just glad that him and Kit are leaving.

You focus on counting blades of grass until the pain recedes, and more importantly, you can be sure you’re not going to cry.

***

Adara takes one look at your face and ushers you in, clucking over you with grandmotherly concern.

‘You should learn a spell or two to keep Bern in his place,’ she says, once she’s satisfied that the bruise on your temple, unsightly though it is, is just a bruise.

‘Shall I get Bern to teach me?’ you ask, trying to make light of the situation. Bern’s the best spellcaster in the village, you’d never be able to cast a spell strong enough to hold him back.

Your strengths are in healing others.

Adara gives you a quelling look. ‘Or perhaps I can ask Yoongi to teach you a thing or two.’

Yoongi, one of Adara’s nephews, is a sage, and definitely wields enough power to keep Bern in his place. The only problem is he’s intimidatingly good-looking.

You’ve met him a few times, at Adara’s family gatherings, and you’ve never been brave enough to speak to him.

You have no desire for him to find out that on top of your shyness and general social ineptitude that you’re also one of the few Ijilians without a magical bone in your body.

‘I’m sure he’s busy,’ you say to Adara hastily.

‘I’ll ask him,’ Adara says, firmly. Then, in a softer tone, ‘I can’t watch Bern hurt you time and again. He’s got to be taught a lesson.’

You know there’s no point in arguing with her, and truly, maybe you could use a little help.

Bern’s scared you badly the last few times he’s visited.

You change the subject. ‘How’s that tea blend I made you?’

***

The knock on your cottage door is unexpected, but you often have people from the village who drop in to see you.

You crack open the door, hoping it’s not Bern or one of his cronies.

It’s not Bern at all.

It’s Jimin.

The smile blooming on your face stops when you realise he’s not alone. There are other men with him, all of whom are dressed in shades of black and grey, and all of whom have the same distinctive mark.

Sweet Jaesu.

They’re dragon riders.

Jimin puts out his hand, and you realise you’ve taken a step back.

He asks, gently. ‘Can Namjoon and I come in?’

‘Namjoon’ turns out to be Lord Namjoon, Commander of the dragon riders of Mount Halji.

He’s a big man, near enough six feet in height, with shoulders that are nearly the width of the doorframe.

His grasp is firm, strong as he shakes your hand and takes a seat at your tiny kitchen table.

‘We’re here to ask for your help,’ he says.

You glance nervously at Jimin, who’s been quiet apart from his initial greeting.

It’s been a week since you saw him last, you can’t fully see under his armour, but it looks like his neck’s healing well.

Jimin looks a bit like he’s trying to reassure you, or so you think.

‘A woman’s been taken from our hold, the life partner of one of our riders,’ Namjoon explains.

He places a locket on the table in front of you, a small portrait of a smiling family. You catch your breath when you see the baby wrapped in the woman’s arms.

‘We know she’s being held captive in Ijil, probably near the border between Ijil and Daljeon.’

Namjoon says, ‘Jimin says you can be trusted. We’d like to use your cottage as a haven for the riders when we come in to rescue her. Her name is Cha.’

You can’t stop looking at the portrait of Cha and her son. He can’t be more than a year old.

‘If anyone from the village found out I was providing shelter to dragon riders—‘ you begin, thinking of Bern.

‘We know it’s a risk to you, which is why Jimin’s been tasked with protecting you,’ Namjoon says.

You look at Jimin again.

Jimin leans forward. ‘You can say no,’ he says. ‘If it’s too much risk for you just say and we’ll go.’

He hesitates. ‘I — we don’t want any harm to come to you.’

‘Our riders would use your land for one night, two at the most,’ Namjoon says. There’s kindness in his voice. ‘As Jimin says, you can say no and my men and I will leave immediately.’

You’re still looking at the locket.

You make up your mind.

‘You can use my land, and my cottage,’ you tell them. ‘I only ask that you be as discreet as you possibly can.’

‘I give you my word,’ Lord Namjoon says. He nods at you, then takes his leave.

Then it’s just you left, and Jimin.

‘Are you healing well?’ you ask.

‘I’ve been using the salves you made,’ Jimin replies. He smiles at you, and again, you’re struck by his beauty.

‘I’m glad,’ you say, smiling back. ‘If you run out let me know so I can make you more.’

‘Thank you,’ Jimin says. He frowns a little, gestures at your temple, the bruise that’s mostly faded to yellow-green.

‘Bern,’ you say. ‘My friend Adara’s going to ask her nephew to help me spellcast so that he’ll stop bothering me.’

Jimin’s expression darkens. ‘I’ll take care of him, if you want.’

‘What happened to keeping a low profile?’ you ask, lightly.

Jimin’s not amused, but he drops the subject.

***

You’re not used to having so much company, as unobtrusive as the dragon riders are, there are a lot of them.

Jimin’s taken it upon himself to stay close to your side at all times, even accompanying you to forage in the woods.

‘Is this useful?’ he asks, holding up a handful of mushrooms.

‘Only if you want all your men to have belly ache,’ you reply. ‘It’s not the most poisonous, but it’s not for eating.’

Jimin drops the mushrooms.

‘Here,’ you say, gently. ‘If you like mushrooms, the puffballs are always safe.’

He kneels down beside you to help you gather puffballs.

‘These are good,’ you say, pointing more out.

‘I don’t spend a lot of time foraging,’ Jimin admits.

He takes your basket from you as you both rise.

‘You have more important things to do,’ you say, smiling at him.

He looks a little uncertain at first, like he’s not sure if you’re teasing him, then he smiles tentatively back at you.

He’s solicitous as he walks with you through the woods, pointing out where the ground’s uneven, holding back branches you could easily duck under.

‘Are you good at cooking?’ you ask, as you gather nettles.

‘You could teach me,’ he says, with an enthusiasm you find endearing.

‘You could teach me how to use a sword,’ you say.

You’re half jesting but Jimin looks like he’s taking your suggestion seriously.

‘Probably not a sword, but I could show you how to use this,’ he says.

He reaches into his belt and pulls out a sleek, deadly looking dagger.

The blade is thin, almost delicate looking, but it’s wickedly sharp.

Jimin hands it to you, handle first.

‘It’s designed to be just long enough to stop a man’s heart,’ Jimin says, ‘but easily concealed.’

He says, with a seriousness in his face that makes you stop and look at him, ‘I would aim for the chest, up under the ribs, and then run.’

You balance the weapon in your palm, testing the weight of it.

‘I don’t know that I’d have the stomach to stab a man,’ you tell him.

‘You could do it,’ Jimin says. ‘If it came down to him or you.’

He undoes the leather sheath hanging from his belt, resheaths the blade, and hands it to you.

‘Tuck it into your boot,’ he says.

‘I couldn’t take your knife,’ you protest, trying to give it back.

‘I can incapacitate a man bare-handed,’ Jimin says. ‘It’s what I trained to do.’

He gives you a smile, angelic in his beauty, blood in his gaze. ‘I like the idea of you using it on that brute.’

For want of anything better to say, you lean down and slip Jimin’s knife into your boot.

***

The dragon riders make short work of the stew you cook for them that evening, vocal in their appreciation.

One rider, a charming man with a face that is so perfect you almost can’t believe he’s real, goes out of his way to thank you, presenting you with a sheaf of lavender, its heady fragrance filling your tiny kitchen.

You’re flustered by his chivalry, stammering out thanks as he gazes at you, when Jimin takes pity on you.

‘Taehyung, leave her alone.’

‘I’m just giving you the thanks you deserve,’ Taehyung says, ignoring Jimin.

He smiles at you. ‘You must be used to compliments, with a face and form like yours.’

Your entire skin warms.

Jimin sighs. ‘Get out of here, Tae.’

Jimin takes your arm gently.

‘The men need to get ready for tonight. They’ll be leaving as dusk falls.’

‘Are you going?’ you ask.

‘I’ll be here with you,’ Jimin says.

‘Don’t they need you?’

‘My responsibility lies in keeping you safe, given the risk you’ve taken for us,’ Jimin replies.

He helps you clear up the dishes, fills a basin for cleaning them.

‘I wish I were more magical,’ you say, with a rueful look at the stack of used crockery.

Jimin laughs. ‘When I started as a dragon rider I had to wash all the dishes. I can take care of it.’

You tidy up in companionable silence, you almost wish it had taken longer because you like Jimin’s company.

He hums a pretty tune as he works, his tone husky, his silvery voice navigating the notes effortlessly.

You like listening to him.

You catch him glancing your way more than once, gaze warm, a smile playing on his full lips.

‘What is it?’ you ask, finally, conscious of the heat in your face from the mead and his proximity.

‘You’re pretty when you’re flustered,’ Jimin says, a twinkle in his eyes.

Sweet Jaesu, is this beautiful man flirting with you?

You’re even more flustered, almost dropping the plate you’re drying.

Nimbly, Jimin lunges forward and catches it.

‘You’ve been on your feet all day,’ he remarks, placing the plate on top of the stack you’ve made. ‘Why don’t you go sit in the garden and I’ll brew us some tea?’

You’re happy to take him up on his offer, as self-conscious as you feel with his eyes on you like this.

As you walk down the path, you realise the dragon riders have left, as quietly and discreetly as they arrived.

The woods are quiet apart from the occasional hoot of an owl.

You must be more tired than you think, for you’re half asleep by the time Jimin comes down the path.

He’s not carrying tea, and he looks troubled.

‘Cygnus is distressed,’ he tells you.

‘Is he with the dragon riders?’ you ask.

Jimin nods. ‘I can’t work out why through the bond, but he’s unsettled.’

He paces along the path, and he looks so unsettled himself that your heart goes out to him.

‘Can you go to him?’ you ask, hesitantly.

‘My duty is here with you,’ Jimin says.

He looks so conflicted you can’t bear it.

‘I’ll go to Adara,’ you say. ‘She’s a quarter of an hour down the road. I’ll stay with her.’

You put your hand on Jimin’s arm, hoping to soothe him with your touch. ‘You should go.’

Jimin looks at you. ‘Will you promise to stay with her until I come back?’

‘I will,’ you say, trying to reassure him.

He nods, once, then takes off, heading through the woods, his swiftness belying his urgency.

You wonder what he sensed from Cygnus.

You head back inside and start to gather your things.

When your back door opens you almost think it’s Jimin at first, it’s so soon after he left.

‘Did you leave —-‘

The words die on your lips when you realise it’s not Jimin at all.

It’s Bern.

He’s different from how he usually is, eyeing you with a silent intensity that makes your skin prickle.

You’re already reaching down into your boot for Jimin’s dagger when he rushes at you, hand over your mouth, slamming you back against the wall so hard the breath rushes out of you.

‘Traitorous bitch,’ he snarls, hand around your throat, squeezing.

Your fingers scrabble desperately to lift your skirts, grasping for the dagger.

Spots start to dance in your vision as you pull the dagger out, stab it at an angle into his arm.

He roars with fury, his grip loosening on your throat.

You gasp and choke on the rush of air that fills your lungs, coughing and spluttering.

You can see Bern grasping the hilt of the dagger, but the angle’s too awkward for him to reach with his uninjured hand.

You roll away so violently you hit the table, knocking it over.

You scramble to your feet, throw a terrified glance at Bern.

To your horror, he’s got the knife out, slashing at you as you pivot out the open kitchen door.

You don’t have time to do anything but run.

***

You lose track of time as you flee, your heart pounding so hard you can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in your ears.

The moon’s high in the sky before you come to your senses, lungs burning, muscles so tense you can’t stop moving.

It’s only then that you become aware that your sleeve is soaked, sticking to you, matted with blood that looks black in the moonlight.

Your whole arm is covered, blood’s splattered across your chest, and the realisation makes you feel cold.

It’s your blood.

There’s a slash in the sleeve of your gown, a gaping wound beneath where Bern must have cut you.

You curse your family’s bleeding tendencies as you rip the rest of the sleeve off, wrap your arm.

You’re trying to secure a knot with your teeth when you realise that you’re lightheaded.

You lay your head down, close your eyes for just a second.

There’s silence all around you, your last thought as you lose consciousness is a sense of relief that you’ve outrun Bern.

***

Jimin sees the light burning in your kitchen still even though it’s nearly dawn by the time he returns, and he picks up his pace, heart quickening.

His sense of disquiet increases as he sees the kitchen door ajar.

By the time he’s in the kitchen, he feels cold all over.

The table’s overturned, the stack of dishes scattered, but that’s not the worst of it.

There’s a trail of blood leading out the door.

Jimin can hear panting, realises it's him but is powerless to do anything about it.

He makes himself look in the house, calling your name, but he already knows the house is empty.

It’s not difficult to track you, to follow your blood spoor.

Jaesu why is there so much blood?

He finds you curled up behind a copse of bushes, hand splayed under your cheek.

You’d almost look asleep if it weren’t for the ashy greyness to your skin, the pool of blood you’re lying in.

Jimin summons Cygnus through their bond, waits for the dragon to return to him.

It’s only when he sees the tears running down your smooth cheeks that he realises he’s crying.

***

You wake in stages, with the strangest sense of having missed something important.

Where are you?

There’s a beamed roof above your head, softness underneath.

You’re in a bedroom.

You swallow, wincing at how dry your lips and throat feel.

When you sit up the room spins alarmingly around you.

You moan quietly, pressing your curled fists into your eyes.

A soft noise makes you turn abruptly.

When your vision clears you recognise the blond hair, the scar running along his neck.

‘Where am I?’ you croak.

‘My home,’ comes the answer.

Jimin holds a glass to your lips, and you gulp gratefully.

The cool water is a balm to your parched throat.

You take stock of the rest of you, the unfamiliar clothing you’re draped in, the tightness of the binding around your upper arm.

You remember moonlight, the woods, the flash of a blade.

Bern.

You close your eyes but it doesn’t help the barrage of memories.

Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

Gradually you become aware of Jimin’s voice, low and soothing.

He’s telling you that you’re safe, and you’re in no condition to do anything but hope he’s right.

***

When you wake again, you’re alone.

There’s another glass of water by your bed, you sit up and drink it down, take stock of yourself again.

Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton but the room isn’t spinning anymore.

You’re dressed in clothes that aren’t your own, but they cover you, at least.

You swing your legs off the bed, hiss as your bare feet touch the cold floor.

You listen for movement around you, but your instincts tell you that there’s no one in your immediate vicinity.

You exit the bedroom, hesitate on the landing, listen again, then carefully navigate the steps down.

Your arm throbs but it’s not bad.

Daylight through the windows of the front room tells you it’s late afternoon.

You look around curiously.

Jimin had told you you were in his home.

There’s a pile of what looks armour next to the door, leather and chain mail, a sword hanging carelessly on a hook in a scabbard.

His voice startles you.

‘You shouldn’t be out of bed,’ he says.

He’s dressed in a cloth tunic and breeches, boots on his feet.

He’s holding an armful of timber, which he stacks beside the fireplace.

‘Come on. I’ve got some broth for you.’

You follow him into his kitchen, much bigger than yours.

He heats up broth on his wood stove, insists on you sitting down.

He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, and you’re grateful for the added warmth despite your initial protests.

He frowns at you.

‘You lost a lot of blood,’ he says.

‘Your dagger saved me,’ you tell him. You shiver a bit. ‘Bern stopped by, after you left.’

There’s regret in his expression. ‘I’m sorry. I promised no harm would come to you from helping us.’

‘Did you get her back?’ you want to know.

‘She’s safe, back with her family,’ Jimin replies.

‘It was worth it, then,’ you murmur.

Jimin sets a bowl in front of you.

‘You getting hurt isn’t a price that’s acceptable to pay,’ he says, very gently.

His words are unexpected, you flick your gaze to his and are surprised by the emotion on his face.

You feel like you should say something, but you can’t think of anything to say.

You settle for a simple ‘thank you’ in acknowledgement.

You manage a few mouthfuls of the broth before the room starts to grey out around the edges.

Jimin’s voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away.

The last thing you remember is him saying your name, his strong hands grasping your arms.

Everything fades to black.

***

It’s another few days before you’re strong enough to walk around Jimin’s cottage again, to venture out into his garden.

Jimin’s constantly by your side, it doesn’t take you long to realise he’s trying to protect you rather than that he doesn’t trust you.

You can’t help but laugh when he tuts as you bend over to pick up dandelion leaves for tea.

‘Let me do it,’ he chides.

‘You don’t know anything about herbs,’ you say, still amused.

‘You can teach me,’ Jimin says.

He frowns. ‘Did you hurt your arm?’

‘From plucking dandelion leaves?’

Jimin has to smile, at that.

‘You shouldn’t exert yourself too much,’ he says.

‘Says the man who fell out of the sky and chopped wood for my fire the next day,’ you say, pointedly.

‘You’re not a dragon rider,’ Jimin replies.

His words remind you that you have responsibilities to return to.

‘I should get back home,’ you say.

‘It’s the Yuletide festival next week,’ Jimin says. ‘I was hoping you might stay for that.’

He looks at you hopefully. ‘There’s a banquet at the Hold, a feast, games, drinks.’

You consider his offer.

He nudges you gently.

‘I’ve been told I’m an attentive partner,’ Jimin says, coaxing.

You laugh at the idea that you might be anything but thrilled to have the handsome dragon rider on your arm.

‘I’m sure you’re not short of offers,’ you scoff.

‘I could say the same for you,’ Jimin remarks. ‘You’re very pretty.’

His compliment makes you feel a little hot and flustered.

‘I’ll go with you, you don’t have to flatter me,’ you say dryly.

‘I’m not,’ Jimin says. He beams at you. ‘I’m looking forward to you accompanying me.’

***

You wake up one morning to murmured voices downstairs.

You slip on the slippers and woollen shawl Jimin gave you and head down to investigate.

Jimin’s sitting at his kitchen table, and he’s not alone.

You’ve only met him the one time, but there’s no mistaking the aura of power that surrounds Lord Namjoon.

Both men rise as you enter.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ you say, bowing.

Two things happen at once.

‘You’re not interrupting,’ Jimin says, reaching for your arm just as Lord Namjoon drops to one knee before you.

‘I seek your forgiveness,’ Lord Namjoon says, looking up at you.

‘I vowed you would come to no harm as a result of helping me and my men, and you nearly lost your life as a result.’

You’re too surprised to speak.

‘I owe you a debt for helping us recover one of our own safely,’ he continues.

He looks at Jimin.

‘And for helping my second in command when he was injured.’

You flounder. ‘He landed in my tomatoes,’ you point out, faintly.

Lord Namjoon’s lips twitch, and a dimple appears in his cheek.

‘What I’m saying is, we repay those who help us. If there’s ever anything I can assist you with, you only have to ask.’

You can’t imagine ever asking this powerful man for anything.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘Please get up.’

Jimin says, ‘It isn’t often that Namjoon kneels in front of anyone, not even when he’s bested in a spar.’

Namjoon shoots Jimin a testy look. ‘I’d say that she has more than earned it.’

‘Oh agreed,’ Jimin says. He looks at you. ‘May I invite him to stay for breakfast with us?’

‘It’s your cottage,’ you say, flummoxed.

‘But you’re my most important guest,’ Jimin says.

‘He can stay,’ you say.

‘Sure,’ agrees Jimin. ‘Just let me know if you want me to kick him out. He can be quite annoying.’

His comment startles a laugh out of you.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you get the sense that he’s not unused to being treated with irreverence by Jimin, despite his status.

Jimin pulls out a chair for you.

‘Sit,’ he says. ‘Breakfast will be ready in a minute.’

***

You put on the velvet gown Jimin’s given you, and are pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the looking glass.

The colour makes your skin glow, and the fit is perfect.

Jimin’s already waiting when you come down the stairs, and he looks handsome enough to make your heart flutter.

He’s staring at you like he’s the one transfixed.

He clears his throat, holds up the cloak clutched in his hands.

‘I hope this is warm enough,’ he says, helping you drape it over your shoulders.

The lining of the cloak is sheepskin, warm and soft, but it’s really the feel of his hands on you that make your skin heat.

He clears his throat again, the husky rumble of it behind your ear making a thrill race through your spine.

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘And for the dress, too.’

‘You look very beautiful in it,’ he says.

Your eyes meet. He seems like he means every word.

He smiles, offers his arm. ‘I’m looking forward to this.’

‘Me too.’

The hold where the Yuletide festival is being held is huge, teeming with people, all dressed in shades of gold and green, wrapped in furs and sheepskin against the cold.

You instinctively step closer to Jimin as a group of merrymakers passes by, startling you.

He presses a hand against the small of your back, steadying you.

‘There’s no one who’ll wish you harm here,’ he says, gentle, offering you his arm.

You feel your ears warm, embarrassed that he noticed.

‘I know,’ you say. ‘Besides, you’re here.’

Jimin reaches over, tugs your cloak tighter around you.

His fingers brush your jaw. ‘I’m here,’ he agrees.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

‘You’re shivering,’ he says. ‘Let me get you a drink.’

You’re saved from explaining that it’s not the cold you’re shivering from, but his touch.

Jimin leads you into a huge hall, where an entire feast has been laid out on banquet tables.

Everyone you pass greets Jimin with affection, he seems to be well-liked. You get more than one curious look, but more often than not it’s accompanied by a warm smile.

Jimin’s still got your hand tucked in his arm, warm against his side.

The sweet spicy mead he gave you warms your insides.

You hear your name called, and realise it’s Taehyung, the dragon rider who complimented your cooking.

‘Hey,’ he says, beaming at you, looking genuinely pleased, so handsome your heart flutters a little. ‘It’s nice to see you out and about.’

His voice drops, his expression sobering. ‘We heard you’d been injured, badly.’

‘I’m better now,’ you say.

‘Come sit with us,’ Taehyung says, waving you over to where a group of dragon riders are sitting.

You recognise some faces, and at the head of the table Lord Namjoon inclines his head at you in greeting.

Jimin serves you himself, filling your plate and mug.

You catch Taehyung exchanging a look with another dragon rider, you think he’s called Minho.

‘Jimin, my plate’s empty too,’ Minho says.

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. ‘Serve yourself, Minho.’

Taehyung nudges your shoulder.

‘Usually, it’s our women who are tripping over themselves to serve Jimin,’ he says, smiling at you. ‘He’s usually not short of attention.’

Jimin flushes. ‘Don’t listen to them,’ he tells you.

‘I’m not surprised he gets attention,’ you say to Taehyung, unfazed. ‘He’s the kindest man I know.’

Jimin glances at you, what looks like surprise in his expression.

‘Eat,’ he says, finally.

After the banquet Jimin takes you outside again as the quarter of troubadours begin to play a merry tune.

‘Do you dance?’ Jimin asks. Without waiting for an answer, he draws you into a circle of people dancing around a fire.

He’s a good dancer, you realise. There’s something about the line of his body as he moves that makes heat burn through your skin.

He leans closer.

‘You look very beautiful,’ he tells you.

You’re still looking at him as he leans closer still, but the moment his lips touch yours, your eyes close.

He tastes of mead, spiced and warm, and the gentleness of his kiss makes you seek his mouth again as he pulls away.

‘Jimin,’ you say, against his ear.

His gaze meets yours, and the heat in them makes your core tighten.

‘Take me home,’ you say, and he does.

***

Jimin’s profile is beautiful outlined in the light of the half-moon.

He kisses down your neck, the hardness of his chest against yours thrilling and frightening all at once.

You can feel the strength coiled in his taut frame, the way he tempers it with the reverence in his hands and lips as he touches you, kisses your skin.

‘I want to pleasure you,’ he tells you. ‘More than anything.’

He pulls moans and gasps from you as he tugs the tips of your breasts between his fingers and thumbs, fondling your flesh until you’re panting, thighs parting automatically to take him in between.

His hardness presses against your centre, the weight of him making your hips move up automatically to take more.

Jimin gives you more, lowering his mouth to your breasts, slipping a hand down to cup between your legs.

His fingers slide through your heat, thumb over your swollen bud, circling, pressing, and you cry out with pleasure as the coil inside you snaps unexpectedly.

Jimin groans, keeps toying with your clit as you cry his name.

The pleasure doesn’t fade so much as it ebbs, carrying on as Jimin presses himself into you, his rigid length filling you, his cockhead stretching your walls, each thrust making you gasp and bite down on his shoulder.

‘I like that,’ he groans, deeper, voice guttural now as he moves inside you.

You curl your legs around his hips, ankles crossed in the small of his back, one arm hooked over his shoulders.

‘Ride me like I’m riding you,’ he urges, breathless now. ‘Just like that.’

You cry out from the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin on skin, the slickness between your bodies.

He moans, low, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge again.

The wetness that coats him seems to spur him on, he cries out into your skin and a moment later you can feel him flexing inside you as he fills you.

He collapses on you, arms around you, tight, holding you to him.

It’s a few moments before either of you speak.

You trace a finger over the scar along his neck that you sewed together, and it takes you a minute to realise his hand is curled over your own neck, thumb over the tiny scar of the cut he made.

‘If you’ll let me, I’ll spend my life atoning for this,’ he says, touching the scar. There’s regret in his eyes.

‘Don’t waste your life doing that,’ you say, the smile on your face making him smile too. ‘Show me the world instead.’

‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I have a dragon who can help us with that.’

‘Sounds perfect,’ you agree.

#bangtan christmas #bangtan christmas 2023 #jimin fanfic #jimin smut #bts smut

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