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curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he’s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

End

extras: christmas special

@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

02/09/2019

12K notes · View notes

saebyeog-i · 4 years

Text

bitter brews (i) | syh

“Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.””

genre | not quite a coffeeshop!au, (mild)slow burn, this thought about being an adversaries to lovers fic for six minutes

rating/warnings | a stupid amount of exposition about coffee plants, catch me throwing in the random recipes that have been my go-to for cooking during quarantine, is this angsty?, discussions of mental health issues {see tags for details}, overall mature content/themes {foul language, alcohol consumption, references & discussion of masturbation, awkward boners, future smut}, some soft moments, and some good ol’ tooth rotting waxing poetic nonsense fluff. Don’t expect too much out of this I just got tired of editing this part so I’m finally posting it.

word count | 19.6k (I meant for this to be a super long one-shot but it’s turning into a story in parts for the sake of ratings w h o o p s)

pairing | Johnny Seo x fem reader

writing playlist | Egotistic - Mamamoo, Black Swan - BTS, Sober - HYO, I Blame On You - Taeyeon, Heartbeat - BTS, Close to Me (Red Velvet Remix) - Ellie Goulding feat. Red Velvet

—

“So, what you mean to say is… you’re not coming? Like, at all?”

The bright yellow plastic of the rotary phone was slightly cool against your overheating skin, which was constantly veiled in a thin layer of sweat whenever you stayed on the farm property instead of the main house on the opposite side of the island. It was the first week of May, which meant it was already humid again. If it wasn’t the time for the daily afternoon rain showers, it might as well have felt like it was raining with how saturated the air was.

“I’m sorry, Bean, I just can’t get on a plane right now. I thought it would be fine it we stretched out the time between flights, but all my doctors are saying I need to just stay here between now and the birth, so…”

Your sister’s voice trailed off and you had to wait for a moment to be sure it wasn’t the poor reception for the phone call running across the four thousand miles that separated you— the four thousand miles that would continue to separate you for the rest of the summer.

You exhaled and twirled the aged spiral phone cord that could barely hold its shape around your index finger, staring at the concrete floor and scrunching your toes. “Well, I’m already here, obviously… do you… you want me to stay here then? Take care of stuff?” You asked hesitantly, already having a feeling of what the answer would be.

A crackly sigh of relief came through the other line. “Little Bean, you are the best, Yunho was worried about asking you to stay and man the farm for the summer harvest but I knew you would just offer! You’re the best like that, you know?” You gritted your teeth and forced a smile through, even though no one was there to witness it. “Okay, so we’ll ship out the supplies in the next few days. Yunho is gonna email you a list of delivery dates of materials for the projects he had planned for the summer and a few contractor contacts…”

Her voice warbled on, and you could only nod your head and vocalize an ‘mhmm’ every so often, listening to her rattle off instructions and information that you knew would be sent in an email too. You’d been looking forward to spending the summer with her— you hadn’t gotten a proper chance to visit for more than a weekend since she and Yunho had gotten married about two years ago— but it turned out this wouldn’t be it. You couldn’t blame her though; she was approaching the third trimester of her pregnancy. You’d do anything for her, even this, even isolating yourself on a farm for four months. Alone.

Not exactly the leave of absence you’d been hoping for from work, but it would have to do.

✧ ✧ ✧

This was supposed to be a vacation. A break. Some much needed time off, away from your job, your career, and your “normal” life. You told yourself over and over again you were looking forward to it. And besides, it would all be worth it, because of all the time you’d get to spend with your sister after so long.

And then she had to betray you by going and getting fucking knocked up, with twins no less.

Fucking happily married couples with their god damn healthy ass sex lives and family planning and wanting to raise children. What the fuck was that all about?

It had been so long since your last vacation. Years, in fact. So long, you had over two months of paid time off accrued at work, and back at New Years you’d made the preliminary plans to spend a month on the farm in Hawaii with her, bonding and just relaxing. Sure, it would require some manual labor for the business here and there, but mostly just to rest.

What a joke that turned out to be.

The farm in Hawaii. You know, the coffee farm your brother in law bought four years ago on a dare from your sister, because he said he could totally pull it off as a side hustle, and she said he wouldn’t be able to? Yeah, that one. Fast forward to today and the side hustle became a full fledged passion that roped in a good amount of the family into the business. Siblings, cousins, parents, all involved in different aspects of package design, social media marketing, distribution and wholesale— everyone except you, who stuck with your soul sucking job in advertising, the same industry your brother in law had since left behind.

The farm and roasting wasn’t an overnight success by any means, but in the last year the brand had really taken off in the craft coffee scene. After all, Kona coffee was well sought after, and one could only claim the name ‘Kona’ if it was grown on the same two thousand or so acres of land on Hawaii’s big island. You know, the same area of land you were living on for the remainder of the summer?

Right. The whole summer.

It was just supposed to be the month of May. And then it turned into May and some of June, when you’d asked your sister to make more concrete plans, and she kept brushing it off. And then the week before you actually got off the plane, you hadn’t booked the return ticket, because you were still waiting for her answer. And then the phone call, and now, this was… indefinite? No, that was being too dramatic; if anything, it would be up through the birth. Based on the number of projects Yunho had planned for the farm, through the remainder of the summer was how long everything would take. Just you and a little over five acres of land and the summer heat. The thought of an extended isolation had your breath catching in your throat, but the last thing you wanted to do was complain or call for help. Stubborn and proud, you wouldn’t have made the offer to stay if you didn’t mean it, if you didn’t think you could handle it. There was no way you were backing out now.

When Yunho had first bought the farm, it had been a rough first few years of refining the coffee plants that had been on the land and uncared for for a number of years, but the last two summers had provided a steady increase in the harvest yield. There was a small farmhouse on the property, with two small bedrooms, a shower, and a small kitchen and living area. A few miles down the coast was the nicer, newer condo that the business had bought, a multi-bedroom unit with some better amenities for when more of your family wanted to visit. It felt weird spending time there— it was too nice, too clean, and quite frankly you had enough to keep yourself busy with on the farm property, you’d rather not have to spend time driving back and forth every day. So you opted to spend most of your nights sleeping here, even though it meant only ceiling fans and no air conditioning.

The farmhouse had very shitty, very limited wifi and a grand total of three electrical outlets outside of what was used to power the oven and refrigerator. One of those outlets was, of course, dedicated to an espresso machine on the kitchen counter, which you had gotten acquainted with over the last two weeks. It was an older model and a little temperamental (the one at the condo was much nicer), but it was still from a decent manufacturer, and you could still use it to pulled a decent shot.

Most of the time you worked in silence, and most of the time you were never too aware of how much time had passed, other than when the sun went down and it was suddenly dark out. You weren’t always this absent minded, you swore— maybe it was a byproduct of being alone for so long—

A loud, high pitched whine filled your ears, followed by some scratching at the door that lead to the lanai outside. You sighed, standing up from the kitchen table and walking over to face the monster that had made it.

“What? What do you want now?”

Staring back at you from the the other side of the screen door was what you’d affectionally referred to as The Thirty-Three Pound Menace— the medium sized stray dog that your brother-in-law so conveniently forgot to mention had been living on the farm for the last few months. It had been waiting outside the farmhouse when you first arrived, and you’d learned from the neighbors that Yunho had taken a liking to the stray and had arranged for them to feed it in his absence. But now that you were here, taking care of the dog was added to your list of daily chores. It seemed to not want to leave the farm property unless actively accompanied by you, with the assurance that you’d be bringing it back with you.

With a roll of your eyes you hip checked the door open just enough to let the dog inside the house. It circled you several times, sniffing at your knees before sitting and panting, staring up at you expectantly. In the two weeks you’d been here, the majority of your conversations were between you and this, a being that couldn’t talk back. Maybe you liked it that way. “What, dinner? Fine, fine,” you grumbled, shuffling to the cabinet and pulling out a can of wet food.

Your meals had consisted of relatively simple dishes, but today you were cranky at the confirmation that your summer was not going to go as planned. Tonight’s dinner featured a bowl of cereal and a coffee mug full of cold white wine.

You ate in silence. You drank in silence. The only noise came from the hum of the ceiling fan overhead, and the occasional sound of the dog, cleaning its paws and laying by your feet protectively. Why it seemed so determined to win over your affection, you had no idea.

After sitting in silence with only your thoughts and the now sleeping dog to keep you company for what felt like hours and downing a second mug full of wine, you found yourself letting out a loud yell, startling the dog and waking it. In a fury, you pulled out the laptop you had for the sole purpose of checking once a day for emails from Yunho and connected it to the shitty, sub-par wifi with just enough patience to navigate to an airline’s website and search flights back to the states. You were looking for the cheapest, most reasonable one you could find. After all of five minutes of research and a quick round on mental math, you clicked on a date and hit the ‘book now’ button before you could second guess yourself, slamming the computer shut once the payment went through and shoving it away from you across the table.

“September 10th,” you grumbled out loud for only you and the dog to hear. Standing from the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor, you crossed the room and stopped in front of the wall calendar your sister had put up the last time she’d visited the farm just after New Years. You lifted a few pages and flipped forward to the month of September. Red marker in hand, you found the date and circled it rather aggressively, several times over. You looked down at the dog, watching you patiently with its head tilted. “You got that? I’m getting off this fucking island on September 10th.”

✧ ✧ ✧

The day your life fell apart came twelve days later just before nine in the morning.

Mondays were the delivery day, that’s what Yunho had laid out in his instructional emails to you. Your only source of personal transportation was an older jeep, one you didn’t enjoy driving, given that it had no top and needed some mechanical work done. So you’d made arrangements and had your groceries delivered on Monday mornings, buying mostly direct from another farm on the other side of the island, and they were always kind enough to act as the courier for whatever additional miscellaneous supplies you’d request, regardless of where they’d have to go to procure them.

There was a winding driveway that lead up to the house from the main road, and a larger, wider drive up a less steep hillside for larger vehicles for delivery. You were fully expecting the truck that lumbered up the delivery road and came to a stop just outside the barn which housed the massive coffee roaster and stored most of the processed green beans from harvest. Even though it had only been three weeks, there was a routine that had slowly been settling into place: the sound of the truck coming to a stop riled up the dog, the dog came running from wherever and started barking, you’d get your groceries and any other assorted items, the dog would get a treat because your delivery boy had a soft spot for the creature, and you’d pay for your goods. “Hey Jin,” you called out over the barking from the front of the barn, hands currently full with a sack of processed coffee beans you’d hoisted over your shoulder. “You can just leave the groceries on the porch, I’ll put them inside in a few. Did you manage to get me the bags of fertilizer and some wood stakes?” A loud thud sounded as you dropped the bag to its resting place on the concrete floor.

“I mean, I can go put these inside if that’s easier. And yeah, there’s ten bags to get us started, we can have more delivered next week if you still need ‘em.”

You whipped around to face whoever had just spoken, because that voice was most certainly not Jin.

He was tall like Jin, had wide shoulders like Jin, and his hair was kept just a bit long and looked ridiculously shiny and soft and like you could run your fingers through it like Jin’s. It was a lighter brown with some honeyed highlights running through it, compared to the dark brown almost black of Jin’s. You tensed, seeing him carrying a brown paper bag with a loaf of bread and the leafy green tops of carrots sticking out the top. He wasn’t looking at you, rather, he was far too occupied with bending down slightly and scratching behind the ear of the dog who was currently whining and wagging its tail at his feet. Some guard dog it was.

Without a second thought, you reached for the first sharp object you could find, which happened to be the box cutter you used to cut open the burlap bags the beans came back from the processing plant in. “You’re not Jin,” you said tersely, holding the utility knife by your hip defensively.

“Chill out killer, he’s harmless,” a more familiar voice called. Seokjin, your regular delivery driver whose family owned the farm you bought directly from, came into view carrying another two bags of produce and a small pile of envelopes. “Picked up your mail on my way up, the box was practically overflowing. Do you ever check that thing?” You’d first met Jin two years ago when you’d come to visit your sister and Yunho for a long weekend. He’d become a good friend of Yunho’s and was one of the people who would take turns feeding the dog when no one else was here.

Ignoring the unknown man, you relaxed your shoulders slightly and placed the knife down on the table behind you. “Thanks,” you grumbled, taking the small pile of letters from him. Admittedly, you hadn’t checked the mailbox since the day after you’d arrived on the farm, mostly out of sloth and spite. You sifted through the letters— mostly junk mail, with a few bills and notices relating to the business. You put those in front so you could look through them later, when you’d finished the physical work for the day. You tore one envelope open in particular when you noticed it was addressed directly to you and had your sister and Yunho’s Illinois address in the upper corner. It was a letter postmarked from two weeks ago, which struck you as odd, because what the hell would he bother writing in a letter that he couldn’t just send you in an email or a text or a phone call? You started reading aloud softly to yourself.

“‘My Dearest Bean… First of all I want to apologize for the change in plans, but with your sister’s condition her doctors just don’t recommend her traveling,’ God, he’s so dramatic she’s not terminally ill she’s just pregnant. Blah blah blah, I don’t care, you’re full of absolute shite, Yunho,” you began skimming through his lengthy pre amble, looking for the purpose behind the note. Without reading the middle you flipped the stationary paper over to see his handwriting covered the entire back of the page, too. “God, he’s so long winded. Oh, here we go, the very end— ‘I promise we’ll make it up to you, thank you for running the farm and taking care of Puppy, please be nice to Johnny and treat him well, he seems like a good kid.” You stared at the words written on the paper and looked up at Jin. “Who the fuck is Johnny?”

The man next to him cleared his throat and held his hand up. “Johnny! I’m uh, that’s me. You must be _____— I’ve heard a lot about you from Yunho! I’m Johnny Seo, it’s nice to meet you,” he said with a smile, reaching a hand out.

You eyed it but made no move to reciprocate the action. “Cool. You know Yunho. Lots of people know Yunho, he’s a huge fucking flirt, social butterfly of the century, the man never shuts up. Why should I be nice to you?”

He shifted on his feet and his outstretched hand retreated. “Oh. Uh. I’m uh, here for the summer,” he explained, sounding almost confused. “Didn’t— didn’t Yunho tell you?”

Your eyes bugged out and you looked over to Jin. “Jin who the fuck is this and why is he on my farm?” You whispered.

Your friend laughed. “You read the end of Yunho’s letter. I’m sure if you read the whole thing it would explain more. This is Johnny, and he’s here for the summer. He’s gonna help you out! I know the list of all the projects you need to finish this summer is lengthy, and plus look at the guy, he’s jacked! You could use the muscle for manual labor. More work for him, less for you, right? And look, the poor dog you refuse to give a name to even likes him!” Jin gestured comically at Johnny. You looked over, sizing him up some— Jin wasn’t wrong. The stranger was muscular on top of being tall, and under the capped sleeves of his tee shirt you saw his arms that looked the size of your head. The dog was still circling him, sniffing and begging for attention.

Johnny tried smiling again. “Yunho mentioned there was a lot of construction type work to do. I uh, had nothing else planned so he said I could stay on the farm for the summer and work in exchange for food and a place to sleep. I take it he uh, didn’t run that by you first, did he?”

Your grip on the papers in hand tightened and you felt your jaw tense involuntarily. “No, he managed to not mention that once to me. How did you even get here?” You hissed back.

“I picked him up at the airport this morning,” Jin answered calmly, “Yunho gave me a buzz a few days ago to ask if I could bring him here with this week’s groceries.”

“So he managed to arrange for him to get on a plane and secure transportation to the farm but couldn’t be bothered to call me and let me know?”

Jin only laughed, his eyes crinkling. “I’m pretty sure he knows you well enough by now to know that this would have been your reaction whatever way he told you.” Despite the kinship you’d felt growing between the two of you, Jin was Yunho’s friend first, and it only made sense that his allegiance would be to him first. Of course he’d side with Yunho on this matter. “And yes, like Johnny said I did bring a bundle of plant stakes and ten bags of fertilizer— they’re in the back of the truck bed.”

“Oh, I could get those—” Johnny started, moving to step towards the truck.

You could barely think straight. First they bailed on you unexpectedly to spend the summer on the farm alone. That was fine— you’d gotten that through your head, and had come to terms with that. But suddenly springing a plus one on you, without your consent? Absolutely the fuck not.

“Yeah. Don’t need help. Thanks,” you spat, grabbing the bags of groceries from him and brushing past, stomping your way back to the farmhouse.

Johnny stood frozen for a moment before stammering, looking from Jin to your retreating figure and back again. “I should— I should talk to her, right? Or do I—”

“Whoa, don’t think too hard there handsome, I can smell wood burning. Don’t stress about it. She’s just a little… touchy. Let me talk to her,” Jin patted Johnny on the back before heading up the path to the farmhouse after you.

You’d stormed into the house and slammed the groceries down on the counter and let out a screech of rage before picking up the receiver of the yellow rotary phone and dialing. Tapping you foot incessantly, you waited as it rang.

“He-llo~?” The singsong voice that came through the other end was far too amused with itself, more so than usual, and that’s how you knew he knew why you were calling.

“Jung Yunho you better be thankful you knocked up my sister because if it weren’t for the babies in her womb I would fly myself across the Pacific and flay you alive,” you seethed through gritted teeth.

In true unbothered fashion, your brother in law only laughed at your threat. “Ah, so I take it your employee has arrived safely! I’ll have to thank Seokjin for getting him from the airport. Can you give the Kims a pound of the special medium roast as a token of my gratitude?”

“No!” You yelled back, “No! I will not! I’m already beyond frustrated that I’m on this island alone for the entire summer, I’m doing this as a favor because we’re family! I’m not your slave, Yunho! Where was my warning, huh? When were you going to ask if I was okay with you sending some stranger to live in the same house as me, huh?!”

The familiar ache in your chest started to swell, and breathing became difficult. ‘Not now,’ you thought bitterly, ‘Please not right now-’

You curled your free hand into a fist and pressed your nails into your palm, hard, grounding yourself. Yunho’s voice on the phone blurred out and by the time his words started making sense again, you’d already missed what he’d been saying. “I’m not saying you have to like the kid, just show him some hospitality, yeah? You just said it yourself, you didn’t want to be alone this summer, and now you won’t be. I know you’re a good cook so that’s why I told him food would be included. Don’t worry, I’ve already sent some pre-payments to the Kims, so your grocery orders are doubled for the rest of the summer.” His voice went quiet for a second. You rubbed at your temple in frustration, squinting your eyes shut and forcing the mere thought of tears deep back into the recesses of your brain. “Bean? You still there?”

“Don’t get all pretend concerned, Yunho. And stop using my childhood nickname any time you want something from me.” Your voice was quieter now, the intensity of your emotions subsiding, but the betrayal you felt still running strong. “Fine. I’ll tolerate him. But there better be a case of wine in next week’s groceries to make this bearable.”

“Done and done! You’re gonna love him Bean, he’s really great. He’ll be good company.” The continued use of your childhood nickname from anyone other than your sister always gave you pause.

“I said tolerate not befriend. There’s a difference,” you clarified quickly. A knock at the door startled you, and you jumped and looked to see Jin standing by the front door, a roll of wooden stakes under his arm. You rolled your eyes and waved your arm to shoo him away, pointing at the phone pressed to your ear. “Look, Yunho, I don’t know what you’re hoping to see me get out of this, but if he drives me insane I can’t promise that he’ll walk away from this unscathed.”

His laugh echoed through the receiver and reverberated against your skin. “I just think it would do you some good to have some human interaction, that’s all. Your sister too. She says hi, by the way,” he added softly, “And so do the little ones.”

You scoffed. Yunho always brought up your sister as a way of diffusing your temper. He knew it would always work. “They’re still in embryonic fluid, they can’t talk and they certainly don’t have cognitive function.” Sometimes you wondered if even Yunho had that with the wild ideas that went through his mind.

“Ever the romantic, you are. You know, soon they’ll be able to think! And they’ll be thinking of their favorite auntie, and how much they can’t wait to meet her! So she can’t be arrested for murder between now and when they’re born, because babies can’t go to prison!”

“I’m telling your sister you said that,” you challenged. With an exhale, you did your best to let go of the frustration and tension inside and politely ended the phone call. You were trying to clear your head and collect yourself before heading back outside when you heard a yell that sounded all too much like Jin’s voice.

“What fresh hell—” you started, shuffling back outside in the direction of the commotion where you saw Jin, somewhat struggling under the weight of two bags of fertilizer, and Johnny, now with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head, easily hoisting a stack of four bags without slouching.

Your eyebrow ticked up upon the realization that it was almost seventy pounds that he was slinging around like it was nothing. “Anywhere specific you want these?” He asked innocently, looking up at where you stood on the lanai just outside the door. You almost cursed him out when he blinked at you twice.

You pointed your left arm down the hill, the opposite direction of the way to the barn. “Shed. Next to the vegetable garden.” You wrinkled your nose at him. “And lose the hat. Or at least don’t wear it backwards. Makes you look like an ass.”

Johnny’s mouth hung open for a moment before he hummed and winked. “You got it, Boss! Come on handsome, if you can carry those good looks you can carry some dirt,” he called back to Jin, who was currently grumbling about how manual labor wasn’t a part of his delivery arrangement.

The hairs on your arm stood up on edge as you watched Johnny laugh deeply as he ambled his way in the direction you’d pointed. The thirty three pound menace next to you whined and wagged its tail, panting as it went from watching you to watching Johnny’s retreating figure. You looked down and made eye contact. “If I survive this, I’m going to kill Yunho.”

✧ ✧ ✧

There was no case of wine in the grocery deliveries the following week. The reasoning Yunho gave was that per Jin’s investigation, the liquor stores were all out of your favorite wine, so there was no point in sending you a sub par alternative. It was absolute crap, but you had better things to do than chew out your brother in law over the phone. Took way more energy than it was worth.

So far, Johnny was making good on his word and earning his keep. At first, you’d tried avoiding him as much as possible, intentionally waking up hours ahead of him and starting your day when the sun rose. You never made much noise in the mornings, the loudest thing you did was make coffee, and lately you’d opted for a pour over versus pulling shots of espresso. You weren’t personally one for breakfast, choosing just coffee and maybe a piece of fruit instead. This morning you felt a little hungrier than usual, so you thought you’d get yourself a bowl of cereal. Peering into your pantry, you saw that on the shelf where there had been a stash of cereal boxes, there was now nothing.

“Where the fuck are my cocoa pebbles?” You swore in shock, not realizing you weren’t alone in the kitchen.

“Shit sorry, I ate the last of those yesterday.”

You whirled around to see Johnny, still seemingly half asleep and with some gnarly bedhead, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. His lips were so perfectly pouty, one small part of your brain almost thought he looked cute like this.

But no, he wasn’t cute, he was a thief— he’d stolen all of your cereal stash. “Did you seriously eat through four boxes in a week?” You asked incredulously.

“It was three and a quarter! And yeah I don’t know, I’m always hungry and just one bowl of cereal isn’t filling enough, so I usually have two, or three...” He mumbled, voice trailing off as he rubbed a hand behind his head sheepishly.

You snorted. And then a thought came across you. “Johnny,” you said calmly, the feeling of his name on your tongue foreign and strange. Was this the first time you’d addressed him by name since his arrival? You couldn’t remember. “Do you not know how to cook?”

He hummed thoughtfully for a second. “No-pe!” He popped the p sound in the word. How was he this cheerful, even first thing in the morning? “I mean, I can like, boil water and cook pasta and stuff like that. I think I successfully grilled pork belly once, though it was probably doused in too much oil and too many spices. My college experience was funded almost exclusively on instant dinners and takeout for two years, and then for the second half one of my roommates was an actual chef, so, no one was allowed in the kitchen ‘cept for him.”

“Honestly, I am shocked that you haven’t perished in some tragically strange idiotic accident yet,” you sighed and shuffled to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a pack of bacon. You grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet under the stove and clicked the burner on, reaching for the oil bottle that lived on the counter top and drizzling some in the pan.

Johnny shuffled closer to inspect what you were doing and let out a gasp of appreciation. “You’re making me eggs and bacon?”

“I’m making me eggs and bacon,” you corrected, “But I guess I’ll make enough for you too,” you said as you peeled the strips off the packaging and placed them into the pan with a sizzle. You reached for a few eggs and cracked four into the pan directly, cocked your head at the amount of food, and then grabbed two more eggs and added them in before taking a fork and scrambling them all together, adding salt and white pepper to the bubbling liquid. You glanced up at Johnny, still watching you, slightly curious. “I don’t trust you. You say you’re an adult but you eat like a teenage boy still. There’s never any leftovers.” After a few minutes you flipped the strips of bacon over and then quickly chopped up a green onion and scraped it onto the scramble just before the eggs finished cooking.

Johnny watched you the whole time, and you felt only slightly uneasy under his gaze. When you turned off the stove after plated your food and stepping away to pour yourself some coffee and he didn’t move, you gestured at the pan in a fashion as if to silently ask him ‘What?’

“Oh!” He gasped out lightly, springing into action and plating the food for himself. You hadn’t bothered to sit down at the table, instead holding the plate in front of you as you leaned against the counter and ate. Johnny followed your lead, taking a bite and groaning audibly in enjoyment at he chewed. He smiled and his eyes shone, almost sparkling. You watched him curiously for a moment before he mumbled out “Your cooking is really good! It uh, reminds me of my mom’s. She’s a great cook.”

You kept your lips tightly shut at the apparent compliment. “It’s just eggs, you weirdo. Finish up and do the dishes. When you’re done meet me by the shed. Today you’re stripping off the old paint and removing any of the rotting boards and disposing of them,” you instructed while placing your empty plate in the sink. His tasks for the day were the next phase in slowly rebuilding the dilapidated shed on the west side of the property to make it useful for storage of all the tools you used to tend to the fruit trees and vegetable garden nearby.

He flashed a smile at you and gave a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain, I am at your service.”

“Oh shut up,” you grumbled, downing more of your coffee before trudging off.

It was going to be a long summer.

✧ ✧ ✧

“I’m telling you Wendy, I’m going to need an alibi, I really am going to murder my brother in law.”

“What, for giving you live-in eye candy for the summer and hinting that he thinks you need to get laid?”

“Ugh, no, that’s not— hold up, you don’t agree with him, do you?”

The sound of your best friend’s laughter through the phone had you dragging your hands over your face and pulling down at your eyelids dramatically, as if she could see your reaction.

On Thursdays, you finished up your work for the day around 4pm so you could pull up a chair next to the rotary phone and make time for the weekly scheduled phone call with Wendy. She’d insisted on the arrangement after you went six days without texting her, which you’d insisted was because service was spotty, but she’d accurately called you out on being cranky and stewing by yourself.

You and Wendy had met during your freshman year of college. By graduation, you’d lived together for three years, and made a vow to move to the same city together post grad, hence why she was still your roommate now— or was, seeing as you were on the island instead of back in the two bedroom apartment you shared. There was a five hour timezone difference between Hawaii and Chicago, so you’d figured out a schedule that worked for both of you. The calls had a tendency to last for several hours, and depending on how much wine you’d drink while on the phone with her would include bathroom breaks and you inevitably swearing at whatever you were cooking for dinner than night.

“Honey, please. I love you. Dearly, and against all other advice, you’re my best friend— but you need to get laid. You haven’t been this tense since our last finals week of senior year. And clearly you’re not opposed to the idea of Eye Candy banging your brains out, otherwise you wouldn’t have described him as, and I quote, ‘dumb hot and stupidly ripped’. When are you gonna send me a photo so I have something better to work with?”

“Okay but are you sure you’re not the sexually frustrated one here and you’re just trying to live vicariously through me?”

Wendy’s hum sounded through the line. “I mean, can’t we both be desperately horny and in need of getting some? It’s not ideal but it is possible. Plus, I’m not the one that didn’t pack her vibrator—”

You let out a whine interrupting her as you leaned back in your chair, swirling the wine in your glass a few times as you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder. “Shut up stop reminding me! I regret it but no I’m not letting you send me a new one, especially not with a guy living with me. Come on, my stories are boring, it’s the same thing every day. I wake up, I feed the dog, I tell him what to do and then I hide away doing my own chores. When are you gonna tell me more about that girl you were seeing— what was her name, Joo-something?”

“Nice try, we’re not changing the subject with my dating life. Seriously, babe, you should just think about it.”

“And what, make it awkward for the rest of the summer? No thanks,” you shot her idea down quickly.

“I’m willing to bet money you’ll cave before the end of the summer. Plus, who doesn’t love a good ol’ summer fling? And who says you ever have to see him again once it’s all over?”

As much as you’d loathe to admit it, Wendy had a bit of a point there. “Cute, but you and I both know I’m too high strung for a temporary fling. Plus, I’m not in the mood to catch feelings right now.”

“If I find a way to replenish your wine supply, would that help?”

You groaned dramatically once more. “Not with the sexual frustration, but with my overall wellbeing, yes, yes it would.”

Wendy squealed on the other end of the phone. “Ha! So you admit it, you are sexually frustrated!”

“Woman, when in the years that you’ve known me have I not been at least some kind of frustrated?” You acknowledged.

Your best friend laughed in agreement, understanding she wasn’t going to get much more out of you about Johnny, and began a lengthy and detailed story about her last three dates with a girl she’d met through a friend of a friend. As you listened to how her voice held a dreamlike quality to it when she talked about her, you couldn’t help the pang of jealousy you felt and a sinking feeling in your gut that you’d been lying through your teeth earlier, and that maybe, subconsciously, you did want to catch feelings.

Maybe.

✧ ✧ ✧

“So… is there a story or a reason why you’re here instead of Yunho?”

You lifted your head from your focused task of sorting out the peaberry beans from the regular beans. It was tedious, time consuming, annoying as all hell, and made you want a drink stiffer than the coffee that you were certain made up more of your body fluids than blood or water did at this point. “Yes,” you said curtly after studying his face for a minute, not providing any further explanation. Johnny had his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips, nodding for a moment where he stood in the entrance to the barn.

You had set up your mad scientist level organization for the process all across the concrete floor of the refinished barn. Over the last week, Johnny had finished replacing the boards on the siding of the shed, stained the wood, and sealed it with a protective coat. He even managed to remove all the broken glass from the windows without sustaining any injuries, which you hadn’t thought possible for him. This morning you had him weed the vegetable garden, prune back the hedges along the back side of the house, and clean the deck of the lanai. How did he possibly still have any energy left? He was definitely a harder worker than you’d first given him credit for— you shook your head, not wanting to continue a spiral on Johnny and any detailed thoughts about him.

Back to your task at hand.

The harvest had been divided into several metal basins of five pounds of beans each, and in front of each basin you’d placed two dishes on either side. The point was to be able to weigh how many beans ended up being peaberry from each five pounds of harvest, and to see if you could leverage a steady average from the yield and better plan for how many pounds of the limited roast you could advertise for and set the price per pound accordingly. You wore a face mask and nylon disposable gloves while sorting, and despite being an annoying task, after a while it became a way for you to zone out and let the hours pass by. When the dishes were empty and you first started sorting them, there was a distinct echo of the small beans hitting the metal dish over and over again, until enough beans were lining the bottom that it started to dull the noise.

“Sigh.”

A slight puff of air washed over you. Did he just say the word ‘sigh’ out loud? And was he hovering over your shoulder?

“Can I help you?” You asked, pausing your sorting for only a moment.

“Isn’t it my job to ask you that question? I’m not some layabout, I am trying to earn my keep, you know,” Johnny said in response, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the basin of beans in front of him. You were almost inclined to hand it to him. Over the last four weeks, you’d gotten a lot of decent work out of him, even if you did feel somewhat micro-manage-y half the time with the tasks you did give him. “Okay, how does this work?”

You groaned exaggeratedly and excessively, rolling your eyes. When you didn’t answer, he reached forward and plucked a single coffee bean from the basin and examined it closely. “Hey, this one’s funny looking!”

“Don’t touch them with your bare hands, that’s just going to waste them.” You swatted the bean out of his hand and then looked at your own gloves and sighed. “If you’re insisting on helping, fine. But you need sanitary gear to handle them. Go wash your hands, there’s masks and gloves by the sink,” you grumbled, standing up and taking off your own gloves to dispose of them and replace them with a fresh pair.

Johnny followed obediently, trailing behind you a little too innocently for someone of his size. “Yes, the beans still need to be roasted and that’ll kill any bacteria, but I just like to be extra cautious, okay? Because it’s a mutation there’s no rule to how much of a yield I’ll get with each harvest so I don’t like wasting even a single bean,” you reasoned, settling back down and folding your legs back at the now half-sorted metal bowl.

“So, we’re just sorting the weird ones from the normal ones?” He asked while picking up another peaberry bean, this time with gloved hands and a mask over his mouth and nose.

You took a quick glance and nodded to confirm that yes, the bean in his hand was one of the weird ones he should be looking for. “They’re called peaberry. Normally, a coffee cherry has two seeds in it, or beans. Those two seeds mature in the center of the cherry and you get one flat side and one side touching it. Sometimes people call them ‘flat beans’ but those are the ‘normal’ beans, as you said,” you explained, sifting through your bowl rather quickly. “But the peaberry ones only have one bean inside. The bean is round, so that’s where the name ‘peaberry’ comes from, because—“

“Because it’s round so it looks like a pea, oh I get it! That’s funny,” he laughed, examining the rounded bean in front of him. “Okay, got it, so we’re sorting the peaberry from the flat beans?”

“You proud of your new vocab words?” You snorted, listening for the well known tink of a bean hitting the empty metal bowls. He giggled in acknowledgement.

You worked in relative silence, a small rhythm growing between the two of you. Johnny worked at about half the speed you did, but you couldn’t knock him for it, as it had taken you a while to pick up the pace when you first started hand sorting like this.

“How do you even know Yunho?” You finally asked. Four weeks since he’d arrived, and you’d never bothered to get to know him well enough to listen to the full story of how he’d ended up here.

Johnny shifted in his seated position, clearly a little taken aback that you’d bothered to ask him anything, given your track record. “Oh. Met him in Chicago when I was home visiting. At a local coffee shop, where my buddy Jaehyun is the manager. I went to go bother Jaehyun at work and he was just, shootin’ the shit with one of his coffee suppliers who was doing a visit. That supplier was Yunho. Started talking about how he owned the farm where the beans were grown, and that he wasn’t going to be able to spend the summer out there like he’d planned, so he was looking for some reliable help to uh, take care of things. Mentioned someone else would be on site and in charge, but offered the whole ‘room and board in exchange for copious amounts of physical labor’.”

“And you said yes? Just like that, no questions asked?” It seemed a little too easy, but then again, Johnny had proved to be a little too easygoing.

He shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s kinda the point of my whole year. Just, go with the flow.” You glanced over, but Johnny was looking down, focused on the task at hand.

You nodded and hummed and turned back to your own basin to continue sorting. A few beats passed by before you couldn’t help yourself— “You’ve said that before. ‘Go with the flow’, or that you ‘had nothing else going on’. What do you mean by that?”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Johnny’s ears perk up, followed by movement of his cheeks implying the curve of a slight smile. “I’m on a gap year, I guess is what the kids would say. Or maybe sabbatical? Though it’s not like I have any tenure enough to qualify for the real meaning of the term. But yeah, anyways— year off from work. Not getting paid or anything, but, when it’s over if I want it, my old job is waiting for me.”

“How come? That seems so—”

“Impulsive?”

You frowned. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he repeated, but not in a mocking manner— it was in agreement. “I guess the best way to explain it is this: I was a huge workaholic. I’ve only had my one job post grad after studying business, and I woke up one morning a month before my twenty-fifth birthday and realized it was sucking the soul out of me. It was all I ate, slept, breathed, and it wasn’t even what I wanted to be doing with my life, I realized.”

His pain started sounding all too familiar. “What is it you wanted to do instead, then?”

Even under the mask covering the lower half of his face, his smile reached his eyes. “Photography. I got into an art school when I was applying to colleges, but it just seemed so… risky. I would’ve had to take out loans and instead I got almost a full ride for a bigger university, so I went for that instead. Studied business, managed to grind through undergrad and grad school in four years and walked out with a combined BS and MBA. Took classes every summer to make it happen. I think after graduation, I went back to my parents house and passed out and slept for twenty-three hours straight,” he laughed, clearly recalling a specific memory. “I felt really accomplished when it was over, and even had the job offer already lined up. But I wish I had had more courage to study what I was truly passionate about.

“So after an almost three year long stint at the company and a vested 401k, I decided to take a year off to just, travel the world a bit. I grinded so hard through college I never got the chance to do study abroad, so I guess I wanted to make up for that? I never used to act on impulse or follow my heart, so, that was the goal for this year. To do only that.”

His words struck you differently. This was a whole new side to Johnny that you really weren’t expecting— not that you had a particularly three dimensional view of him to begin with. “And your heart lead you here… to my brother-in-law’s coffee farm?”

He laughed again, trying to hide just how thrilled he was that you were actually engaging in a full on conversation with him. “Well, sort of. My year off started back in February, day before my birthday. Got on a plane and did a few months backpack trip around Asia. I had no clue what would be next, thought maybe Australia, maybe Europe, but when I got off the plane in Chicago to see my mom and regroup on my packing, I decided to go straight from the airport to surprise and bother Jaehyun at his coffee shop. That day I met Yunho. That was a little over six weeks ago. And now I’m here, with you.”

There was something about the way he said that that didn’t sit well in your stomach— with you, like it was a good thing, like he liked it. You didn’t deign him with a response to the end of his story. Like an extension of the current state of your mind, your hands were reaching, feeling around for something, but you were only met with the flat surface of the bottom of the basin.

You looked down to see the last of the metal bowls was empty. Somehow, you’d managed to sort through all twenty pounds of coffee beans. You pulled the face mask down under your chin as you stared at the metal surface for a moment before standing abruptly and turning on your heels.

Confused, Johnny called your name out after you questioningly. “It’s getting late and I’m hungry. You uh, bag up the peaberry and set it aside and then wash out all the metal trays,” you gave him his next set of tasks quickly to make your escape back to the farmhouse to put some distance between the two of you.

A little over an hour later, you’d put together a curry on the stove with some stew meat and a base that included apples, carrots, potatoes, and melted dark chocolate for a more mellow sweet taste to balance it out. You thought about the first time Johnny complimented your cooking when it was just eggs, and how he’d continued to compliment it with every new meal you’d make. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef by any means, thinking that enjoying your go-to recipes would be a more acquired taste, and were in the midst of serving yourself when Johnny came inside with the dog trailing behind him. You didn’t bother saying much, you never did when you’d finished cooking a meal; just a grunt acknowledging his presence and a head nod at the food before you took your bowl and went through the door to go sit on the lanai by yourself. Absent-mindedly, you whistled for the dog to follow you.

Johnny kept to himself that night, eating at the kitchen table, content with looking up out the bay window to see you hand feeding small chunks of meat from your bowl to the dog, even going so far as to pet its head. He shook his head to himself thinking about how you pretended to be so opposed to the dog, and how you still hadn’t given it a name, and smiled as he took another bite.

✧ ✧ ✧

At five weeks, you stopped watching Johnny like a hawk, and started giving him more lengthy tasks that you, quite frankly, just didn’t want to do yourself. Though, if you were being honest, every task you gave him was one you didn’t want to do yourself.

Such as his current one, which was to prep the ground for a new row of sapling fruit trees. You’d walked down from the farmhouse over the hill to the open area next to a row of lemon and guava trees where you’d set him to the task of digging a row of four foot wide, four foot deep holes. The week after next, Jin’s delivery would be a much larger one, and include a number of sapling fruit trees from his family’s farm— rambutans, limes, and mangos, to name a few. You wanted to make sure the holes got dug and the irrigation system set in place properly well in advance.

When you came to a stop at the end of the row of freshly dug holes in the ground you blinked once. Twice. A third time. The sight before you was impossible to comprehend. Because not only was Johnny finishing digging the last of ten massive holes having taken less than three hours to do so, but he had been digging them shirtless.

“What. What?” You asked, staring, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

“Huh?” He asked, looking up from the bottom of the last hole and swishing his head to get his bangs, matted with sweat against his forehead, out of his face. The sun had crested over to this side of the hill now and it was blisteringly hot out. Standing in direct sunlight, doing physical labor, obviously he’d worked up a sweat.

You had to tear your eyes away from the shine on his torso and return them to just his face. “Where the fuck is your shirt?”

He pointed to where a lump of fabric was off to the side next to a water bottle. “It’s fucking hot out, I was dying,” he reasoned.

“You’re hot,” you mumbled under your breath, turning on your heel to give yourself reprieve from the onslaught that was Johnny’s unexpected number of defined abdominal muscles that were usually covered by cotton t shirts.

“What was that?” He called, squinting up into the sun from the bottom of the hole.

“I said, put a god damn shirt on before you come back in my house,” you called back, already wrapping your arms around yourself and heading back to the farmhouse. “And dinner’ll be ready in twenty, so finish up,” you added, trudging off before he could respond.

What you would have seen if you’d turned back around was an open mouthed smile curl across his face, as Johnny hummed to himself at the joy he felt for this, the first time you’d bothered to warn him when dinner would be ready.

✧ ✧ ✧

Ever since you’d seen Johnny shirtless, you’d be restless.

Well, restless was the polite word. The word to better describe what you’d been feeling was… frustrated?

Distracted? Peeved? Worked up?

Horny.

The word you were avoiding was horny.

Wendy had been the one to get you to admit it during your last weekly phone call. You told her about the shirtless incident and the first thing she asked was if you had plans to throw out the washing machine and instead start doing your laundry on Johnny’s abs, which did not help your predicament any further. It was also Wendy who had pointed out that you’d been alone on this farm for almost two months with a dog and a man too pretty for his own good, and despite how he represented everything you were annoyed at in life at the moment, after seeing his half naked figure, it would only be natural for you to have been a little turned on. And a little turned on was exactly where you were— for the last week, you had been going on runs every night to release the excess pent up energy you suddenly had.

The last time you exercised this much you were still in college. Back then you went on hour long runs through the city with your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ because it was the only way you weren’t constantly bombarded with an on onslaught of messages from classmates, friends, family, or your on campus job that took up way too much of your time. And now, you found yourself returning to old habits, this time because what, you were too proud to just rub one out like the rest of humanity? (That phrasing, too, was courtesy of your best friend, when she again reminded you of your failure to pack your vibrator.)

After another eight miles up and down the road outside the farm that ran along the island’s coast your legs felt like absolute jello when you finished, but your head was empty enough that you were able to return to the property and exist near Johnny in peace. You walked by the barn on your way up to the farmhouse, sticking your head inside briefly to look for him. You didn’t hear any noise, and didn’t find him at first glance, but didn’t think much of it as you went back inside.

The dog was already in the kitchen, so that should have been your first clue. You opened the fridge and peered inside, pulling out a number of assorted ingredients to make a lemon cream sauce for pasta with chicken.

You set a pot of water to boil, turned the oven on to preheat, and began melting butter, garlic, oil, and a variety of herbs in a sauce pan. That plus the low hum of the overhead fan meant just enough noise that you couldn’t hear the water running from the small shower on the other side of the house, and you didn’t think twice as the heat cast off by the appliances made you feel even stuffier post-run, and you peeled your shirt off your body and rolled the waistband of your shorts down an inch, pressing your bare feet flat against the hardwood flooring to try and get some semblance of cooling relief.

It was only a few moments later, with the water boiling and pasta cooking inside and the chicken already seasoned and in the oven, when you peered over the bubbling sauce pan and dipped the edge of your pinky into the mixture to bring just a taste up to your mouth. Just like you’d hoped, it was light and had a kick of citrus to it from the lemon, but not so much that it was overpowering. You closed your eyes and hummed in appreciation as you licked the sauce off, which, in retrospect, probably sounded far too much like a moan for your own good.

“Jesus fuck—”

And suddenly, you realized you weren’t alone inside the house.

You screamed at first from the shock of being startled by the noise, and then again when it registered in your brain that Johnny was standing in the kitchen, hair dripping wet, chest bare and abdominal muscles just as defined as the last time you’d seen them, face flushed in some sort of embarrassment with a bath towel wrapped around his hips.

Johnny was fresh out of the shower, nearly naked in your kitchen, clutching his clothes balled up in his left hand.

You scream again.

“What are you doing?!” You shrieked out, raising your voice over the dog’s excited barking at the commotion the two of you had begun making.

He stammered for a moment, clearly frozen in place. “I was just! You were gone, and I was done for the day, so I took a shower but I— I forgot my change of clothes in my room and these towels are small and just— Jesus why are you wearing so little clothing?!”

Your fury returned full force at the comment. “Why am I wearing so little clothing? You’re in a towel for fuck’s sake! This is my house, I live here! I should be the one asking you where your clothes are!”

“They’re here, in my hand!” He yelled back, waving the bundle around frantically. “I just said I forgot them when I went to shower!”

Your eyes bugged out of you head as your gaze traveled down, taking in the entirety of the figure before you and— oh.

“Are you… are you hard right now?” You asked in bewilderment.

The way the color drained out of Johnny’s face and the speed with which he moved the bundle of clothing to hold it over the space between his legs answered your question.

“Oh, my god.” Exasperated, you slammed your eyes shut and held your hands up by your sides. “What the fuck, John.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— fuck, shit I made it weird— please don’t get mad, I can totally fix this,” he started spewing apologies, and you heard him take two steps closer to you. “Wait, were you looking at my dick?”

“Ah!” You spat out, turning away from him. His question was valid but you had no intention of acknowledging it. “Out! Get out of my house, go… somewhere else until that goes away or you can, I don’t know, take care of it!” You instantly thought of the implication of your words and then yelled again. “No— don’t— fuck, don’t do that! Jesus for the love of god don’t take care of it while I’m standing here—” you were stammering and beyond flustered. How the fuck were you supposed to talk to someone who had just gotten a fucking boner by looking at you, sweaty in a sports bra, while sucking a cream colored substance off the tip of your pinky?

You exhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You are going to go to your room. I am going to finish cooking my dinner. You will be absolutely silent until you hear me leave. I will be staying at the condo for the next week. You will either ration the leftovers or fend for yourself, I do not care. Got it?” You signed out again, eyes flicking open. Johnny held his bundle of clothes in front of his legs and nodded his head once, not bothering with any comeback before he shuffled to the guest room and shut the door quietly.

It took another twenty minutes for the meat to finish cooking and the dish to be full prepared. How you managed to keep your head empty and shut off your internal monologue during that time, you’ll never know, but you were thankful for it nonetheless. You packed two servings into a Tupperware container for yourself before shoving some clothes in a duffle bag and grabbing the keys to the jeep you hated driving. It was only about ten minutes down the road to the condo, but it was almost fifteen miles, so you figured this was the lesser of two evils. You whistled for the dog to follow you, and it was all too excited to jump in the passenger seat of the car. The farmhouse was now dry of liquor, what with Yunho not making good on his promise a month ago and your weekly wine dates with Wendy, but you knew the condo definitely had some spirits stashed somewhere in a cabinet. You were going to need that and a nice hot bath to destress after that encounter.

Meanwhile, Johnny sunk down on to the floor inside the guest room, his back pressed against the door. When he heard the sound of the jeep’s engine turning over, he sighed in relief and ran a hand through his hair. There were no better words to describe it: he was truly and utterly fucked.

✧ ✧ ✧

You stayed at the condo only for three days, and did little other than sleep, binge watch some TV since there was better electricity and internet here, and eat your way through slightly stale bags of chips and frost bitten freezer dinners that were months old. Because you couldn’t just open the door and let the dog out to run through the property for whatever exercise or bathroom needs it had, you had to actually walk it with a leash and everything. You paid less attention to how domestic the action of clipping the leash on to the collar you’d found in an unopened delivery package on the kitchen table was, and thought more about how slothful you’d felt over the last 60-odd hours of self isolation, especially after two months of working outdoors every day.

It was childish to keep hiding from Johnny. It’s not like you could prove that he’d gotten hard looking at you, and really, shouldn’t you take it as sort of a compliment? (Well, maybe you wouldn’t go that far.)

It was Monday when you returned to the farm, parking the jeep back by the barn and hip checking the door shut after the dog went running off in search of Johnny. It found him carrying pruned branches of trees down to the area where you burned excess brush, and you could hear the excited sound of his voice at the return of the creature as you walked slowly down the hill towards him.

“I missed you! It’s been so lonely without you, but I guess I’m glad your mommy had you with her, huh?” He cooed at the dog, rubbing its face in his hands after dropping the bundle of branches and flopping its ears from side to side. Hearing Johnny refer to you as a mother, even of the animal, had you grimacing.

“Ew,” you said, making your presence known. He stood up suddenly, possibly just a little embarrassed.

“Oh! You’re uh, you’re back.” You nodded, lips pressed together in a flat line. Your hands were full, carrying two takeout coffees from a shop down near the condo you’d stopped at on the way back. You’d forgotten how much the farm felt like a different planet, a different space in time almost, because of how isolated it felt. The act of ordering a coffee to go rather than making it yourself in the morning was equal parts bewildering and soothing.

You had no idea what compelled you to order an iced americano along with the cortado you’d gotten for yourself. You didn’t really know much about Johnny beyond the one conversation you’d had about how he ended up meeting your brother in law and crashing on the farm with you in the first place. But somehow, ordering the drink had felt right, and you thought of it as a potential peace offering to cut the tension.

“This is yours,” you said plainly after some thought, trying to remove any and all emotion from your tone.

He blinked a few times before taking three steps towards you and reaching his hand out to take the drink. He mumbled a soft thank you and sipped without bothering to ask what was inside.

“You’re just going to take the drink a stranger offers you, no questions asked?”

“Ooh!” His eyes perked up when he tasted the coffee. “I mean, I’ve never questioned any of the food you’ve made me so far, why start now? Besides,” he shrugged, taking another sip, “I trust you.”

You snorted. “That’s a stupid thing to do.”

Johnny laughed again, eyes crinkling at the sides. Your mind wandered briefly to a half formed thought about how endearing that was. “Maybe so, but despite your efforts to make me an enemy, I think you’re actually a really good person. You even guessed my favorite coffee drink, so that has to count for something.” He nodded to the paper cup in your hand. “What’s your poison?”

“Cortado,” responded curtly, ignoring his comments that were cutting a bit too deep for ten in the morning.

“Ah, a strong espresso pull with a balance of steam milk and a touch of foam. Nice choice. I can definitely appreciate one, but I’m a little too impatient and drink them too quickly— I think that’s why I love americanos so much, because it lasts a little longer.”

You tilted you head to the side, puzzled. “Wait. You… actually know things about coffee?”

“I mean, yeah,” he laughed, “What do you think I spent three hours talking with Yunho about the day we met? I did my time as a barista in college. Free coffee every shift was hard to pass up when you’re doing almost a double course load every other semester. I’ve always been curious about the growing and roasting process, and I know a lot of people do home roasting as a hobby but I just never made the time to explore it.”

Well, duh, you thought, that actually made sense. “Oh god, and here I’ve been making my lame ass bitter pour over all summer— you know how to pull a shot of espresso then I take it? You’ve seen the La Marzocco on the counter, how come you’ve never used it?”

He pouted his lips out in a flat line and shrugged comically. “Dunno. I mean, I’m a guest and a worker first, and it’s not mine, so, I didn’t wanna make any assumptions. But if this is an open invitation to use it, I’m more than happy to accept.”

You chewed on the inside of your mouth for a moment. You could feel it in the air as the hairs on your arms stood up slightly, goosebumps running down your skin. You hoped in wasn’t too noticeable. Maybe this was it— maybe it really was time to extend an olive branch and have more than half a conversation with him every four days. “It’s a little older and sort of temperamental, but it’s still a good machine. I’ll… show you the quirks tomorrow morning, or whenever you want something to drink,” you offered.

It was then that you discovered this: Johnny was not a great actor. He wore his heart on his sleeve. You figured this to be true because he could barely contain the smile that spread across his face, and the energetic nod he gave, and the mild soft exhale (squeal?) of excitement. You rolled your eyes gently and turned away, drink in hand. “When it cools down later after dinner, I’m roasting tonight. You’re welcome to join.”

You gave him the benefit of not bearing witness to the fist pump he made as you walked away.

Dinner that night was stir fried ground pork with carrots and zucchini from the garden served over rice. It was one of your comfort dishes, easy to make and easy to clean up after, since it used only two pans. As soon as you’d finished eating, this time sitting at the table together with Johnny, he’d cleared the dishes and got to cleaning up right away. You stretched your arms overhead and leaned back in your chair far enough to crack your back slightly with a loud pop.

“Oof, that sounded like it felt good,” he laughed from the sink. You hummed in agreement. “So what’d you do before this? Desk job hunched over a computer like the rest of us?”

“Mmm something like that. You may have been bored out of your mind in business, but I sold my soul years ago to work in advertising.”

“Why does that like, fit?” He asked, turning the water off and drying the pan you’d used for cooking by hand.

“You saying I have no soul?” You challenged.

He shrugged. “Hey, you said it, not me. We’re both just cogs in the machine that is late stage capitalism, I guess.”

You didn’t know how deeply you wanted to get into it with Johnny just yet. Maybe eventually, but, not right now. “Yeah, well, I was just a Project Manager, not like a Copywriter or anything. Did you know Yunho was a staff Art Director before he switched to the coffee business full time? We used to work at the same agency a few years back.”

Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “Ah, that’s right! I remember him saying something about that, made the same jokes about having no soul. You two are a lot alike for not being related by blood.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong; sometimes you wondered if you’d become closer with Yunho that you were with your sister at this point. “Enough about that. If you’re done follow me, it’s probably cool enough to fire up the roaster. I just want to do a test batch of like, five pounds with the regular beans to see how this year’s harvest takes to our standard roast,” you explained, heading to the door and slipping on your sneakers. “Don’t let the dog out, it gets scared from the loud noises and I don’t need it freaking out.”

Johnny dried his hands and followed after you to the barn. You flicked on the lights and went straight for the sink to pull your hair out of your face, wash your hands, and put on a pair of gloves and a mask. Johnny followed your lead, even going so far as to tie up the top layer of his hair on top of his head. “Hey look! It’s like an apple,” he bobbed his head from side to side to make the tiny ponytail move back and forth, and you couldn’t help but snort as you tried to suppress your laughter.

“Dork,” was all you said. You went to the storage racks to pick up one of the sorted burlap bags of beans and hoisted it over your shoulder to carry it to a metal prep table where you carefully opened it and began scooping out the green beans and pouring them into a bowl on a metal scale that had been zeroed out. “So obviously you know that coffee is counted by weight in pounds. That monstrosity,” you jerked your head in the direction of the massive eight foot tall machine in the corner of the room, “Can handle up to twenty-five pounds of beans in the barrel at a time. Because it’s so big, it’s best to not do super small batches, otherwise you risk burning the beans. Since I’m going for five pounds, it’ll be okay, but if I was doing any less I’d use one of the table top roasters, since they have a smaller barrel.” You finished weighing out five pounds and handed the container to him to carry.

You continued explaining the full process of roasting and science behind it as you flipped switches, checked that the exhaust was hooked up properly, and set the dials for the heat and time on the industrial roaster before pulling the door to the funnel open and having Johnny slowly pour the beans inside. “God you’re a fucking giant, I always need a step stool to reach that high,” you commented as he made the reach with ease.

You weren’t kidding when you said the roaster was loud when it was running. Thankfully with the size of the machine and this batch, it was only eleven minutes of the two of you standing just a few feet away in case anything went wrong and you had to hit the emergency stop, holding your hands over your ears to block the sound. Johnny began jokingly exaggerating mouthing something out, and you felt almost like friends as you laughed at his antics. You were never the best at reading lips. Especially not Johnny’s, they were too full and distracting on their own for you to make sense of the mouth shapes. When the machine came to a grinding halt and the noise suddenly stopped, he was still shouting words and his voice echoed around the space in the absence of the noise, “I said, I think you’re— oh, wow, that was fast,” he quickly diverted, catching himself from finishing whatever it was he was about to say.

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of trying to pry out of him what he was in the process of saying under the protection of the loud noises. You shook it off mentally and showed him how to remove the beans from the roasting chamber. “So you take them out like this, and then they’re still going to be warm for a while, so it’s best to let them rest for a bit. If you were to brew them right away, the flavor might not be what you’re expecting, so if you wait for them to sit for a few days, you’ll notice a considerable difference in the flavor profile—”

You stopped suddenly, a sound in the distance suddenly registering to you. You left Johnny standing there with the roasted coffee in hand and trailed to the edge of the barn and then you heard it more clearly— the sound of the old rotary phone ringing. “Oh, shit,” you swore and took off running back up to the house. The only person who had the number for the landline other than Wendy were Yunho and your sister. Wendy didn’t call you outside of your Thursday night appointments. You did the math in your head— it was the end of June, your sister’s due date wasn’t til the end of August, but early labor was always something you’d heard about, especially with more than one baby.

Hands shaking, you got to the phone on what could have been the last ring and panted out a greeting of Yunho’s name, already knowing it was him.

“Oh thank god you answered, I’ve been calling for the last twenty minutes, where were you?” He chastised immediately. You felt uneasy at the tone in his voice.

You stammered in response. “I— we were in the barn, I was roasting so I couldn’t hear the phone— what’s wrong? Is she okay?”

Yunho sighed out heavily and was quiet. “She’s going to be okay, but there was a… scare,” you could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to freak you out, but I don’t want to not tell you either. She slipped getting out of the shower, landed on her hip. Started having lower abdominal pain right after. We thought maybe it was going to be now, but, she’s fine. The doctors think they were phantom contractions? Whatever they were they’re gone now. The babies are fine, but she’ll most likely be in the hospital until the due date. If she starts experiencing any kind of contractions between now and then, though, they’ll want to induce labor.” You could tell he was still stressed and worried, but you nodded and listened as he explained some of the medical details a bit further. “Anyways, all this to say, the next time I call, it could be to tell you that you’re an auntie.”

From the moment you heard the phone ringing this late at night and calculated that it was almost two in the morning in Chicago, the tightness in your chest had been building. Listening to Yunho speak delicately about your sister’s condition was one thing— you thought it was a sigh of relief when he said that everything was fine, but then it was most certainly not fine when the gravity of his last words really hit you.

“Little Bean are you listening? Is the signal bad? I know the connection isn’t always great—”

You inhaled sharply as the pressure inside came to a head. “Yunho I gotta go,” you gasped out, barely able to make sense of thoughts to get the words out.

Before you could hear his rebuttal you slammed the phone on to the receiver to end the call and covered your face with your hands still in their nylon gloves. Despite standing in an open space, you suddenly felt like the room was spinning and the walls were closing in on you. Out, out, you had to get out—

“Hey, everything okay in here?”

Fuck.

Johnny was standing in the door, a look of concern on his face. You heaved into your hands and choked out a sob, feeling the wetness in your eyes building. No no no, everything was most certainly not okay in here. You shouldn’t have made eye contact, you should have known better, because looking at his face, his stupid perfect face and his genuine care for your wellbeing, it set you free falling over the precipice.

You were spiraling, and hard, and needed to land. It was instinctual, the way you cried out and ran pushing past him before breaking into an all out sprint down the hill to the fruit trees. Your legs barely kept up with the velocity of running at a decline, stopping short of tumbling and falling forward. The only thing that you knew to help this, the thing that had worked for you in the past, and you raced through the grove of trees for the larger one at the very end. It was one of the older trees, well mature and established with its root system, so you could always expect it to produce fruit.

But you’d harvested a large amount of the fruit in the last few weeks from the lower branches, and the only remaining fruit that would be ripe enough for your purposes was on the higher branches just out of reach. Over the sound of your pained sobs, you couldn’t hear Johnny’s approach or him asking what was wrong, your one track mind just trying desperately to jump and reach, fingertips barely brushing on the fruit you were reaching for.

“Hey hey, calm down, what are you—” he started.

“Shut up! Just shut— don’t tell— don’t tell me calm— calm—” you couldn’t make the words make sense, in your head you were screaming don’t tell me to calm down, but the act of translating that into words on your tongue was downright Herculean right now, it just wasn’t happening. Your knees began wobbling and standing too started feeling impossible. The tightness in your chest had expanded to reach your back, and though you were clearly still getting air by the fact that you hadn’t passed out yet, you felt like you weren’t breathing at all. You were crying outright now, tears wet and hot and painful as the sobs escaped your throat.

It didn’t take a genius to figure that you were trying to reach a fruit on a branch just above your wingspan. Johnny placed one large hand against your back gently and reached all the way up, fingers wrapping around what he assumed was the object of your fixation, before twisting and pulling to release it from the tree. “Hey,” he said softly, “This what you need?”

As soon as you made sense of the object in front of you you seized it from his hands, biting directly through the rind of the lemon. A muffled sob came out as your knees buckled and you sank to the ground. The bitter rush of citrus did part of its job, and brought your consciousness back down to earth. But your breathing didn’t steady, and your heart was still pounding, and the tears were still falling.

It wasn’t working, your grounding technique; not like it had the previous times, like the night you’d first gotten the phone call from Yunho saying they weren’t coming, and not like the time you bit into a lemon in the kitchen at work after first getting the phone call that your sister was pregnant, and even the time before that when she told you she and Yunho were moving, or when Yunho had asked you if he could marry your sister. If you were more with it, you would have thought for a moment longer about how all of your largest panic attacks of the last several years seemed to be linked to things about Yunho and your sister. Biting into a whole lemon had been your go-to for years, and suddenly, it wasn’t working.

“Fuck!” You cried out, spitting the lemon into your palms, “Fuck fuck fuck! Why isn’t it— why isn’t it working?!” Your words were absolutely frantic, and you were yelling at yourself more than your companion who, quite frankly, you’d forgotten was even there.

Until you felt a shadow pass over you in the moonlight and a pair of arms enveloping you in an embrace.

The top of your head was pressed against his chest and his hands found their way to the planes of your back and began rubbing soft circles. Softly he tutted out a shushing noise, voice barely above a whisper, steady. “Come on, let it out, I’m right here. I’ve got you, you’re not alone,” he said calmly, “You’re gonna get through it. Try to take a deep breath, that’s good now hold it as long as you can— okay, that’s okay, try again, try to hold on to it and let it out slowly this time.”

You’d never had anyone physically with you and help you through a panic attack before. You’d had them around people in the past, but no one had ever made a move to help you through it— not like this, not like him, not like he was doing right now by attempting to guide your breathing. The one time you had one in front on Wendy, you’d locked yourself in the bathroom and refused to answer her while you came down, and she never pressed you about it afterwards.

You had no idea how much time passed as Johnny held you in his arms, keeping a steady rhythm of his palms on your back and letting you cry it out into the fabric of his shirt, your hands wringing the material so strongly you thought you’d tear holes where your nails were.

One hand traveled to the back of your head and he stroked that too. “I’ve got you, I’m right here,” he said again.

After a longer period of silence, your ears stopped ringing and you could finally make out the chirping of the crickets in the night. You sniffled and rubbed the last of the trails the tears had left on your cheeks into his shirt, mumbling an apology into it.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly, keeping his voice low, almost as if he was afraid he’d scare you off if he raised it any higher. “I mean— haha, don’t apologize. It’s okay, whatever it is, it’ll wash out. If it doesn’t, it’s just a tee shirt, I can always buy another.” His tone was even paced and calm, and in pressing your ear against his chest you could hear the reverberations as he spoke.

The humid summer air was heavy as usual, even this late at night. You don’t know how long you sat there in silence, wrapped in Johnny’s arms listening to his heartbeat, but eventually you acknowledged that your heart was beating in time with his. Whether you liked it or not, he had been the thing to ground you, and not a stupid fucking lemon.

You shifted slightly, making a move to stand, but Johnny stopped you. “Whoa whoa, hang on lemme get ready— okay, hold on to my shoulders, that’s it.” Your fingers dug into his arms as he adjusted his legs and hooked one arm under your knees and the other around your back and stood up, taking you with him.

“Shit,” you mumbled out, head rushing at the quick movement and the realization that your legs were still bent over his arm, and Johnny was now carrying you. “Hey, heavy,” your words were still soft.

“Mmm, nah, nothing I can’t handle,” his response was easy, dismissive of your complaint, but not in a bad way. “You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to but— anxiety? Panic attack?” You sucked in a breath at the word. You hated that word. That word made you feel weak, even if it was exactly what this was. You dug your nails into his skin slightly on a reflex of bracing yourself, not with this intention of inflicting damage. “Got it. I get it,” he had approached the house and walked to the door, reaching for the handle with the hand under your knees. “I’ve had a few myself. Not recently, but back in college, maybe two or three? Don’t think they were ever as strong as that, though. I tried the lemon trick once, it actually worked pretty well for me. Didn’t make the next time I did a tequila shot all that fun though, couldn’t enjoy citrus for at least a month after that.” His soft laughter shook his chest and you leaned in further. Listening to his voice was comforting. It was keeping you steady. It made you feel safe, and in this moment, you were too tired to think about how you probably should have hated that. “Think you could swallow some water? Rehydrating is important.”

Your head nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna put you down now.” He used his foot to push one of the chairs away from the table and set you down on to the seat gently. The dog was immediately at your knees, whining lowly and attempting to give as many kisses as you’d accept. “Here,” he said gently, crouching down in front of you and holding a glass out. “Drink what can, but not too fast. There you go, that’s it,” his large hand clasped over your knee, thumb rubbing circles on the side. “Feeling any better?”

“Yeah,” you rasped out, voice raw from all the crying earlier.

Johnny smiled softly. “Good, that’s good. Okay, I think you need to get to bed, yeah? Or do you wanna take a shower or something first?” You shook your head. “Okay, just washed your face then?” You nodded. Your conscious monologue was returning, but bringing words from your mind to your mouth was still proving difficult. Johnny didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he offered you his hand. “Need help getting up?”

You answered by gripping on to his hand and using his shoulders to help you stand up. Johnny walked you to your room, holding his arm out for you as a guide. You were able to bear weight on your feet now, and though your steps were slow, you made it to the bathroom to wash your face and and change into sleepwear. Johnny waited by the door, averting his eyes for privacy for you, and returned to your side to help you into bed.

When he leaned over you to pull the sheets up, you reached for his wrist and asked, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

His face went blank before it softened into a smile. “Because. I told you earlier, didn’t I? You’re a good person. Should be simple as that, yeah?”

You didn’t have a response for him, only shifting deeper into the pillows. He turned off the light and retreated to the door frame. “Try and get some rest. Call me if you need me, okay?”

Your head managed a nod, and Johnny finally left, leaving the door to your room slightly ajar. You listened for the sounds of him milling about the house, his footsteps softly shuffling against the floorboards, a few mumbled words to the dog that followed at his heels, until you finally fell asleep.

When you dreamed that night, you dreamt of him, the sound of his voice, and the way your blood felt on fire whenever he looked at you and smiled.

✧ ✧ ✧

Johnny never asked you about the panic attack.

He didn’t bring it up, he didn’t ask what caused it, he didn’t even allude to it in any conversation over the next week. The next day he was just a little bit more gentle with you with the tone and volume of his speaking voice, but when you showed no signs of still be affected from the previous night, he let it go and didn’t bother you about it.

You couldn’t tell if you loved him or hated him for it.

Confusion on your feelings aside, as June came to a close and the morning of July 3rd came, you woke up to the sound of the espresso machine running. Johnny had very quickly proven that he was worth his salt as a barista, even though it had been several years, and had a very nice shot pull. He even figured out the steamer, which was the most finicky part of the machine, and had been making you cortados every morning. That’s what you were sipping now from a metal camper mug, as you walked with him to the shed.

“I think that all that’s left is nailing down that last sheet of roofing and then we’re done,” he hummed cheerfully, inspecting the building. It looked brand new, a marked improvement from the broken windows and bleached paint job it had sported two months ago.

Two months. Was that really how long he’d been here? You didn’t want to think too much about it, about how those two months gone meant you had reached the half way point, and that there were about two months left.

Two months…

“We should celebrate,” he said suddenly, and you looked up puzzled.

“We?”

“Sure!” He exclaimed, “I had no idea what I was doing. I just did what you told me to. This was one of the biggest projects for the summer, right? And plus, not that I care too much for the holiday, but won’t there be fireworks and stuff for the Fourth? Come on, this house has been dry for weeks, let’s go get some booze and live a little, huh?” He prodded your side with his elbow and began needling at you, saying huh, huh, huh over and over until you groaned and relented.

“Fiiiiiine, let’s go before the stores get crowded when everyone realizes everything’s gonna be closed tomorrow.”

The dog was less than pleased that you’d sent it back into the house when you picked up the keys to the jeep. Usually you took it with you, but this time you decided against it, since you weren’t sure how the liquor store would feel with you bringing the stray dog off leash into the store with you.

“All you, big guy,” you said to Johnny as you tossed the car keys at him.

“Aren’t you gonna ask if I know how to drive first?” He quipped back quickly while walking to the driver’s side.

“Nah,” you shrugged comically, hoisting yourself up by the frame of the car. You buckled yourself in and watched as he did the same and adjusted the mirrors for his height. “Besides,” you looked down to inspect your fingernails as if they were the most fascinating thing on the planet, “I trust you, or whatever.”

“Bit of a stupid thing to do, but alright,” he smiled, echoing your words back at you. “Kidding, I’m an excellent driver. Alright, co-pilot! You have the most sacred duty bestowed upon you—”

“Navigation?”

“No, music selection, duh,” he scoffed and handed you the aux cord and pulled out a cell phone you’d never seen him hold before. You stared at the device as he unlocked it and pulled up his music library. Johnny noticed your surprised expression out of the corner of his eye. “What, it’s not like I have a use for it out here. Your wifi sucks and I’m not about to rack up a huge cell phone bill, so it stays off in my duffle bag most of the time. Anyways, this is a test! Pick whatever your heart desires.” The smirk on his face was beyond mischievous as he handed it to you.

You sighed and settled into the seat and began scrolling. What to pick, what to pick…

Surprisingly, there was a decent number of songs you recognized, and one album in particular you were a fan of. You scrolled down the track listing to about the half way point and pressed play.

The sounds of The Killers and the familiar guitar chords that were practically sewn into your DNA began to filter through the speakers. Johnny smiled and started clapping as the car reached the bottom of the driveway and he flipped on the turn signal. “Oh my god, Mr. Brightside, excellent choice! Okay, you passed the first test. But do you know the words?” He teased.

You gasped in feigned offense as the lyrics came to the chorus, and as he accelerated up to speed you began to belt the words out as loud as you could manage. For once you weren’t thinking about how you hated that the jeep had no top while the wind whipped past you on all sides as Johnny sped down the highway. As the song played, the magic high of belting the words to something fifteen years old that were still imprinted in your brain didn’t seem to wear off like you’d expected it to.

“Alright, chop chop what’s next maestro!” He called over the sound of the wind as the song came to a close. You already had something queued up, something a little more recent, and you smiled as the words to the next song began filtering through the speakers, letting the music carry the drive and not belting along with it this time. You tried to not think too deeply about the lyrics of the chorus as it played.

'Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me? I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

As the bridge played and you neared your destination, Johnny tilted his head towards you while keeping his eyes on the road. “Growing up, it was like, a badge of honor as a Chicago kid to have gone to a Fall Out Boy show when they still played the smaller clubs. I snuck into one when I was 16— it was an 18 and over show— felt like I was hot shit when I got away with it.”

“Don’t know why, but you don’t strike me as a Fall Out Boy fan,” you admitted. From your scroll through his music library, you saw most of their discography saved to his phone.

“Hey, I had my embarrassing wannabe emo phase too.”

“Had?” You couldn’t stop yourself from teasing. Johnny didn’t give a response to that one, and as another Fall Out Boy song played through the speakers you let yourself rest in a comfortable lack of conversation, instead sharing the music with him as he drove. It only took to the end of that third song to reach your destination and based on how he handled the drive and parking, true to his word Johnny was an excellent driver.

Johnny followed you closely once inside, his eyes scanning up and down the shelves of the tiny liquor store before he reaches and picks up a six pack of pilsner. “You ever try this one?”

Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “I don’t do beer.”

Johnny blinks twice in response and plops the six pack back down on the shelf. “Noted. What do you drink?”

“If I’m picking?” He nods. “I’m a slut for rosé or champagne. Any sparkling wine, really, it makes me feel fancy and you get to turn basic days into little celebrations.” You follow him as he walks down the aisle to where the selection of wine was shelved and starts looking through the options. “Hang on, you’re not gonna grill me about the beer thing?”

“You say that like your friends usually give you shit for it.”

You crossed your arms and shuffle your feet underneath you. “Well, yeah. Usually.”

“Then I would say,” he trails off for a moment, bending and squatting to see a label on a lower shelf before picking up two bottles of the same brand, “You need new friends. Or that your current ones need to learn boundaries, take your pick. How’s this look for one option? Since this is a celebration and all,” he says with a wink.

Leaning forward, you study the label on the bottle for a moment before nodding in approval. You agree to his point that since they were 15% off if you bought six or more bottles, it only made sense to buy more, and besides, “It’s not like you won’t drink them eventually when you’re on the phone with Wendy.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that. “How do you know her name?”

“I’m quiet not deaf, and you’re louder than you think you are,” he says matter-of-factly before heading to the cashier to pay for your selection. You bite your tongue then, hoping to whatever deity was watching you (and probably laughing) that he’d overheard one of the conversations that wasn’t about Wendy insisting you should bone him.

Johnny picks the music on the way back, opting for some Bleachers and Paramore now that he knew at least part of your music taste and how it aligned with his.

Your new selection of wine goes into the fridge as soon as you get home, and Johnny heads to the shed with a ladder in hand to climb on top and finish nailing down the roofing. You opt to help with this task, spotting from the ground and continuously yelling for him to ‘be careful’ and ‘you better not fall and break your neck while I’m watching’. It takes a little over an hour, and it’s late afternoon when he finishes, but when you climb the ladder yourself as he holds it steady from the ground to inspect his handiwork you have to say you’re impressed.

“You sure you never did construction work before? You’ve got shockingly good craftsmanship for a newbie.”

“My dad’s pretty self sufficient so he was always doing the handiwork around the house. Picked stuff up here and there from him growing up, but anything I didn’t know I could just look up on the internet.” You shoot him a pointed look. “What! I said your wifi was shitty not that I didn’t use it every now and again. There’s a YouTube tutorial for everything these days.”

Johnny insisted on cleaning up the last of the debris on his own while you worked on dinner— another pasta dish, orecchiette broccoli rabe, and while that was cooking you boil a pint of blackberries with water and sugar to make a flavored simple syrup. Since you were celebrating tonight, it only felt right to put in a little extra effort even to the drinks of choice. Kir Royales were typically made with a blackcurrant liquor, but it was a niche product you hadn’t found in the store, so the syrup and a slice of lemon for garnish would have to do.

While you waited for Johnny to finish up and take his shower (after the last time, you gave him plenty of space out of an abundance of caution whenever he showered), you started rummaging through the pantry cabinets and making sense of the dry ingredients you had on hand. You had time to kill, why not make a dessert with it?

You hadn’t talked about it much with Johnny, but you actually did enjoy cooking and baking. Something about spending time and energy making something and having someone consume it and tell you they liked made you feel good. You still remember the first time you made breakfast for a hungover Wendy in college and she raved about it for days, though you were pretty sure back then it was because the carbs soaked up the remaining alcohol in her system and stopped her from puking.

Dinner was finished when Johnny finally came out of the shower, this time fully clothed and his hair more dry. You explained that you’d gotten bored and made cookie dough but the oven hadn’t finished pre-heating yet so nothing was baked.

“Fuck it, cookie dough is always better than the cookies themselves,” he shrugged.

“But salmonella—”

Johnny held up a hand jokingly as he stopped your interjection and turned off the oven. “Still convinced that’s a myth parents made up to stop kids from actually enjoying childhood. Plus it’s hot as balls, chill the dough while we eat and then it’ll be even better after. Plus, you haven’t poisoned either of us yet, I think your track record is pretty good so far.” (There he went again, referring to you and him as an ‘us’.)

So you did just that, putting the cookie dough into the fridge and taking your dinner outside with the cocktails you’d made. You didn’t have any wine glasses here at the farm house— after breaking one stemmed glass during your first phone call with Wendy you’d moved the rest to the condo and replaced the drink ware with mason jars because the clean up was too annoying. Plus, you didn’t want to risk the dog stepping on stray shards of thin glass and getting them stuck in the pads of its paws. (You were still decidedly apathetic towards it, but that didn’t mean you were cruel).

So it was in the wide mouth Kerr jars that you poured your blackberry syrup and a half a bottle of champagne, after a comical exchange of Johnny insisting he wasn’t scared of the pop! that corks made coming out of pressurized bottles and the yelp he let out anyways when it happened as expected. The lemon slice garnish was more of an aesthetic touch than anything but you liked it nonetheless.When Johnny pulls out his phone for the second time that day and insists on playing music and making a dramatic toast before you could drink, you could only laugh and agree.

“To the best Boss I’ve ever had,” he said with a raised glass, “Even though you used me for cheap labor and to do all the hard shit.”

“Rude! I cook every day, look at all the chances I’ve had to poison you and how many times have I done it? Absolutely none because I am a saint and you know it.”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the music, the low hum of crickets, the starry night sky, or the summer heat that did it, but time flowed so easily, and so did the conversation and teasing banter. Over the course of one meal you’d exchanged more words with Johnny than you had in the whole two months you’d known each other. Two hours later and you’d finished all the dinner (of course there were no leftovers, Johnny was still Johnny, but the amount of manual labor he did in a day made sense of how much he usually ate, you’d come to realize). The bowl of cookie dough was now sitting on the step of the lanai and you and Johnny were side by side on the deck, looking out over the farm and taking the occasional spoonful of dough into your mouths. He was right— the dough did taste better than the baked cookies probably would have, especially after it had chilled for a bit. With the way the stars and moon were hung in the cloudless sky, you could see the soft glow of their reflection in the water beyond the highway and the cliff leading to the beach.

“You ever go down to the shore?” He asks suddenly, and it feels out of nowhere and like he’s inside your head because how else would he have known you were just thinking about the ocean? But then you register that Andrew McMahon’s voice has just crooned something about Venice Beach and the California summer in the music that had still been playing through the speakers of Johnny’s phone.

You hummed for a moment before answering. “Not really. I should make more time for it, but I rarely ever leave the farm, as you probably noticed. I know this place is paradise for so many people, the vacation destination on a lot of bucket lists, but I think my… circumstances made me bitter towards the island, conceptually speaking anyways.” You watched the water with a bit more focus as a few waves crested, but you couldn’t see enough of the shore to see them actually crash. “I know I don’t talk about it much but, I needed a break from my work too. That’s… part of the reason I’m here, why I was waiting for my sister and Yunho to come out. It’s a much less interesting story than yours, so I won’t bore you with the details,” you wanted to reroute the subject before any questions started getting asked, but deep down you knew Johnny wasn’t going to press you for anything you weren’t ready to share. He’d figured that much out about you anyways.

“Anyways, maybe you’re on to something, Seo. Maybe I should take some time to actually relax a bit, seeing as now that I’ve tricked you into finishing the most difficult and time consuming of the summer projects Yunho had planned,” you stuck your tongue out between your teeth jokingly in an effort to mask the vulnerability you’d briefly shown.

Johnny took the hint and changed the subject. “The Killers, Bleachers, Paramore, Fall Out Boy… not saying I don’t like your taste in music, but I’m surprised it’s your picks were so astoundingly pop-punk-rock. Woulda taken you for a—”

“If you finish that sentence by saying ‘country kinda girl’ I’m locking you out tonight and taking the cookie dough with me,” you warned.

He laughed and shook his head. “No, you strike me as too high strung to enjoy country. Like it’s typically too slow for your tastes, or something like that.”

“Oh I’m obnoxious about my taste in media, if you couldn’t already tell. I’ve listened to mostly the same artists for the last ten years. In high school I was that kid that thought making it known that I ‘didn’t listen to the radio pop main stream’ was a personality trait, whatever that meant.”

“Oooh, so edgy and mysterious, did she used to cut her own bangs too?” He giggled into his mason jar, taking another sip.

“Nooo, that was only one time and I swear it was on a dare and not because of a break up!” You jokingly wailed out, throwing your head back in exaggeration. “Although I do regularly trim Wendy’s bangs for her because she can’t be trusted with sharp objects. Knives, needles, scissors, none of it, girl’s a total klutz,” you took another sip and uncorked the bottle again to refill your jar. You held the remainder up for Johnny to see, silently asking if he wanted a top off to finish the last of the second bottle you’d opened.

Johnny was a big guy— tall and muscular, you were sure it would take him a bit more than a bottle or two of shared champagne to get him tipsy. That’s why you didn’t think too much of it as he stared into the reinvigorated fizzing bubbles as he quietly said, “I’d like to meet her someday. Wendy, I mean— you talk about her so fondly, she seems like a great person. Like she’s good for you in your life.”

Why did you feel a little uneasy at the way he spoke about Wendy? He had no idea what she looked like, it was only from the stories you’d been telling that he knew anything about her. And it wasn’t even the real her, it was just her as she existed to you, so what was there to be uneasy about? You were overthinking again, so you had to come up with an answer to fill the silence you’d created— “Yeah well, Wendy’s sick of dick, she’s very bisexual and I’m pretty sure she’s head over heels in love with this Joohyun she started seeing recently, she’s just too much of a chicken shit to tell her how she feels,” you hid behind you glass and drank deeply, not minding as the floating slice of alcohol soaked lemon rested against your nose.

“Sounds familiar,” Johnny said quietly. “I… can relate, I think,” he mumbled out, and you glanced over in time to see him place his now-empty cup on the wood beside him. “Sometimes you just feel the way you do and you don’t really have a reason for why, but you can’t even put it to words to the person it matters to.”

This time when your breath caught in your throat, it wasn’t because of a mounting attack, but in anticipation of what Johnny would do next. The space between you had slowly waned as you’d been drinking, your bodies inching closer to each other without you even realizing it, almost like the way the moon pulled the tide to the shore over and over again. When your eyes traveled from where his hand was pressed into the deck flooring up to meet his hooded gaze, you don’t really know what you were expecting, but Johnny’s parted lips shining slightly (probably from that last drink of wine) was not it.

You knew this feeling. This was when you were supposed to lean in, right? That’s how this usually went. Your hand shifted closer towards his for a moment and then pulled back, and the end joint of Johnny’s fingers flexed as he pressed his fingertips into the deck.

You didn’t lean in. Your heart was hammering in your chest far too loud for you to be able to do so; instead, you look away, his eye and his lips and his face and his everything suddenly too much, and your turned your cheek to him instead.

Instead, he leaned in, and for just a brief moment the crickets stopped chirping, the distant ocean stopped moving, the music stopped playing, and your heart stopped beating as Johnny’s perfectly pouty lips pressed against your cheek, and then your temple, and then your throat. And then his head tilted down and his nose brushed against your skin delicately, leaving a trial of burning in its wake, and time didn’t start turning again until the snort of his laughter broke the silence and he fell into your shoulder in a giggle fit.

It took all of your patience and self control to make your lungs continue to function as you listened to Johnny giggle so much he stopped making sounds until he was spewing out between fits of laughter ‘The bubbles make everything funny, why is everything funny with bubbles?’

‘Why indeed’, you wondered silently, letting the clearly tipsy Johnny rest his head on your shoulder as he continued his giggle fits, stroking the palm of your hand against his back as he’d first done for you under far different circumstances, trying to not think about how much faster your heart was beating while doing so, and how if your accelerated heart rate was from his proximity to you, you didn’t mind.

How long did you stay like that, in such a familiar embrace with Johnny? Long enough, it seemed, for the playlist on his phone to come to an end and for him to start dozing off while resting against you, his light snores the thing that finally made you disturb him so you could go back inside. It was late anyways, nearing midnight you said softly and you tried to wake him gently—

A surprisingly loud boom shook the sky followed by a burst of light and color. Immediately the dog inside woke up and started barking, and Johnny bolted upright, eyes darting around in search of the source of the noise that had disturbed his snoozing.

“Fireworks,” you breathed out, more to yourself than to him. “Guess it’s midnight already.” Johnny didn’t say much, but his eyes twinkled as he watched in earnest as a few more went off before you tugged on his sleeve and insisted that he needed to make his way to bed and sleep. There were sure to be more tomorrow, and he could watch them then.

You didn’t sleep for hours that night. After helping the mildly intoxicated Johnny to his bed, you sat on the floor of your room, knees pulled into your chest and a hand laying flat against your cheek where he’d planted his trail of kisses. “He was just drunk, he’s just a flirty drunk, that didn’t mean anything,” you repeated to yourself over and over again.

But something about the way Johnny’s lips felt against the apples of your cheek and the hollow of your throat when he’d been nuzzling against you stayed with you all night long, sending a shiver down your spine and igniting a flame where your heart lived. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and inhaled deeply, breath shuddering on the exhale.

Against all your hopes and intensions, Johnny Seo had slowly chipped his way through your armor and into your heart.

You had to get him out. Fast.

tbc.

—

author’s note | Me: this first part is gonna be like, I dunno, 5k? 6k? Also me: writes 19,000 words. We call this ✨processing your own trauma through writing as an outlet✨ Originally this was going to be one really long one shot and then I decided to split it up for ratings purposes because I am a thirsty whore for Youngho. The ending is rushed but honestly I was so sick of editing and overthinking this lmaooo. No I have not spent a summer living in Kona working on a coffee farm. Most of my coffee knowledge is second hand from the time my brother in law bought a coffee farm and started a roasting business because my sister dared him to by saying “do it you won’t” (an exact quote I shit you not). There’s more to this story and uh I dunno I’ll maybe post it eventually if people don’t hate this one *shrugs*

#Johnny x Reader #Johnny Seo #Johnny Seo x Reader #Johnny Seo fanfic #NCT fanfic #NCT Fluff #NCT Angst #kinda lmao i dunno leave me alone #panic attack tw #mental health issues tw #anxiety tw #idk if i'm even happy with this or if I'm gonna go back and edit that last 5k i wrote tongiht w/e #shrugs this is fine #johnny: bitter brews #swamp witch writes

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andawaywego · 3 years

Note

A fic where Damie say their first “I love you’s”?

hey! yes! this! i’ve had a few requests for this and i hope you don’t mind, but i set it in a No-Ghosts, Modern AU bc why not? we see what i assume is Jamie’s first “i love you” in the show, which i may touch on later, but i wanted this quiet scene surrounded by the people they love first.

i hope you like it!

In the early hours of the day, the kitchen is chilly and mute, blue-gray sunlight drifting in through the windows to cast empty shadows across the counters and floors. The wind rattles through the house, sliding in through any gap it can find, and Jamie thinks that, if she tilts her head just so, she can hear the way the boards beneath her feet, the wood and stone surrounding her, bend and bulge to make room for it.

She tucks herself a little tighter into her sweater and looks across the table at Flora and Miles as they happily eat their cereal, talking to one another and Hannah. Owen is leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, his cup of tea cradled in his hands and steaming a little, still. Providing warmth, perhaps, where the house tries to leech it. Beside her, Dani shifts and their shoulders brush together and, as much of a jolt passes through her at the slight touch, the real magic is this:

That secret, little smile Dani sends her way after.

Like they are each from a hidden world that belongs to only them—where they exist and twine together in one existence, away from the prying eyes of everyone else—and are only visiting this realm for breakfast, of all things. It says a hundred secrets they’ve whispered in the dark to one another, limbs laced together warmly beneath the sheets as they caught their breath, as they kissed slowly and loose-lipped. Learning and familiar.

It’s been six months of nights spent tangled together in Dani’s bed. Six months of dinner dates in the empty kitchen late at night; of drinks at the only pub in Bly and phone calls before bed. Six months of Dani slowly figuring out sexting and Jamie nearly regretting teaching her about it when she’s interrupted in the middle of the work day with a less-than-appropriate message or worse: photograph.

Six months after that first kiss in June when they’d been walking the grounds one evening. Jamie saying something about her lost family, her shadowed childhood, and Dani turning right then and there and just kissing her. Beneath the sunset-pinked trees at the edge of the property, the heat of the summer pressing down against her skin, sticking her tight to her clothes, as Jamie presses forward into it.

Dani.

Jamie loves Dani.

It’s been right there on the tip of her tongue for three full months. She’s come so close to blurting it out on more than one occasion that she’s talked to Owen about it. Hannah. She’s called Rebecca in London and asked for advice on when she’s allowed to just say it. More than once for each of them.

So often, in fact, that Dani might be the only person sitting at the table that doesn’t actually know.

It aches in her chest, rattling around and begging to be set free, but Jamie hasn’t yet. Is too frightened, perhaps. Or maybe there just hasn’t been a good enough time.

Whatever it is, Jamie can see her own pinching emotion reflected back at her from Dani’s smile that morning so clearly that it’s nearly blinding. She’s waxing poetic about wanting to spend a fevered hour beneath the heat of Dani’s mouth in her own mind when Miles’s voice catches her off guard.

“—this afternoon, Miss Clayton?” he is saying.

Dani tears her eyes from Jamie’s and blinks, dazed, then seems to catch up.

“What’s that?” she asks. Then, “Sorry.”

But Miles doesn’t mind. Doesn’t even register her apology. Just repeats his, “I was asking if we’ll still be painting the school room today,” with little fanfare.

Understanding blesses the soft lines of Dani’s expression. “Yeah, of course,” she says. “You and Flora are going to have to put on clothes that can get paint on them, though, okay?”

Miles nods and Flora lights up the room with a smile of her own. “Oh, splendid,” she says. “I had a dream last night that we all painted a family of bears on the wall! One for each of us. Owen, yours had a mustache.”

“Did it?” Owen asks. “Sounds like a handsome bear.”

“Oh, he was.”

The conversation falls apart then, the children too excited about how they’ll be spending their day to settle down. That’s one of the funny things about Dani: before she showed up, it was like pulling teeth trying to get Miles or Flora to participate in anything resembling a chore. The school room is one that’s needed repainting for a long time—given the humidity of the rainier seasons and its position in the house, the paint has been chipping for years. Jamie always figured that, at some point, she was going to have to just give in and do it on her own, but, now that Dani is here, it seems she’s acquired three new sets of helping hands. Maybe it’s the years of teaching two dozen students in America, or maybe it’s just a special talent, but Dani has managed to turn the mundane into the extraordinary so many times that Jamie wonders sometimes if she might actually be Mary Poppins.

Wonders if that makes her Bert.

Briefly imagines dancing with a cartoon penguin and almost jumps out of her chair when a hand touches her arm.

But it’s just Dani, giving her a look that’s half-amused, half-concerned. “Sorry,” she says, but Jamie shakes her head.

“Don’t hafta apologize for touching me, Poppins,” she says, giving a little wink, and Dani’s cheeks blush pink. “Just caught me off guard.”

Beneath the table, Dani’s hand is still on Jamie’s arm, her grip loose and lovely, sparking like wires up and down the length of Jamie’s skin. She remembers that morning—Dani pressed into her back beneath the covers, one of her arms wrapped around Jamie’s stomach, her fingers moving fluidly and madly between Jamie’s legs. She clenches her thighs together and tries to calm down.

It doesn’t work.

That’s the thing she’s learned the most often since that first kiss in the gardens: being with Dani is almost like being on fire all the time. Jamie can’t seem to catch a break, and she really believes now that she wouldn’t even take one if it were offered.

“You’re so pretty,” Dani breathes, but that’s clearly not what she’d meant to say. It just comes out in this drifting voice that Jamie recognizes because she has one just like it. Part of her is constantly reassured when Dani speaks like this that she is not the only one left dazed by their each interaction.

“So are you,” Jamie says. “Before you ask, I’m going to go pick up the paint after breakfast.”

Dani’s eyebrows lift a little, then settle back down. That’s what she’d meant to discuss, apparently, and, now that Jamie has finished the thought for her, she seems a bit more in control of herself and the situation.

“You’re a saint,” she says next and Jamie rolls her eyes.

“Hardly.”

Across the table, Hannah is getting to her feet and the children are doing the same, grabbing their used dishes and toddling after the older woman to take them to the sink. Dani and Jamie linger at the table for a beat, neither of them willing to release the other from their hold when faced with a long day spent beneath the watchful, innocent eyes of two children.

Finally, Owen stands up and they have no choice. Their only alternative is to spend the rest of the day sitting right there and Jamie thinks she’d end up getting a little stiff if they decided on that.

Dani offers to take Jamie’s mug to the sink and Jamie smiles.

Says, “Thanks,” and watches her girlfriend make her way over, setting the dishes she’s carrying on the counter beside where Miles is obediently filling up the sink with warm, soapy water.

“Who’s going to be my dish-dryer?” she asks, her voice enthusiastic despite the content of her question.

Still—magic as ever—Miles and Flora flood the air with eager I will’s and let me’s.

Owen gives Dani an impressed look. Hannah just smiles and leans against the island counter.

“I’m gonna head to the hardware shop,” Jamie says, seemingly to no one in particular, but it has its intended effect.

Dani turns around from the sink and smiles over at her. “You really are a saint,” she says without a hint of joking.

“Just make sure the little gremlins are dressed and ready when I get back,” Jamie tells her. “Housework waits for no man.”

“Hear, hear!” Owen says and Dani laughs as she steps around the counter to reach Jamie, still standing there.

“If you think of anything else you’ll need, let me know,” Jamie says and Dani nods, reaching out to touch Jamie’s cold hand with her own.

“I will,” she says. “Thank you. Again.”

Jamie shrugs. “No trouble. Won’t take too long.”

Normally, this would be the part where Dani would give her a quick peck on the cheek or on the lips and say her goodbyes. Just a quick thing because they’re half-a-year into being together and that’s the sort of thing couples do. Or so Jamie has seen on TV and is learning now—she hadn’t much experience before Dani. It’s happened so often in the past that it’s practically routine now, but things are different just then.

Something changes.

Because Dani does lean in and give Jamie a quick kiss on the lips. She does say, “Hurry back,” like she normally might have, but there’s an extra part thrown in at the last second.

“Love you.”

Dani says it so quickly, so thoughtlessly, that Jamie responds before she even processes the significance of those two words.

She just says, “Love you, too,” and goes to pull away.

But, before she can, everything comes crashing into her like a freight train. Dani seems to be undergoing the same realization Jamie is given the way her eyes are wide and unblinking.

They stare at each other for a moment—seemingly forever. Dani stands in front of Jamie, the light from outside brightening her hair into a halo like an angel’s, and her blood is pumping swift through her heart and veins. It’s strange that all she’s doing is standing in the kitchen—Miles and Flora and Hannah and Owen standing just behind Dani—and yet she feels like she could very suddenly run to the moon and back without needing a break.

Like she could fly or spread her arms around the world without an ounce of trouble and squeeze it tight. Like she should because Dani just said she loves her and shouldn’t that make her capable of anything?

She thinks so.

“I love you,” she hears herself say, slower this time, making sure that Dani understands.

Dani’s lips part just barely and she nods like she’s agreeing to something, but Jamie isn’t sure what. “I love you, too,” she says. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, her eyes tracing the gentle shape of Dani’s face, the dip of her nose and the slender arch of her neck.

Dani leans forward a little, their foreheads brushing. “I love you,” she repeats.

Their lips brush together, soft and singing reverence in a kiss that can’t be sustained because each of them is smiling too much for that. Cool fingers wrap themselves around Jamie’s hands and it very suddenly doesn’t matter who else is in the room for this. It might as well just be them.

An ordinary morning. Breakfast in the kitchen and work to do later. After a night spent doing normal things; making dinner together and watching TV. Jamie vacuumed her flat and Dani wiped down her counters and then they fell into bed together because that’s what it is to love someone.

That’s how you do it.

In the little in-between times. Love in offering your jacket when it’s cold; in pressing your chilled toes against the warmth of your other’s skin; in brushing your teeth side-by-side and holding hands when you’re waiting in line with your shopping basket at the market.

What is so frightening about that?

What better time to say it than when you can’t keep it contained any longer?

Nothing.

There isn’t a better time.

Easy does it.

Life ticks on around them—the children laughing and splashing one another with water, Owen making a joke that only Hannah finds funny, and that soft, green paint waiting to be picked up in town—but Jamie takes a moment to breathe. To let the puzzle pieces slide together, colors mixing in and stirring out smooth. Clean.

Leans in and kisses Dani again, longer this time, and says what she’s been wanting to say all along, which is this:

“I love you, Dani. I love you, too.”

#damie au #damie prompt #dani x jamie #dani/jamie #thobm #dani x jamie fanfic #the haunting of bly manor #fluff

39 notes · View notes

sunshinehighway · 4 years

Note

Could I request prompts 15 & 35 please? Xx

35 - “is it too late?”

in which ben and callum are both entering their final year of college, callum is new to the area and him n ben instantly become best friends.

(for anon & the wonderful @bencal who’s birthday it is today!!! katie deserves the world and a hell of a lot more than this fic, but i hope you’ve enjoyed your day and this year treats you with so much kindness and love <33)

Of course, it’s only fitting that the first day of British summertime begins with a downpour.

Ben has never been covered in so much mud in his life, and he’d much rather be tucked up in bed, thrashing Jay on Fifa, or watching a film, than tackling in puddles for a ball.

Callum, the little shit, is up in the stands, like he is every match, wearing a bright yellow raincoat and probably the ugliest beanie Ben has ever seen, looking like he’s just about drowning. He’s the only one up there too, and every time Ben looks at him he has to stop himself from doubling over with laughter at his huddled figure.

Ben knows he’s going to come out this match covered in bruises and the odd scrape, and he knows Callum will fuss over him for it, his own injury having ruled him out of the school team for the rest of the term. Ben doesn’t enjoy the football a great deal, not half as much as Callum does that’s for sure, and to be honest, he was days away from dropping out of the teams. But when Callum had picked up the injury, he was so down about not being able to play, and chase that promotion, and suddenly Ben wanted nothing more than to carry on, to win the league, for Callum.

Despite his devotion to the team, some of the lads are being particularly standoffish today, tackling hard and pushing Ben into the mud and laughing it off like it’s a joke. At the start, Ben let himself have a little fun and get muddy. Now though, his shins are fully coated and his hair is sticky with it.

It’s funny though, when Ben gets that last minute equaliser, 89th-minute screamer, how they all celebrate with him like he’s the hero of the league. Ben only has eyes for one celebration though, Callum’s cheers can be heard from down here, and the grin stretching his face enough to wash the grey clouds away.

After, Ben’s completely soaked and chilled to the bone, and it doesn’t help that the changing room feels like a literal freezer. Everything is concrete and metal and the boys all huff out tiny, stilted puffs of air as they change and shower.

Then, he remembers, Callum. He instantly warms.

Callum, Callum, Callum.

The mysterious new lad in town, the one every man and his dog wanted to befriend, but for some unbeknown reason, he’d chosen Ben to do so.

Slowly, over the past few months, since Callum and his brother had moved to Walford, Ben has begun to learn all the little things about Callum. He knows that his favourite colour is orange, that he doesn’t have a favourite album or song because he can’t choose, he likes to read more than he lets on, and he loves to sing, no matter how much he can’t.

They’re just little things, just the tiny pieces, and Ben begins to realise that as much as he’s learning about Callum now, he doesn’t know anything about him before he came to Walford College. There’s a whole seventeen years that Ben really has no idea about.

He has no idea what made Callum who he is now, this brilliant, yet shy and reserved boy, with a heart bigger than Ben could ever imagine.

He shakes himself from his trance, grabs his bag and runs outside. It’s still pissing rain, and across the grounds he can see Callum standing by the bike shed, wrestling with his umbrella. It’s folded completely out the wrong way in the wind, and Ben finds himself laughing as he makes a break for it, thoroughly soaked.

“Why aren’t you waiting inside!?” He shouts over the rain as he approaches. When Callum sees him, he shuffles under the tiny shelter quickly.

Ben follows, and when he sees Callum’s face, he slaps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

He looks utterly distressed, his hair wet and hanging wildly over his neck and eyes. His raincoat has been beaten spectacularly, and his umbrella is only just holding on.

“Where—” Callum starts on a shaky exhale, shivering, “have you been?”

Ben falls into hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God.”

“Ben!” Callum whines, but then he’s laughing too, his hands shaking roughly at his hair.

“You look like a drowned rat, mate,” Ben wheezes. “Not gonna lie.”

“Shut up,” Callum guffaws, shaking his hair out like a dog.

“Your umbrella,” Ben exclaims, cackling. “How did you even manage that?”

“I know, look at it,” Callum wipes at his eyes and holds it up, the whole thing mangled.

“You’re a nightmare, Cal,” Ben holds his stomach, shaking his head. “You want to come back to mine? Get you dry and then maybe I’ll let you have me on Fifa?”

“Oh, you’re finally admitting I’m better than you, then?” Callum says, and he looks pleased. “Yeah, that’d be nice, actually. Cheers.”

“Nah, it’s not that nice,” Ben says, and he tries to remember, frantically, if his room is in any state to be seen by another human, let alone Callum.

“Don’t be daft,” Callum shrugs. “I just want to get inside and get out of these disgusting clothes.”

“Come on then,” Ben says as he leans down to unlock his bike. Callum does the same, and they’re off.

It’s an absolute disaster from the word go.

It’s raining even harder than before, and Ben almost falls off his bike laughing when Callum attempts to shield himself with his umbrella as he rides, wobbling all over the places as the umbrella is pulled this way and that by the wind.

He should be hating every moment, should be angry about his idiot teammates, and his sodden clothes and annoyed about the weather. Instead, he smiles the whole way home, he and Callum laughing and shouting to each other as they pedal frantically, splashing each other with puddles and shaking out their hair.

When they finally make it back to Ben’s house, he hesitates for a moment, because his mum’s car is still in the driveway.

They kick off their muddy shoes outside the front door and attempt to shake any excess water off their bodies so they don’t drip everywhere. That, of course, proves entirely useless, and Ben attempts to make a beeline straight for his room as soon as they step inside.

“Oh, hello love.”

Ben flinches and turns quickly, seeing his mum in the doorframe leading to the kitchen, ready for work with a cup of coffee in her hands. She looks at Callum then looks questioningly at Ben.

“Mum, this is Callum. Cal, this is my mum, Kathy,” he presents. “Is it alright if Callum and I chill for a bit?”

“Sure,” Kathy blinks, looking between them again.

“Uh—hello,” Callum says, and he holds out his hand for her to shake, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Kathy.”

“You too,” she takes his hand eagerly. “Do you go to college with Ben?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty new there,” Callum affirms. Ben sighs internally as his mum looks Callum up and down again, quirk tilting at her lips. “Just been to watch the match, he was the star of the show. Again.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she shifts her weight, flicks her eyes back to Ben’s own. “Well I best going, don’t want to be late, can’t be dealing with your brothers moaning today.”

“Alright,” Ben says with a nod.

“There’s food in the fridge, beers too — although maybe it’s a little early for drinking? Help yourself to whatever you want, Callum.”

“Yeah, mum,” he says, suppressing a groan. “I ain’t going to starve him. Bye.”

He hurries upstairs, safely away from his Mum’s prying, and Callum following close behind. There’s a little pause before he opens the door to his bedroom, and he sends a silent prayer that it isn’t entirely awful.

“It’s not much, um,” he says awkwardly, as he opens the door slowly. Nothing seems too out of order, thankfully.

“Woah,” Callum says as he enters, going straight for Ben’s record player and vinyl collection.

For a moment, Ben pauses, looking at Callum standing here in his room, fingers trailing over the curves of his records. It’s a little surreal, a little too much. Ben clears his throat awkwardly.

“Didn’t know you were such a huge fan of musicals, Mitchell,” Callum teases as a blush heats Ben’s cheeks.

The sudden flash of lighting, and the booming clap of thunder that follows it makes them both jump and flinch towards the window.

Ben approaches carefully and looks out into the street. It’s raining so heavily he can barely see the house across the Square, everything a muddy mirage as the rain falls in thick, heavy sheets.

“Apparently this is going to go on all day, I ain’t letting you ride home in this,” Biting says, biting his lip.

There’s another flash of lightning, and the thunder rattles the room.

When he looks over his shoulder, Callum is just staring at him.

“What?” Ben says, pushing his hair off his forehead nervously.

Callum blinks once, twice, then looks away. “Nothing.”

“I’ll get you a towel, hang on,” Ben says. In the dark of the hall, he rubs a hand down his face.

Callum is in the same position when he returns. Ben tosses the towel at him.

“I don’t have any spare clothes on me,” he says.

“You can borrow some of mine,” Ben says, moving towards his dresser.

“They won’t fit,” Callum says, and Ben can hear the amusement in his voice. “I’m about six foot taller than you, Ben.”

He turns with a raised eyebrow in challenge. Callum dissolves into quiet laughter. Ben throws a pair of joggers at his face, and he splutters.

“I hate this,” Callum says as he changes into them. The joggers are predictably, definitely too small, cuffed around his ankles. And, they’re tight. So tight. God.

“Perfect fit,” Ben says enthusiastically. He lets his eyes linger, long enough to burn the imagine into his memory, but not long enough for Callum to notice.

“Shove over,” Callum says, patting at the space on the bed beside Ben. He furrows his brow, but does so anyway. Callum looks over Ben’s record collection again, rubbing a hand over his chin like he’s making some grand decision. Finally, he makes a tiny noise of affirmation and slots a vinyl out.

He throws Blur, Parklife, at Ben.

“Interesting choice,” Ben says with a raised brow.

“You remind me of him,” Callum says with a little smile. He shoves Ben over some more.

“Damon Albarn?” Ben’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. “That your way of telling me you fancy me, then? Because everyone fancies Damon.”

“Shut up,” Callum laughs off, but there’s no mistaking the peach blush that floods his check, it’s one Ben’s become familiar with.

It’s silent for a long time as Ben loses himself to his thoughts, just the sound of Girl & Boys and booming thunder, the pelting of the rain on the window and their breaths. Everything is washed in a soft yellow glow, and Ben tries not to glance at Callum every time he flips a page. His hair is gold tipped in the light.

“I like these lyrics,” Callum breathes. “I don’t usually care for the words over over-hyped rockstars, but these ones always stick with me,”

He rests his hand on Ben’s hip. Ben stares at the ceiling, wide-eyed, trying to regulate his breathing.

“Love in the nineties, is paranoid, on sunny beaches, take your chances,” Callum sings, slow and hushed and mixed with the rain. Ben’s slips his eyes closed. “Always should be someone you really love.”

Ben breathes in sharply, heart pounding in his chest. When Callum stops, voice losing out to the thunder, Ben feels himself sinking into the mattress. Callum’s hand burns like fire at his hip.

There’s another flash of lightning, and in that split second their eyes meet, white-hot.

Thunder rumbles.

The light flickers, and goes out.

“Oh,” Callum breathes. Ben feels him sit up slowly. His eyes haven’t yet adjusted to the light, so all he has is touch.

All he can feel is Callum.

“Cal?” Ben whispers. He’s so tired, but the thought of missing a moment of this, of him and Callum, alone and safe, together, is terrifying for reasons Ben doesn’t want to think too hard about.

“Mm,” Callum hums, chest shifting.

“Um,” Ben says and there’s so much, so much he wants to say, to ask, to confess. “I should—should see if I can find a flashlight downstairs, or something.”

He moves, reluctantly, and Callum’s hand falls away, replaced by cold air.

“It’s alright, we’ll just wait out the storm, I guess,” Callum’s voice says, close.

There’s so much heat radiating off of Callum’s body, and Ben looks up at his raindrop covered window, searching for some kind of thought other than the one screaming for him to reach out his hands.

It’s quiet for so long. With every passing second Ben feels his throat growing tighter and tighter.

He doesn’t know if he falls asleep, or falls entirely into his thoughts, but when he comes back to himself, feeling like he’s been in a deep sleep for days, his eyes are heavy and his body is warm. Callum is a deadweight beside him, breathing evenly. It’s still raining.

“Cal,” Ben whispers into the dark. There’s no response.

He sits up slowly and tries to maneuver himself over Callum’s legs without waking him. It doesn’t work as well as he’d planned.

Callum stirs with a huff of breath and a yawn. “Ben? What’re you doing?”

“Need a piss.”

“Oh,” Callum breathes. It’s quiet again, and Ben grabs his phone, flicking on the flashlight and guides himself across the hall.

Callum stumbles in a minute later, sleep rumpled and young-looking. In the barely there light, his eyes glow like hazy amber.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. He’s just standing there, leant against the towel rack, watching. Ben turns away, pulse pressing against his neck. “Ain’t much of a fan of the thunder, didn’t want to be alone.”

Ben ducks down to wash his hands, he lets icy water hit his skin, needing that shock to wake his mind. He hisses a little and pulls away, shaking out his hands. He can feel Callum’s eyes following him, burning into him, and as he moves to the towel rack, he doesn’t meet his gaze as he wipes his face.

But he’s right there, so close that Ben can feel his warmth, can smell his aftershave clinging.

Ben glances up slowly, his gaze lifting from Callum’s bare feet all the way up to his eyes.

The flashlight is so dim that everything is cast in shadow, so low that he can’t read Callum’s face. It feels as though they’re trapped in this sudden bubble of warmth, and Ben can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything, doesn't want to do anything, but look at Callum’s eyes and tremble.

“Ben,” he breathes, barely a sound. Ben swallows, electricity shocking through him, zapping his skin. There’s fear there too, gripping fear that holds him by the back of the neck.

But then Callum lifts a hand, his smooth, delicate hand, and runs a long finger down Ben’s cheek, coming to rest just by the hinge of his jaw. Ben stutters out a breath, gravitating closer, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as Callum touches him.

Callum rests their foreheads together gently, his thumb coming to rub at his jaw, his hand cupping the back of his neck and head. Ben’s body is covered in goosebumps, every inch of him shaking like a leaf, so nervous, so unused to this sort of touch.

Callum dips his mouth closer, their noses bumping. He can feel Callum’s warmth breath on his lips, and when he shifts, they brush together, just barely. Callum sucks in a deep breath, chest heaving, and leans down.

It’s so, so, unbelievably delicate. Their lips meet with a cautious press, and they stay that way for a few moments before Callum pulls away a little, then ducks down again. Ben lets him lead, lets him hold his face in his big hand, because his brain is a muddle of heat and jarred murmurs.

Callum presses in closer, both his hands cupping Ben’s face now as he kisses him slow and soft, pulling back every few moments to shudder in a breath, fingertips brushing through the soft wisps of hair by Ben’s ears. His hands slide down to his shoulders, down his front, and Ben’s stomach spikes.

He grabs Callum’s hands, pulls away slightly, eyes searching for something he’s not sure of.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Callum babbles as he meets Ben’s eyes, too loud in their little bubble. “Ben, I–I didn’t mean to–”

“Cal” Ben says, hoarsely. His hand finds Callum’s cheek, it’s hot to the touch, he slips it back into his hair. “Come here, yeah?”

“If you want me to go—” Callum whispers, and Ben feels it against his bottom lip, this barely-there buzz.

“Sh. Just–just come here.”

Their mouths touch again, and it’s molten, soft and melty and cautious, Ben’s bottom lip caught wetly between Callum’s. Ben has to let out a shudder of a breath, toes curling up so hard it hurts as he starts to twist his fingers in Callum’s hair. Ben feels out of body, like he can register each touch and press, he can hear the rain tapping heavy fingers on the rooftop and the low buzz of the record player and the rasp of Callum’s breathing but it doesn’t feel real.

But it is real, so real. And it’s the most intimate moment of Ben’s life, standing in the dark, holding the warm body of this soft boy, kissing him, tender and so full of feeling.

It’s Callum who pulls away the next time, and when he doesn’t duck straight back in, Ben peels his eyes open slowly to look up at him, panics.

Callum’s chest is rising and falling noticeably, his eyes intense and gentle all at once, hooded but so open. They’re locked together for a beat, and time seems to stand still for them. All of a sudden, the rain is gone, and there’s just silence. It’s just him and Callum, standing on this invincible plane, bound together.

“How long?” Callum asks, their faces still pressed up close. He’s so warm, burning up under Ben’s touch.

“So long,” Ben answers honestly. “So fucking long.”

“I’m sorry,” Callum breathes past his lips, muffled by another kiss. “‘M so clueless. Is it too late? Please tell me it ain’t too late?”

“No,” Ben hushes him, tries to pull him closer again with a nudge to his hip, but Callum shakes his head lightly and just stares down at Callum “It ain’t too late. It couldn’t ever be too late.”

They come back together on a sharp exhale, there’s little hesitancy now. Callum presses Ben against the wall, cradling his jaw and gripping at his hip, breathing heavily. Ben holds him close and tries to stop the little noises bubbling inside him from escaping. He doesn’t succeed.

“Shit,” Callum breathes, ducking down to bury his face into Ben’s neck, kissing the skin there over and over, breathing him in. “Shit, Ben.”

“Callum,” he shudders when Callum kisses wetly at the hinge of his jaw. He threads his hands into Ben’s hair again, so soft and silky beneath his fingers, and pulls him back up to his mouth. He’s never wanted anybody, anything more in his life than this, than the wet press of their mouths, the heat of Callum’s hands sliding down his back. It feels right.

“You’re beautiful,�� Callum gasps out between kisses, pressing in hard. “I’ve wanted to tell you that every day since I moved to that damn school.”

“Callum,” Ben says again, because he can’t say anything else.

“You have no idea,” another searing kiss, a hot press of their bodies, “how amazing you are.”

Ben whines softly, and Callum shudders, grabbing his hand and pulling them backwards. They leave the flashlight, and they have to fumble blindly into Ben’s room. Callum’s hands are hot and possessive on his hips, squeezing him and moving him through the space. They finally find Ben’s bed, and Callum falls down first, pulling Ben on top of him.

“Oh, my God,” Ben sighs out at the press of their bodies, burying his face in Callum’s neck for a moment to try and form any coherent through.

“Kiss me,” Callum breathes. “Don’t stop kissing me.”

And so Callum kisses a line from Ben’s jaw to his lips. He cradles his jaw, presses his thumbs against the hinges, and Callum makes a throaty noise, opening his mouth wide and arching up. Ben gasps in response, and then Callum is flipping them over so quickly that Ben sees stars, reaching up blindly as Callum presses him down.

Ben likes it like this, he thinks, with Callum’s body covering him, caging him in close. The rain hits the window violently, and Callum licks into Ben’s mouth hotly. His first response is to grapple at Callum’s shirt in surprise. His second, is to open his mouth wider, keening. He’s got a hand in Callum’s hair now, tugging roughly. Callum groans, so deep and chesty. Ben is helpless against him, breathy and shaking.

When their hips brush together, Callum a steady weight on top of him, his stomach jumps and he pulls away involuntarily, before he can stop himself. Callum pauses, his breathing heavy, and searches his face.

“Y’alright?” He whispers thickly, brushing his thumb over Ben’s cheek, eyes sated and heavy.

Ben’s breath stutters in his chest, hands shaking. “I’m just—”

He lets out another shuddered breath, blinking up at Callum with wide eyes.

“I know,” Callum says, hushed. “I know.”

He kisses him again, soft and slow and honey-sweet, brushing his hair away from his forehead gently. He moves his mouth to his neck, just dragging his lips over Ben’s skin and breathing, occasionally kissing him delicately.

Callum falls sideways, coming to settle next to Ben as they kiss gently. He threads their fingers together, and Ben’s heart flutters in his chest, eyes threatening to grow wet.

“Cal,” he breathes, pressing their foreheads together.

Callum snuffles slightly, pecking Ben’s lips one more time before he tugs him in close, wrapping his arms around him to cuddle him. His chest is warm and cosy and Ben curls around his body willingly. Callum strokes his back, presses kisses to his forehead. It’s so lovely, so delicate and careful that Ben can feel his heart shaking in his chest.

“Goodnight,” Callum whispers.

Ben blinks up at him. They stare at each other for a moment, and Ben just lets it rush over him, lets himself go. He tells himself to stop thinking, to stop worrying, to put himself in the here and now; not tomorrow, not when they have to go back to school, when he knows he’ll have to go back to being Callum’s new friend, when he knows to football lads will be on his back and he’ll have to lie to Jay, when he’ll miss Callum so much it’ll make his heart ache.

Right now he’s got to let himself be happy. Callum’s mouth twitches, and Ben knows that he’s happy, too.

“Goodnight, Callum;”

#idk man IDK #its probs bad and very ooc and the plot is ALL OVER THE PLACE #bye #ben x callum #ballum #eastenders #fic #mywords #anon #long post /

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Convenient Groom: 8/13

I can’t believe it took me almost a month to finish this chapter, but here it is! None of this was even in my outline, lol. However, I like where the muse took me, and there’s more "oh shoot, we HAVE to kiss”, so that’s always good. Hopefully that all makes up for the long wait - especially for the girl this was a gift for to begin with. I hope you enjoy this, @spartanguard!

I also realized that I accidentally posted two chapters labeled as chapter six here on Tumblr. The chapter count is correct on Ao3. This is chapter 8. I fixed the “second chapter six” on my tumblr blog as well. Sorry for the confusion!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Words: almost 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” Anna gushed as she helped Emma zip it up.

“Thank you,” Emma told her sincerely, “but I really didn’t have to wear it again. A simple sundress would have been fine.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped with an arch of her brows and a hand on her hip. Behind her, Elsa chuckled.

“Anna, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” she retorted, and Emma could easily imagine these two as kids. “I simply want to get the full effect of this wedding, okay? We didn’t get to be there, so today better be the next best thing.”

Elsa shook her head and caught Emma’s eye in the mirror as she adjusted the baby’s breath woven through the loose braids crowning Emma’s waves. It wasn’t the style she would have gone with personally, but she had to admit that Elsa had done a gorgeous job with her hair.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured the other blonde, “your sister has a point. And I don’t really mind recreating the wedding - in a smaller version, of course.”

The door leading from the basement out to the backyard rattled, followed by a frustrated shout from Killian. Anna shrieked as she raced for the door.

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, Kil!”

“We’re already married, A! This is ridiculous!”

“Humor a pregnant woman!” she barked, and Emma and Elsa couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

“Fine,” Killian snapped back, “I’m just here to tell you that Liam and Kristoff want to eat soon, so we better do this.”

“Men and their stomachs,” Anna grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

“Look up,” Elsa told Emma, and she complied. Elsa gave her eyelashes one more swipe of mascara. “There, you’re perfect.”

Emma picked up her small bouquet of forget-me-nots (that matched Killian’s eyes, Anna had pointed out), and lifted the bottom of her dress so her heels wouldn’t get tangled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Anna nodded, then turned back to the door. “Are you still out there, Kil?’

“Yes.”

“Well, go take your place under the arbor!”

Killian mumbled something about bossy women, but did as he was told. Anna peeked out, just to be sure the groom was where he was supposed to be, then she flung the door open. She and her sister went out first, walking out to strands of Canon in D. When the classical music faded out, Emma stepped out of the door. She almost burst out laughing when the music for her processional began.

You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand . . .

The arbor, which had been moved to Liam and Elsa’s backyard, wasn’t that far away from the basement door, and Emma was close enough already to see Killian’s wink. Emma couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, and Anna couldn’t suppress her glare.

“What kind of bridal song is this,” the redhead hissed as she smacked Killian with her bouquet.

Killian ignored her and waggled his eyebrows at Emma.

“It’s perfect actually, Anna,” Emma assured her, “let’s just say that it’s an inside joke.”

“Fine,” Anna huffed, “and we need to stop talking! This is a wedding.”

“A fake wedding with a grand total of seven people,” Killian muttered.

Anna smacked him with her bouquet again. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any petals left on the thing.

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant intoned as Emma turned to face Killian. She glanced in surprise at the elderly man, then whispered to Killian.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Can you two please take this seriously?” Anna exclaimed. “This is Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie.”

“Is he even ordained?” Killian asked.

“I’m standing right here,” the old man said dryly, “and I suggest you let me continue. You’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

“Then who cares if I’m ordained?”

Killian and Emma shared a look and then shrugged. The man cleared his throat pointedly.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in holy matrimony. If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Had the officiant said that at the first ceremony? She didn’t think so, but then again, everything that day passed in a blur. Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie paused . . . and paused . . . and paused some more. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Emma gave a small shake of her head.

“Oh my God,” Anna exclaimed in exasperation, “no one objects! Just get on with it!”

“Well,” Grand Pabbie said slowly, his bushy eyebrows moving expressively across his forehead, “Kristoff had mentioned a concerned brother, and I just -”

“Liam,” Killian growled.

“Have I said a word?” his brother countered, both hands raised in surrender.

“You can get on with it, Grand Pabbie,” Kristoff told the elderly man, his face flaming red.

“Okay then, where was I . . . “ the old man narrowed his eyes as he shuffled the papers in his hands. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, and they couldn’t help bursting out with laughter. Emma could hear Anna huffing in frustration behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to get herself back under control. Killian cleared his throat and clenched his jaw, though she could still see the merriment in his eyes.

“Ah yes, here we are . . . Marriage is a sacred union in which two hearts are joined as one. Emma and Killian, repeat after me . . . “

Emma was more aware during this second ceremony, which made sense. She wasn’t in shock like she had been the first time around. Yet she also was surprised to realize that this wedding was more suited to her personality than the one she had spent a year planning - and this wasn’t even real. There was just something about the simplicity of it and the small crowd who was there because they were emotionally invested, not so they could get free food and an open bar.

Then they were pronounced man and wife for the second time in a month, and Killian was told he could kiss his bride. He hadn’t kissed her since that day on the beach with the paparazzi. She hadn’t forgotten what a good kisser he was, but somehow it felt different. It was a simple kiss - more than a brush of lips, yet far less heated than the one he had laid on her at their first wedding. It probably had something to do with his brother glaring at them two feet away. Yet for some reason, Emma felt light headed when he pulled away, and she swayed towards him like he was a magnet she was drawn to. Or like a moth to a flame? Or being pulled out with the tide? It was some sort of romance novel cliche like that, and what made it twice as embarrassing was that she didn’t open her eyes until she almost lost her balance.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked as he grasped her by the shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” she hurriedly assured him as she gave her head a quick shake.

He tilted his head, and his lips parted on a breath. Before he could question her further, Anna clapped her hands and made an announcement.

“Now the bride and groom will have their first dance!”

“What?” Kristoff blurted out. “I thought we were eating!”

“Not until after their first dance; that’s how it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Anna leveled her husband with a look that could melt ice. “You don’t think the pregnant woman is hungry? We won’t starve while they dance!”

“Fine!” Kristoff muttered, throwing up his hands. Then he grumbled under his breath, “Isn’t even their first dance since it isn’t their first wedding.”

Killian shrugged at Emma, and she laughed. Elsa pulled up the song they had selected on her phone which was hooked up to the outdoor speakers. Killian set his hands at Emma’s waist as Paul McCartney began to sing, and Emma slid her arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you were alright a minute ago?”

His face looked so concerned that Emma told him the truth. “It just felt different kissing you this time, that’s all.” Her face burned as Killian’s eyes widened. “I mean - not like that or anything. It’s just that we . . . I mean, I . . . I know what pickles you like now.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Pickles.”

“Yeah, pickles.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I see. I wasn’t aware pickle preferences were such a sign of growing intimacy.”

The way his accent rolled over the words made the whole thing sound far more serious than Emma intended. She let out an indelicate snort. “You know what I mean. I know you better now. Like . . . like the pickles -”

“So we’ve established.”

“And . . . what you watch on Netflix . . . and . . . I’ve seen you . . . sweaty.”

Killian arched one brow and quirked his lips into an absolutely sinful, crooked smile. She swore she could see his eyes darken slowly under those stupid thick eyelashes of his.

“Don’t say it!” she warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she swore he must have worked for some sex phone line thing to be able to make syllables drip like that.

“Whatever dirty innuendo you were about to make,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just. Don’t.”

He nodded but gave her a smug look. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Killian leaned closer, his nose in her hair and his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He whispered in that low timbre of his, “I don’t need to say it, love, because you’re already thinking it.”

******************************************************

Emma watched the flames in the backyard fire pit lick at the marshmallow on the end of her stick. It caught and was engulfed, and Emma smiled as it charred.

“You burned it,” Anna observed as Emma pulled it out and blew on it.

“Nope,” Emma said, spinning it and admiring its black crust, “it’s perfect.” She gestured to the slightly browned marshmallow Anna had just slid onto a slab of chocolate. “Yours is still raw.”

Anna sandwiched the treat between two graham crackers, then replied around a messy bite. “I guess everyone makes their s’mores differently.”

Emma watched her catch a glob of marshmallow with her pinkie, and was relieved to see that her table manners didn’t matter with this crowd. Walsh had elegant tastes and took her places where you had to know which fork to use with what course. It had been exhausting.

Emma’s gaze flitted to Killian, who was laughing over beers with Kristoff. Behind them, Elsa was talking to Liam with a bundle of sparklers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Her brow was furrowed as she asked her husband something, and Liam looked intense with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma thought about her agreement with Killian and thought now was as good a time as any to do a little recon about his brother’s marriage.

“So . . . “ she said slowly and casually to Anna, “is Liam just as bossy with your sister as he is to everyone else?”

Anna literally snorted and almost choked on her s’more. “Are you kidding? Liam would walk on broken glass for Elsa if he had to.”

“Really?” Emma asked incredulously. Her gaze landed back on the couple. A gentle smile broke across Liam’s face as his hand closed over Elsa’s where she grasped the lighter. Elsa laughed, her eyes sparkling, as Liam pulled her to his chest and kissed her tenderly. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“But they’re both opinionated.”

“Well yeah,” Anna said with a shrug, “but so are you and Killian, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Anna gave Emma a little nudge with her elbow. “Paul McCartney was a great choice. Especially since The Beatles were Alice’s favorite.”

“Alice?”

“Yeah, their mom.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied hurriedly, her face burning, but Anna seemed more interested in the messy chocolate that was dripping down her wrist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she chuckled.

“I’m not much better,” Emma laughed, trying to lick sticky marshmallow off her thumb.

“I really have never seen anyone love someone the way Liam loves my sister,” Anna said with a smile. “I mean, not that Kristoff doesn’t love me in an amazing way, he totally does, and he’s - like, super supportive, it’s just . . . Well, Elsa was closed off for so long. She got hurt really badly when we were in high school. To say her heart was broken is a huge understatement. Anyways, I didn’t think she would trust anyone with her heart until Liam came along. Of course, you know from personal experience how Jones men are.”

“How so?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Anna tilted her head and looked at her like she was completely dense. “They love completely and fiercely. When they commit to something, they’re all in.”

“Oh . . . “ Emma trailed off and quickly stuffed more dessert in her mouth. She hoped the chatterbox would move on to a different topic, but for once the woman was silent. Emma swallowed and gave her a nervous smile. “Guess that’s why he’s into rom-coms, huh? When we were picking out a wedding song, he seemed to know the plot of most of them.”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Killian Jones watches sci-fi and fantasy. The only reason he knows those rom-coms is because of me. I had a horrible break up before Kristoff, and Killian asked me how he could help. I said ice cream and rom coms, not really taking him seriously. He was over within an hour with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and While You Were Sleeping.”

“Really,” Emma said thoughtfully, her eyes landing on Killian once again.

“Yeah, he came over every night for like a week.”

************************************************

Emma wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she made her way across the dunes. It was dark now, and almost time for the fireworks over Storybrooke harbor. They wouldn’t have the best view in town, but the privacy was worth the trade off. Killian came up next to her with unlit sparklers in his hands.

“The wedding coordinator demands our presence once again. Something about kissing with sparklers all around us. Very popular Instagram pose, apparently.”

Emma laughed as she turned to face him. “How are we supposed to kiss and hold sparklers at the same time?”

“Very carefully?”

She took the metal stick he offered her, but the jolt she felt was attraction, not electricity. She could admit it now. She was attracted to him. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? He fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome to perfection. And then . . .

“Anna told me about the rom coms.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “The what?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know. The reason you know all those cheesy rom coms is because you binge watched them with Anna. To cheer her up after a break up?”

“Oh,” he said, his hand going straight to that favored spot behind his ear, “um, yes. It was the least I could do, really. That Hans was an absolute git. No, worse, a complete and utter narcissist.”

His jaw was clenched now, his eyes narrow, and Emma’s heart flipped over how angry he still seemed on Anna’s behalf. You know from personal experience how Jones men are . . . They love completely and fiercely. Emma realized her gaze had dropped to his lips, and she shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Anyways,” Killian shrugged, “my heart just broke for her, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was sweet, and far more than most men would do. Unless they wanted to get in a woman’s pants.”

Killian wrinkled his nose in offense. “Please don’t even hint at me and Anna’s pants. She’s like the kid sister I never had. It just sounds . . . wrong.”

Emma smiled up at him, tapping his chest with the tip of her sparkler. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Anna shouted from the edge of the yard. “Get over here and act romantic for the camera!”

It turned out the Instagram shots consisted first of Emma and Killian holding the sparklers out in front of them while they kissed, then Killian dipping her and kissing her while his family held up sparklers behind them.

They were starting to get really good at this kissing thing. Emma was getting a little bolder in her response, and tonight she could taste the mixture of sweet and smoky from the s’mores on his tongue.

When he righted her, his brows were lifted, and she braced herself for a quip about her new enthusiasm when he kissed her. Instead, he merely smiled that crooked grin of his. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“It has to look real for Instagram.”

He moved his lips to her ear so he could whisper back, “Who said I was complaining, love?”

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Text

Liberation -VI

Chapter 6: The Deal

Author’s Note: Okay you guys here is chapter six! We are finally getting close to finding out more about our characters and finally getting into the nitty gritty stuff i have been waiting for. Next chapter it really starts! Hope you all enjoy this chapter and as usual i love to hear from you all! <3

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none?

Chapters: Prologue, One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six (here), Seven, Eight

////

If been a couple hours since you and Mando had left Nevarro and he was currently on course to a different system to find a smaller less well-known planet. You sat in the co-pilots chair, absentmindedly swinging you legs back and both, holding the child in your lap as he babbled curiously. You let out a loud sigh and turned your head to look at Mando who was flying the ship.

“So, why don’t you like droids?” you ask suddenly, shattering the silence.

Mando seems to startle slightly at your sudden outburst, but relaxes quickly, flipping another switch, “I just don’t” he says simply.

“That isn’t an answer,” you argue, but tilt your head to the side, “I’ll answer a question you have about me first,” you offer, “If we’re going to be stuck together for who knows how long we might as well get to know each other,” you explain.

Mando doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you think he has decided to ignore your attempts at conversation. So, you let out a little sigh and slump back into your seat. You tried.

“Why don’t you have a last name?” he finally asks.

You purse your lips at the question, not expecting him to ask the one question you didn’t want to answer. So, you paused, not sure if you wanted to flesh out this conversation at the moment, but you huffed and replied anyways.

“My parent’s…gave me up,” you offer hesitantly. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it also wasn’t the whole truth either, but it was close enough for now, “So I never knew my last name,” another half-truth.

Mando’s helmet turns slightly towards you, clearly looking at you from the corner of his eye, you hear him take in a breath to ask another question, but you stop him.

“I answered your question, now you have to answer mine,” you interject.

he seems like he wants to argue but he lets out a sigh, and you lean forward to place the child on the dashboard and lean in a little closer to Mando.

“A group of Separatist battle droids attacked my village when I was a child.”

You feel your heart sink slightly at his words and open your mouth to ask another question, but he stops you.

“nope, it’s my turn now, remember?”

You bite your tongue and give him a quick nod, casting a glance at the child who was staring curiously at the brightly colored switches around him.

“What happened after your parents gave you up? Did another family not take you in? why didn’t they give you a last name?” he asks curiously.

You feel your face heat up, and a lump formed in your throat as too many suppressed memories stated to surface at his questions.

“First of all, that’s like, three questions,” you tried to joke, but your voice came out in a squeak.

Mando shifted in his seat to face you and you knew he was going to question you further, but the sound of a switch clicking turned both of your attentions to the child. He had flipped a nearby switch. You saw Mando turn to face the front once more and flipped the switch back. The child just let out a questioning coo and looked at Mando. You felt your panic slowly start to give way to amusement as the child once again flicked the switch up.

Mando flipped it off again, “Stop touching things,” he instructed, before turning to look out the windshield again.

you watched as the child reached over slowly and flipped another switch, this time sending the ship rattling roughly. You gripped onto the arm rests to steady yourself as Mando shut the switch off and grabbed the child handing him to you. you had to stifle a giggle as you looked down at the child who was babbling happily up at you. you head Mando messing with something in front of him before he spoke up.

“Let’s see, Sorgan…” he says quietly, looking at the map in front of him, “Looks like there’s no star ports, no industrial centers, no population density. It’s a real backwater skughole,” he turns to you and the child now, “Which means it’s perfect for us.”

You can’t help but let out an inaudible sigh as it seemed that the earlier conversation was long forgotten, “Yeah it sounds good,” you offer, a small smile om your face.

Mando turns his attention to the child now, “You ready to lay low, and stretch your legs for a couple of months you little womp rat? Nobody will find us here.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname and fell a slight excitement rise within you. You can’t even remember the last time you had just relaxed and lived, not fighting to stay alive. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you looked down at the child in your arms and Mando set course for Sorgan.

* * *

Mando had tried to tell the child to stay while you and he went to look around the area you had landed in on Sorgan but that obviously didn’t happen. You looked at him like he was insane.

“You can’t just leave a baby on the ship Mando, are you crazy?” you asked incredulously.

“We don’t know what’s out there,” he tried to argue.

You roll your eyes and motion around you at the obviously harmless landscape, “I think we’ll be fine, plus he can just walk with us,” you say as you gesture to the child who Is walking down the ramp towards you.

He looks from the child to you before sighing, “Oh, what the hell? Come on.”

You smile triumphantly and follow after the bounty hunter, making sure the child was close by, as you all three headed towards a small building in the distance. As you all entered the local cantina the smell of cooking food made your mouth water. It had been several hours, probably almost a whole day since you last ate. Probably even longer for the kid. You followed Mando through the establishment as he looked for a table. The child was a few steps in front of you and you watched as he approached a large feline creature under a table. The creature hissed at him and the child let out a yelp. You quickly swept him up in your arms and looked at the beast menacingly, before following after Mando once more, running a comforting finger over the child’s large ears.

You watched as Mando approached a table and you sat the child down in a taller chair while you and Mando took the other two empty ones. Just as you sat down you both saw a kind looking middle aged woman approach your table, wiping her hands on a cloth.

“Welcome Travelers. Can I interest you in anything?” she asks sweetly.

You smile up at her and then look to Mando who gestures to the kid, “Bone broth for the little one,” he says.

You lean over quickly and speak up, “make that two please.”

The woman smiles and stuffs her hands in her apron pockets, “well you’re in luck! I just took down a gringer the other day, so I have plenty,” she informs, “Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” she asks Mando.

He shakes his head, “Just the two.”

The woman nods, “Very well.”

She turns to leave, but Mando quickly adds, “That one over there,” he points discreetly at a dark-haired woman sitting in the corner, “When did she arrive?”

The waitress looks over to the woman and shrugs her shoulders before turning to Mando once more, “hmm, I’ve seen her around for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business?” Mando asks.

You nudge him slightly, “Mando what does it matter?” you ask quietly, just wanting to enjoy your meal in peace, but he ignores you.

“Business?” the woman asks curiously, “Oh, well, there’s not much business in Sorgan so I can’t say,” she chuckles, “She doesn’t strike me as a log runner…”

Mando tosses a small sack of credits her way and she looks at him surprisingly, “Well, thank you, sir! I will get that broth to you as soon as possible,” she says kindly before adding, “I’ll even throw in a flagon of spotchka for good measure, I will be right back with that!” she says cheerily before turning and leaving you three at the table.

You let out a small chuckle and nudge Mando who you hadn’t noticed had turned rigid, “Looks like bribes don’t work around here huh Mando - Mando?” you look at him questioningly as he stands from his position and you finally see that the aforementioned woman was missing from her seat.

You move to stand but he holds out his hand, “Stay here with the kid, I won’t go far,” he says.

You hesitate momentarily, wanting to help him with whatever it was, but you also spotted the waitress heading over with your food and your hunger seemed to win out. So, you gave him a curt nod and he left the building.

Mando had just been gone only moments before you quickly gulped down your food, not realizing how hungry you were. You watched as the child sipped slowly at his cup of soup. You gave him a small smile and a quick pat on the head.

“You’re really stinkin’ cute, you know that kid?”

He just lets out a small giggle followed by a quiet burp. His antics caused another bout of giggles to slip past your lips, and you probably would have stayed like that if it weren’t for the sudden commotion outside.

Mando.

You quickly stand from your seat, disregarding his instructions, and flipped the waitress a credit on the way out, “keep an eye on the kid for me please?” you ask kindly, as you rush past her, not waiting for a response.

You follow the sounds of fighting and round the corner of the building, seeing Mando and the lady he was asking about fighting with one another. And the woman seemed to be winning. You quickly run over to them both and raise your blaster to fire on the woman, but she notices your presence and knocks the blaster from your hands before delivering a swift kick to your chest, sending you flying into the wall of the cantina, harder than you expected. You crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath as the air was stolen from your lungs with her hard blow. By the time you righted yourself and raised your blaster once more, you saw that her and Mando were locked together on the ground, blasters aimed at one another. A small slurping sound draws all of your eyes to the small green child standing a few feet from you, contentedly sipping his soup.

Mando turns his head slightly to look at the woman, “You want some soup?”

* * *

you all now sat at the table inside the cantina, talking to the mysterious woman, who you learned was a former Shock Trooper.

“I saw most of my action mopping up after Endor,” she explains, “Mostly ex-imperial warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on drop ships. No support, just us.”

“So, why’d you stop?” you as curiously, interrupting her.

Mando nudged you in the ribs, while she just looked at you curiously and continued, “Then when the Imps were gone the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, suppressing riots…not what I signed up for,” she says bitterly.

Mando looks around, “How’d you end up here?”

She smirks at him, “Let’s call it an early retirement,” she takes a long sip from her soup before setting it down and looking a Mando once more, “Look, I knew you were guild. Figured you had a fob on me, that’s why I came at you so hard.” She explains, looking at you now, “Sorry about that by the way.”

You shake your head and give her a half smile, “no problem, I’ve had worse,” you assure, “plus, that was pretty badass, not gonna lie.”

She gives both of you a small smile before standing from her seat, “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you guys want to go another round, one of us is going to have to move on. And I was here first.” She sets her bowl down before walking towards the exit.

You turn to Mando I shock, “That’s not fair!” you say quietly, “Why can’t we all stay here?”

Mando just shrugs his shoulders, “looks like this planet is taken.”

He doesn’t leave any room for argument as he stands and walks out of the cantina. Forcing you to grab the child and shuffle after him.

* * *

You are currently standing near one of the landing gear legs on the Razor Crest, fiddling with some of the mechanics. It was dark now; the sun having set several hours ago. You all had tried to leave the planet, but the landing gear had messed up and you couldn’t take off until it was fixed. As soon as you got outside, you went straight to the landing gear and diagnosed the problem as faulty hydraulics as well as some fried wiring. You scowled as you remembered the ensuing conversation.

“And how do you know that?” he asks sarcastically.

You roll your eyes and move to grab a wrench, “Because I used to work with Mechanics a lot. I know how to fix things,” you say simply.

Mando looks at you skeptically before handing you the tool you needed, “If you mess up my ship I swear-“

You cut him off, “Oh calm down!” you exclaim, fed up with his condescending tone once more, “Have I not proved to you yet that I’m a little more than competent when it comes to some things? Why can’t you ever believe that I do actually know how to do stuff?”

He just shrugs, “You just continue to surprise me is all,” he explains, “You know how to do a lot despite being so young.”

You huff and turn back to the landing gear, starting the repairs, “Yeah, well I would appreciate it if you would stop underestimating me.”

He’s quiet for a moment before finally speaking, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

and even though his words were far from a promise, they still satisfied you. perhaps you were finally proving to him that you can be a useful companion, and not someone he sees as a responsibility. Shortly after that conversation, he had walked up the ramp into the ship to work on something else inside, leaving you to your work. You only had a few more things to fix, when the dull whir of an approaching vehicle alerted you to a new presence. You weren’t alarmed though, having gotten a sense of harmlessness from the planet and its inhabitants. You heard the whirring stop and two sets of footsteps approach you.

“Excuse me?” a male voice speaks up.

You turn around now, wrench in hand as you let out a huff, taking in the two harmless looking men in front of you.

“Yes?” you ask, “What is it?”

The man steps forward to speak but the familiar baritone of Mando’s voice stops him, “Is there something we can help you with?”

You look over to see him walking down the ramp of the Crest, eyeing them up as he approaches you. The man who approached you speaks up, “Uh, yeah,” he stutters, “Raiders.”

Your eyes widen and you cast a glance up to Mando, who doesn’t react to the news.

“We have money,” the second man speaks up.

Mando crosses his arms, “So you think we’re some kind of mercenaries?” he accuses.

“Well you are a Mandalorian right?” the second man asks.

“Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor,” the first man speaks again, “That is Mandalorian armor, right?”

“It is,” you clarify, confused as to why it matters.

The first man speaks, more enthusiastically this time, “See, I told him! Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people,” he stammers, “your tribe, if half of what I read is true then-“

The second man cuts him off, “We have money.”

“how much?” Mando asks finally.

“Everything we have. Our whole harvest was stolen. Krill. We’re Krill farmers.”

The other man speaks now, “We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in,” he says as he holds out a medium sized bag of credits, clearly much less than what Mando usually gets for jobs.

“It’s not enough,” he says.

You smack him on the arm harshly causing him to look at you, “Mando!”

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is!” one of them says indignantly.

You nod towards him in understanding before looking pointedly up at the Mandalorian, “You’re right we don’t know what the job is yet.”

He ignores your light scolding and turns to walk back into the ship, “I know it’s not enough. Good luck,” he clips.

You look from the men to Mando before you all three rush after him, “Please, it’s everything we have!” one of the men call out, “We’ll get you more after the harvest,” he ensures.

Mando just ignores them as he climbs the ramp to the ship, and you look helplessly from the farmers to your ship mate. They just look down dejectedly before the first man speaks up.

“Come on, let’s head back.”

The second man huffs and follows reluctantly behind him as you pick up your wrench to go back to work, knowing you wouldn’t be able to change the Mandalorian’s mind.

“it took us all day to get here!” he cries, “Now we have to ride back with no protection, to the middle of nowhere.”

He words stop you in your tracks, and you spun around quickly, “Wait!” you call, getting their attention once more, “Where do you live?”

“On a farm. Weren’t you listening?” one of them says.

“In the middle of nowhere?” you clarify.

They cast each other a confused glance, “yes.”

Your eyes widen and you drop your wrench, “Hold on. Don’t leave!” you instruct as you run up the ramp of the ship, “Mando –“ you stop short as you almost run into him tinkering with something in the floor of the ship.

“What now?” he asks, annoyance lacing his tone.

You scowl, “Don’t ‘what now’ me,” you bite, “you’re going to want to hear this,” you say, pointing back at the farmers still outside the ship.

He sighs and stands up, looking at you expectantly. When you don’t say anything, he throws his hand out to the side, “I’m waiting.”

You smile and gesture to the door of the crest again, “They said they live on a farm,” you begin.

He shrugs his shoulders, “Yes, I gathered that when they said they were farmers.”

You roll your eyes, “They live on a farm in the middle of nowhere,” you finally say.

He straightens up at the information, before brushing past you and out of the ship once more.

“Do you have lodging?” he asks the farmers.

They seem to perk up at his question, “Yeah. Absolutely.”

“Good,” Mando states, “come up and help.”

The farmers pause for a moment seemingly in shock at the man’s change of heart before they start up the ramp and help you and Mando load your things onto their trailer. At some point during the loading process, Mando says he needs one more thing and asks the farmers for the credits, then leaves you all to finish loading. As you load the last thing onto the trailer, one of the men stops you, hand landing gently on your arm, you have to stop yourself from flinching from the unexpected touch.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, and you relax, “for convincing him.”

You shrug your shoulders and rub your neck sheepishly, “No need to thank me. I know what it’s like, to have your home taken away from you by others. So, I wanted to help,” you explain.

They look at you, a mix of curiosity and sympathy dancing in their eyes, “Did you ever get your home back?” the one you learned was named Caben asks.

You stop your movements, a bitter taste resting on your tongue, “No,” you say quietly, “I haven’t had a home in a long time.”

the other man, Stoke, looked at you sadly, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Mando’s voice filled your ears and you whipped around to face him.

You see the woman from the Cantina earlier standing beside him, and you give them both a smile, before gesturing to Stoke, “He was just saying sorry that they couldn’t get more money together,” you say, ignoring the confused look from stoke, “and I was about to tell him it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Mando looks at you suspiciously, clearly aware you weren’t telling the truth, but he decided not to press the subject. So, he waved his hand from the woman next to him then back to you.

“This is Cara Dune,” he introduces, “she’s going to help us.”

You give her a small smile and reach forward to give her hand a shake, caught off guard by her firm grip, “I’m (Y/N).” you say simply.

She nods, before stepping around you and onto the trailer the farmers came on, “Well enough small talk, let’s get going.”

You watch as she settled in and talks quietly with the farmers, and you feel Mando come to stand next to you, “You good?” he asks quietly.

You look up at him, his visor already directed towards you, “yeah,” you say a bit too quickly, “I’m fine, just tired is all.”

If Mando doesn’t believe your excuse he doesn’t say anything. He just nods and walks past you to join the others, and you followed behind him climbing into the vehicle and pulling the child into your lap, making him coo. You wouldn’t let it be known, but Sorgan reminded you too much of your home world, and while some would feel nostalgic and have happy memories come to mind when they are reminded of their home, you are exactly the opposite. You tried long and hard to forget everything about your past and the pain and trauma it holds for you. so, as the vehicle started up and began its course to the village you had to swallow down the bile rising in your throat, along with the painful memories fighting to break through.

/////

Liberation Tag: @therobinathome @lirinchi @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8 @fucking-dip-shit @maryan028 @notmyspaghetti @humbleseame @peter-psrker @riddlersfate @fandoms-equal-my-life @kaialisonflame @goth-pigeon @sinon36 @bruithel @magical-fandoms @scarlett126 @rickysbxssett @jamesdeerest @tennisislife12345 @rosey-posey141100 @forever-paramore28 @gothtechie @hollybee0987 @izdevett @witheringblooddemon @katelicon @sparrows-books @twofacedbassy @hnerals @crazy-obsessed-fangirl @eternallyvenus @lewismerryweather @doubtedbus409

Mandalorian Tag: @tryn25 @igotmadskills @dizzydazed @theforceofdisney @jeepangel @maryan028 @mandalorian-theway

Permanent Tag: @fleurdemiel145 @sargesbestgirl @lustriix @lord-wolfgen @petalduck @sebastianstanslefteyebrow2

#the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #Din Djarin #star wars

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tisfan · 5 years

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Tentacle-tober Prompts

A/N - so I may have over committed for October. I do that sometimes. Anyway, I’m like five days behind on these, and I’m going to just finish them off as I get to it. This is prompt # 18 Tentacles in Space and a continuation of https://tisfan.tumblr.com/post/188197264098/tentacle-tober-prompt-7 this StarkLord piece (Tony Stark/Peter Quill)

All the story is under the cut for being Very Naughty. (tentacle oral sex and bondage and nipple play)

To be continued, obv.

Note: Centauri are a Babylon 5 race that I borrowed. They do indeed, have six. It’s mentioned in the show (and even shown once or twice)

Yondu may or may not have a bifurcated dick. I don’t know that the canon is, but I’ve seen a LOT of art with him and Kraglin on that theme.

“So, we’ll just get it attuned to you,” Peter said, holding up the X’toy. “This… this should be bigger.” He shook it a few times, like he might rattle of dying flashlight to align the batteries better, and the X’toy responded by making a soft chirp, and then the center phallus went from a slightly underendowed, purple blob that looked more like a plug than anything else, grew at least four inches, turned brilliant pink, shiny, and shaped like a penis.

“You can switch it up?”

“Sure,” Peter said. He shook it again and got something bifurcated, with a thick ridge and-- were those barbs? “You want to do it A'askavariian-style?”

“Uuuuh?”

Peter switched it up again, and ended with an over-under double-dick in a light shade of blue. “Or Centarian?”

“Wait, Yondu was Centarian,” Tony protested.

“Uh, yeah?”

“They have two dicks?”

“Come on man, Centauri have six, so--”

Tony’s head spun a little. “That’s unnerving.” And a little disturbing, although Tony couldn’t decide if it was disturbing in itself, or it was disturbing because maybe that was something he’d like to try--

“Centauri ladies have six-- well, it’s complicated.”

“So I’m given to understand,” Tony said. “Let’s try just normal sex, first time?”

“Normal has a lot more definitions out here in space, Tony,” Peter said, smirking.

“Human-style. Earth normal,” Tony clarified, throwing a pillow at Peter.

Peter shook it again, and it returned to mostly normal, if at least two inches longer than the longest dick Tony had ever been fucked with. “This better?”

“Yes,” Tony said, and his insides quivered with anticipation. “So, you just-- what, want me to strip.”

“No, not yet. We have to attune it to you,” Peter said. “Sit here, get comfy, think sexy thoughts. I’ll let it get to know you.”

“Uh, okay,” Tony said. “What-- is there a safe word in this situation?”

“Not exactly,” Peter said. “I wouldn’t advise using it without a partner, at least.”

“That sounds dubious,” Tony commented.

“Yeah, well, it’s, you know, empathic? A little. It won’t turn off until you want it to,” Peter said. “You can literally be fucked to death. Die of dehydration, you know? Or you have to have really, really good control over your thoughts.”

“How do you know all this?” Tony asked.

“Uh, I…” and Peter blushed, which Tony didn’t think Peter could do, “kinda rented myself out for a few months. I needed repairs on the Milano, and--”

“You sold yourself into sex slavery?” Tony’s voice went up a few registers.

“I rented… myself into sex slavery. What can I say, the price was amazing,” Peter said. “And there were some side benefits.”

“Is that where your endurance came from?”

“You could consider it training for the sex olympics, yeah?”

“Anyway, this one’s got a safety feature on it,” Peter said, “which is not quite like a safeword, but-- hehe, butt -- uh, after about half a rotation, it’ll shut down. Just, don’t be on like, one of those planets with a two hundred hour long day. Otherwise, I can take it off you, with a little bit of effort. My thoughts-- totally controlled.”

Tony snorted. “Forgive me if I’m not sure I believe you. I’ve experienced your dirty mind in action, Quill. And you do like to watch.”

“We’ll be fine. We’re in orbit around Baysol III anyway, and its standard rotation is 8 hours, so the worst case scenario, you get four hours. You can handle four hours, I have faith in you, Stark.”

Tony pretended that he was considering it for, oh, all about three seconds. “Okay, then, let’s see what-- an atuning feels like.”

Peter grinned. “Relax. Think sexy thoughts--”

He placed the X’toy on Tony’s knee, and for a long moment, it just lay there, like any other silicone sex toy would, if someone just put it down. No vibrations, no wiggling, no nothing. Just a dildo flower laying on Tony’s--

It moved, and some of the tendrils formed almost-- legs. Crawling up Tony’s thigh. Tony sucked in a breath, flinching away from it, the way all sane people would when something with a dozen legs was climbing up your body.

“Is that thing… clean?”

“I mighta washed it, last time I used it,” Peter said.

The X’toy hooked tendrils over Tony’s shoulders, prodded at his mouth with the bulbous end of the central dick. Tony wrenched his head to one side.

“Quill, you complete asshole, if this is some kind of sick joke--”

The X’toy pushed itself between his lips as he panicked.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter said. “It’s completely sanitary. And it’s not going to hurt you, just--”

The central dick pushed into his mouth, an inch, maybe more. Tony pushed at it with his tongue, involuntarily trying to get it out. It tasted…

Incredible.

Like every single one of his favorite foods, liquor, cigar smoke, everything he’d ever enjoyed in his mouth.

A tendril slid over his ear, another one behind his neck. Two of them slipped down his shirt and hooked under his arms. Even more slithered down his body until it had his wrists, cuffed by coils of alien sex toy.

The central cock pushed in even further, into his mouth, stretching his jaw. More tendrils, small, delicate ones, teased at his lips, tickling and tingling. Tentacles around his head pulled the X’toy even closer to him, until it was like one of those alien parasites from the Sigorney Weaver film, but fucking his throat instead of planting anything inside him.

He hoped.

“Look at you,” Peter said, admiringly.

Tony lifted one hand to flip Peter off, and that might have been a mistake, because the X’toy tugged and pulled until Tony’s wrists were linked together behind his back, and then went up to thread in his hair, yanking his head back.

Still, the X’toy plundered his mouth, tasting perfect, but--

Tony thought this was supposed to be sexy, but he wasn’t sure that it was. It was weird, and it was a little hard to breathe, and Peter certainly seemed to be enjoying it, watching Tony’s cheeks bulge and his throat work, and the way he was captive in the chair. He couldn’t do anything about it now if he wanted to, the way it had his hands pinned, the way it was wrapped around his neck.

Panic touched him again, and then--

Well, Tony always was a little bent.

Even after everything that happened, he liked-- loved, really -- being helpless during sex. Being forced to stay still and just enjoy it. Tony had trouble relaxing during sex, he always wanted to be the one giving pleasure, he knew how to do that, he loved being praised, he loved all the wonderful little noises that people made. But when it came to his own wants and desires, he tended to shove them off, considered them unimportant, or a side effect, or--

The X’toy sent more tendrils down his body, touching him, probing at his chest, tickling over his ribs, flicked one nipple and when that got a slightly deeper sigh and Tony moving into the touch, it zeroed in on that spot, plucking, teasing, rubbing, coiling around and around. Another tendril, this one soft, wet, flat, brushed over his other nipple like a tongue, and Tony out and out groaned, heat rising in his belly.

“There you go,” Peter said. “It has to find out what you like. And-- look at you, you like being tied up, don’t you? Why didn’t I know that?”

Tony couldn’t respond, of course, but he rolled his eyes.

Peter just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said. “It’s gonna find everything that you like. Everything you were ever interested in, and everything you never told anyone.”

The central dick thrust deeper into his mouth, and Tony stopped fighting it, letting his eyes drift shut, knowing that Peter liked to watch, knowing that he was watching. A tendril wrapped around his throat, squeezing just enough to feel it, so he could tell each time the central dick thrust into his throat, feeling it on both sides.

The ones on his chest flicked his nipples, sending jolts of heat into his stomach, up his nerves, until he had his back arched so much it was almost painful. His hips thrust involuntarily, seeking friction that he wasn’t getting.

“Awww,” Peter said. “You want some attention here, baby?” Peter’s hand teased up his thigh, and Tony spread his legs to give him access, but he didn’t take it, the bastard, just traced up Tony’s leg, and down again.

The little hair-like tendrils around the base of the central cock continued to explore Tony’s mouth, little zings of sensation over stretched lips. His tongue was tingling. A tendril, wet like a tongue, but narrow, slid into his ear, and for just a moment, Tony tensed again. It pulsed over the sensitive skin of his earlobe, and then-- how did it have teeth? -- it bit the shell, hot air going into Tony’s ear canal, and Tony absolutely melted.

One tendril slid down his belly, a tickling, teasing line that made Tony squirm with anticipation, his dick throbbing hot and hard behind his zipper. Come on, come on--

He groaned, and the central dick pushed, thrusting in, swelling inside Tony’s mouth until his jaw ached, his tongue was pressed down in the bottom of his mouth, he almost couldn’t breathe at all, his eyes were watering with the effort--

Something--

Something squirted into his mouth, like cherry juice and lime, like the finest wine--

And then-- he was on fire, needing it so bad, wanting to be fucked and filled, and to come and to cry out--

The whole X’toy retracted back into its starting, flower-bud shape, laying in Tony’s lap, over his aching dick, while he panted for breath.

“Holy shit--”

“Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s learning you, and you’re… uh, got a dose of the go-juice.”

“It kinda came down my throat,” Tony pointed out. He squirmed, stretching his arms a little, trying to alleviate the pressure of his untouched cock.

“You gonna go something about this?” Tony demanded, gesturing to his groin.

“No, not yet,” Peter said. “Give it like five minutes--”

“Five--” He didn’t want to wait five minutes, he wanted to be fucked now.

“Use the time wisely, starshine,” Peter suggested. “Take your clothes off an’ hop up onto the bunk. We’ll get you all ready for the fun part.”

#tentacletober prompts #tony stark x peter quill #tentacles #citrus scale #grapefruit

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

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It’s That Easy (Spideypool) (Part Three)

Welcome back! Also, @amazing-spiderling, I know we said this would be 15k but uhhhh when I said I was going to “edit” this, I actually meant I would “add to” this and uhhh yep. We’re at almost 19k and I still haven’t edited Part Four. I’m not even sorry, this story is great.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART FOUR

*********************

There was nothing remotely glamorous about delivering greasy food and wiping down sticky tables, or dealing with obnoxious customers who felt entitled to the world simply because they’d gone out to eat that day, but Peter still had a smile on his face as he cleaned up yet another cupcake mess courtesy of the toddler at table two.

It had been almost three months now since Peter had taken Wade’s advice and asked for work at the 47th Street Diner, and Mr. Toomes had hired him on the spot, no questions asked and no references needed. He offered the apartment above the stairs before Peter could ask after it, had volunteered to drive back to the shelter and pick up Peter’s other things, and by the time the sun went down that night, Peter had finished half shift at work, had a few bucks worth of tips in his pockets, and was falling asleep on his very own bed in what amounted to his very first apartment.

It had been that easy, and when Peter had shyly asked if Wade had anything to do with how well the day had gone, Mr. Toomes had abruptly changed the subject and started rambling about how the shift schedule worked. The Beta’s lack of answer had been answer enough and when Peter crawled into the bed that night, he texted Wade:

From Peter: Thank you Alpha

From Wade: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

From Peter: Sure you don’t

From Wade: People like me for my sparkling personality, not my brains kiddo. What do you think I did that I definitely didn’t ever do?

From Peter: It’s weird to have my own apartment. But I like it

From Wade: Get some sleep, little Omega. Tomorrow you actually gotta start working to keep that adorable ass in your own apartment and you won’t have time to text me bull shit.

His own apartment.

Not that the apartment above the 47th street diner was anything special at all, of course. There was a bed set in the corner behind a six foot privacy screen, a closet converted to the world’s smallest bathroom, and a kitchen that was only a stove top, tiny microwave and sink. It was noisy in the morning when the diner opened and it was hot in the evenings from all the heat from the ovens in the restaurant, and when the wind blew, the little windows shook and rattled and god forbid it rain-- Peter had had to borrow buckets from the cleaning closet to catch water from the leaky roof the first time it rained.

It might have been the world’s worst apartment, but it was his.

And the job was repetitive and sometimes terrible-- after one particularly awful shift, Peter swore to himself to never be anything but polite and understanding to a waitress ever again because ho-ho-holy crap was being a waiter way harder than he thought it would be-- but he was actually making it on his own, paying his own bills and free from a life that had tried to force him to be someone he wasn’t, and that was enough to keep a smile on his face.

Well that and--

Peter’s smile grew when his phone chimed with a message from Wade, the Alpha dropping him a text just to check in like he did every single day.

From Wade: Do you need anything?

From Peter: I’m fine for another week or so, thank you. Do YOU need anything?

From Wade: Right. Because you with your minimum wage job and decorative little apron has anything that I, a strapping virile Alpha needs. As if. You wish. Keep dreaming.

From Wade: You can’t see it but I’m rolling my eyes very dramatically. Hard enough to give myself a headache. You gave me a headache, you should feel very guilty.

Peter muffled a laugh and went back to scrubbing at the wall, flushing a little bit as he thought about the Alpha that had stepped up and completely changed his life.

His first heat after leaving the shelter had been awkward- a stammered phone call to Weasel with a request to talk to Wade, taking the bus down to the bar to lock himself in the back room because it was more secure than his apartment, gulping down the suppressants and literally crying in relief when his heat symptoms eased. Wade hadn’t come in that time at all and Peter had been sort of grateful for the privacy, for the chance to just sleep through most of what was happening.

But he’d been even more grateful when he buzzed the front so Weasel would know to unbarricade the door and Wade had been there instead, scooping him up into a hug and crooning soft things in his ear. Then had come piles and piles of food after Peter had cleaned up, the Alpha sternly telling him to eat as much as he wanted and then wrapping the rest so Peter had extra food to take home.

The heat after that had been less awkward, with Weasel poking fun at Peter as he headed towards the back room again and Wade showing up almost immediately with the suppressants. They’d had a few hours before heat set in all the way, so Wade had sat and talked with Peter, rubbing his back when the aches got bad, soothing him with quiet rumbles when the cramps started to really hurt and then excusing himself once heat actually started.

As soon as it was over, Wade was back and this time he held Peter a little closer for a little longer, his scent full of warmth and safety and enough longing that it made Peter’s breath catch, made his purr a little stronger when the Alpha rubbed their noses together sweetly. They shared the food that time, binge eating piles of fries and laughing over whatever shenanigans Wade had gotten into on his last job.

This last time though, Wade met Peter at the bar and picked him right up, carrying him back to a newly fixed up room, a new mattress and clean sheets and a fully stocked little pantry so Peter wouldn't need anything. Peter had been shocked silent by the gesture, by the uncertainty from the big Alpha, and had pressed tight to Wade’s side for a long time before pulling away reluctantly once his heat set in.

After three rounds of the heavy duty suppressants, Peter’s heat only lasted about eighteen hours anymore, but he called out of work and stayed an extra night at Weasel’s anyway. He worked any and all hours available at the diner, so the chance to sleep in was too good to pass up, and the fact that Wade had curled up on the bed with him and held him close all night? Just a bonus.

Peter was fairly sure it was a trauma bond between them-- the same rush of protectiveness an Alpha firefighter got for someone he rescued, the same willingness to help that a social worker got when dealing with hurt kids. A trauma bond, a protective platonic imprint that fully explained why Wade was going out of his way to make sure Peter was taken care of, that he was comfortable and settled and happy.

It perfectly explained everything except why Peter had been dreaming about the Alpha just about every night and why he’d been texting Wade for no other reason than to talk, and why he’d started looking forward to his heat because it meant he could spend time laughing at Wade’s absolute ridiculousness and cuddled up in the big Alphas arms and falling asleep.

It perfectly explained everything except why sometimes the Alpha’s scent sharpened with arousal and want and drugging desire before lessening into something easier, or why Wade’s touch was sometimes less gentle and more possessive or why he had quite literally stopped in the middle of a job and came back to the city when Peter had texted to ask for more suppressants.

The Alpha made Peter feel warm and safe and a thousand other things he didn’t know he hadn’t felt when he’d been with Harry. And somehow, despite Wade always hiding behind that damn hoodie-- and one time, an actual burglar-style ski mask that had Peter nearly cry with laughter-- and all the terrible jokes and the scars Peter could feel at Wade’s wrists and the general awfulness that came with being a mercenary--

--Peter was falling in love.

And if he honestly thought for one second that Wade felt anything for him beyond a protective, platonic imprinting--

“Parker, you’ve got a customer asking for you.” Mr. Toomes interrupted Peter’s day dreaming. “And if you wipe that wall anymore, the paint will start peeling. Give it a rest, will ya?”

“Sorry, Mr. Toomes.” Flushing clear to the tips of his ears, Peter discarded his dirty apron for a clean one, tying it around his back and grabbing his order pad. “Not that having that terrible paint peel would be the worst, right?”

“I’ll have you know, lemon peel yellow was a very in color when I bought this place!” Mr. Toomes interjected good naturedly, and Peter laughed over his shoulder as he headed towards his section.

“Hey, welcome to 47th Street Diner, my name is Peter and I’m going to-- Peter froze when the scent of familiar Alpha swamped him, nearly sending him to the ground as his knees buckled. “H-Harry?”

Speak of the devil.

Son of a bitch.

Why why why?

“Heya Pete.” Harry held out his hand, and Peter took it automatically, shivering when warm lips pressed against his knuckles. “How’ve you been?”

“I--I--” Too distracted by everything about his new life, Peter hadn’t put much thought into how startling it would be to see his ex-boyfriend again, and for a few minutes he just gaped at the Alpha, stammering through a few disjointed sentences until he finally managed-- “Mr. Toomes? I need a minute? I need to take my break now.”

The Beta poked his head out of the kitchen ready to yell about it, but one sharp glance towards where Peter was standing, taking in everything about the situation and he nodded, tapping his watch. “Take your lunch, half an hour.”

Harry’s eyes brightened when Peter dropped into the other side of the booth, and he squeezed the Omega’s hand gratefully. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, but I wanted to see you and MJ said you were working down here so I thought I’d drop by.”

“You could have called.” Peter said softly, pulling his hand away and folding them in his lap. “Instead of just showing up at my work. Why are you just showing up at my work, Harry?”

“I’m sorry.” Harry lowered his voice as well. “Really. I should have called, but I didn’t think you’d pick up. And I waited until five so I’d catch you at the end of the day so in case you got emotional, we could just go to your place or something.

Annoyance flickered across Peter’s face. “Five pm is only quitting time if you work in an office, Harry. I’ve got four more hours until I’m done for the night, so unless you’re here to eat, I don’t want you hanging around, it’s not polite.” He frowned and added, “And if you were worried about me being emotional, you should have waited until you knew I was off work. It’s not like I can just go home if I happened to collapse into hysterics.”

“Your boss wouldn’t let you go home if you were having a hard time?” Harry protested. “What kind of job is this?”

“A normal one.” Peter said flatly. “A normal job that lets me off a few days a month for my heat, but other than that I’m pretty much expected to be a functioning, agreeable waiter who doesn’t do things like burst into tears and flee the place because my ex boyfriend showed up.”

“Okay okay.” Harry put his hands up in an attempt to placate the Omega. “Okay. I’m sorry, I’ve never had to work a job like this, I don’t really understand how it works.”

“I’m well aware. Wiping boogers off napkin dispensers is a far cry from signing papers with custom inscribed pens at your $5000 dollar desk.” Peter smiled to soften the sarcasm, and Harry smiled back. “So what are you doing here, Harry? Surely you didn’t come by just to tell me how cute I am in my apron.”

“You are pretty cute in your apron.” Harry allowed, his eyes warming in approval and Peter-- Peter was sort of surprised by how much he hated it. “Seems weird though, that you didn’t want to do the house Omega thing for me but you’d do it for a stranger? Cooking and cleaning and all that.”

Something like a snarl escaped Peter and he didn’t care to silence it, everything light about the moment disappearing. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Playing house Omega? This is my job, Harry. I have to pay bills now, I have to buy food. I’m not serving food because it's fun, this is a total shit job but I have to do it. Do not compare this to me giving up school and a career to stay home and play wife for you!”

“Calm down.” Harry’s voice hardened and not to be cowed, Peter snapped, “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“I want you to come home.” The Alpha said bluntly. “If this is such a shit job, just quit and come home. I’ll get you back in school, I’ll get you into that testing program for the new suppressants. We’ll reapply for one of your internships and if you want to work full time for a few years then that’s fine too. Come home, Pete. Enough is enough.”

Peter stared at him for a full minute, his mouth open in shock. “This has gone on long enough?” he finally repeated. “What do you mean this, Harry? You’re acting like I threw a tantrum and ran away! We broke up! I left you!”

“Right, you left me and I’m willing to fix all the things you didn’t like so you come back.” Harry held out his hand again. “Come home, Pete. You look skinny and sort of shaggy and you’re working in some shit diner-- don’t you miss our life together?”

“I miss-- I miss a lot of things.” Peter hated to admit it. “But Harry, this isn’t about me wanting to go back to school or being mad because you want kids without talking to me about it. This is about you and your dad sabotaging the choices I tried to make because you thought you knew what was better for me.”

“We weren’t sabotaging--”

“You tore up my applications for internships that would have had me traveling away from home you.” Peter interrupted. “I asked for better suppressants and you wouldn’t help me get them because you thought I should just stay home and have a kid even though you knew how I felt about it. How is that not sabotaging me? Why would you ever think you could make those decisions for me?”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “I was your Alpha, Pete. I was your Alpha and I paid the bills. I had a right to expect some input on what you did with your life.”

Peter’s heart sank clear to his toes. “Is that-- do you really think that, Harry? Is that really what you think?”

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Harry stood abruptly, apparently done with the conversation. “I thought you’d be ready to come home, that you’d missed me, or that you’d gotten tired of barely making ends meet but I guess I was wrong.”

“I guess you were.” Peter made no move to stand, blinking back tears as he stared down at the table. “Bye, Harry.”

“Pete.” Once Harry was gone, Mr. Toomes stepped out of the kitchen again, his voice soft as he said-- “You still got plenty of time on your break, kiddo. Why don’t you head up stairs and get yourself settled down. Take a few extra minutes if you need. Hell, it's a Tuesday night, slowest night of the week. You can head off if you want.”

“I’m fine.” Peter swiped any stray tears from his face and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I can finish my shift, I just need a minute and I’ll be fine.”

From Peter: Can I see you after work tonight? I get off at ten.

From Wade: Everything okay?

From Peter: It’s been a shit day

From Wade: I guarantee it hasn’t been as bad as Weasels. Some Beta came in for a celebratory shot before heading to the hospital to have her kid, but ended up going into labor in the bar. I thought Weasel was going to plotz, that guy has a panic mode that puts teenage girls to shame.

Peter laughed a little and wiped his eyes again.

From Peter: Yeah alright, it hasn’t been as bad as Weasel’s day, but still pretty shitty

From Wade: I’ll be there, Omega

*****************

Wade sat in the sketchiest booth in the bar, clear in the back under the one light that had probably never worked at all, his hoodie up over his face as he sipped at his drink and waited on Peter to show up.

He’d had to talk himself out of heading down to Toomes’ diner and causing a ruckus when Peter texted him about having a bad day, but that was nothing new. He had to talk himself out of causing a ruckus any time his mate was less than perfectly happy.

Wade struggled with keeping his protectiveness over his mate from edging into possessiveness, struggled with making sure Peter never picked up on how hard his heats were for Wade, how much self control it took to leave him alone just for the eighteen hours they were apart before Wade could hold him again.

He struggled with wanting to call Peter mate every time Peter called him Alpha and struggled every time Peter curled up close and sighed in that heart melting way, and struggled every time his phone buzzed with a text and he had to act like he wasn’t all of two seconds from throwing Peter over his shoulder like a gotdang marauding Viking.

Wade struggled, but all that mattered was that Peter felt safe and if that meant Wade had to fucking struggle just to breathe around that sweetly addicting Omega scent, then he was going to struggle to breathe and that was all there was to it.

“Alpha.” It was close to eleven pm before Peter made it to the bar, touching Wade on the shoulder and bending down to brush their noses together. “Hi.”

“Heya kiddo.” Wade fought back the urge to howl over Peter calling him Alpha-- seriously struggling-- and pushed a drink at the Omega. “Drink up then tell me about your day.”

“Yeah alright.” Peter tipped the glass back and drained most of it in one go, scrunching his nose teasingly when Wade gave an impressed whistle and waved for the waitress to bring another one. “So first thing this morning, this old guy comes in. Orders a stack of pancakes--”

“--as geezers do.”

“--and extra syrup--”

“Gotsta lube that gullet, right?”

“--eats every bite on his plate--”

“-- he had to do it to ‘em--”

“--then stands up and announces that the syrup is too sticky and made his pancakes taste weird and that he wants a refund.” Peter finished and Wade started laughing. “Yeah, good times.”

“Alright.” Wade handed the second drink to the Omega. “Tell me another one.”

“This group of soccer moms comes in for brunch.” Peter began. “All of them with that same stupid haircut, all of them wearing yoga pants and all of them seriously confused as to why the greasy, sketchy, borderline unhealthy diner didn’t serve frittatas and mimosas. Because you know, Toomes looks like the type of cook to have freshly made hollandaise sauce waiting for Sharon and Karen and Linda to split an order of eggs benedict because one serving has too many carbs?”

Another drink, another story-- “At this point, the toddler has been screaming for like an hour, then finally his dad gives in and gets him a cupcake and the kid just smashes it on the wall. Doesn’t even hesitate. Grabs that chocolate bullshit and smears it on the wall. It looked like someone had just put their butt on the wall and--”

Beer came out of Wade’s nose and Peter cracked up laughing when the big Alpha screamed over the suds, wiping at his face frantically.

“Keep going.” Wade managed, waving a hand for what would be Peter’s fourth drink of the night. “But on an unrelated note? After that story, I don’t ever want kids.”

“On an equally related note, I don’t want kids either.” Peter confirmed and launched into the next story. “So Mr. Toomes starts yelling from the kitchen at lunchtime, something about a mouse and a louse or something? And I get back there? He’s shout reading Dr Seuss over the phone to his granddaughter. On speaker phone just shouting Dr Seuss rhymes as he cooks the burgers.”

“Adorable.” Wade declared. “Just fucking adorable.”

It was at the bottom of drink number five that Peter finally sat back and sighed. “Harry came to see me today and it sucked.”

Wade rumbled comfortingly-- and definitely didn’t snarl thinking about his mate even being in the same room as another Alpha-- and Peter continued, “It sucked, Alpha. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t ask to see him. And I hadn’t really thought about how shitty it would be to actually talk to him again and I’m just sort of-- just sort of a mess. It was hard to see him.”

“Sorry, Omega.” Wade said softly, and then--”Do you want me to kill him for you? Because I will. I’m fairly certain car accidents aren’t suspicious. I could have Weasel put something in his drink? I know a piano guy, I could definitely arrange for a piano to fall innocently from a second story window was he’s passing below.”

“Oh my god, Wade.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

“Or maybe an anvil?” Wade grinned when the Omega snorted with laughter. “I know an ACME guy.”

“Do you know a guy for everything?” Peter drained the rest of his drink and pushed it away, shaking his head when the waitress offered him another. “Like, do you have a guy for every day things and then another guy for dastardly things? Or is the good guy and the dastardly guy the same guy?”

“Oooh dastardly, that’s a good word.” Wade frowned when Peter stood up and sort of wavered, the Omega’s laughter just a little too goofy to be sober. “Where you goin’, Pete?”

“I wanted to sit on your lap.” Peter plopped himself right on Wade’s lap, curling up in the surprised Alpha’s chest and snuggling close. “This is okay, right? If it’s not you can just push me on the floor. But push me gently, I’m too drunk to catch myself.”

“Right.” Wade leaned back in the booth and put both arms around Peter’s waist, more than pleased that his Omega wanted to cuddle. “Because I’m going to dump your adorable ass on this dirty floor. It’s practically a bio-hazard.”

“You think my ass is adorable?” Peter’s words were slurring a little bit and Wade held him tighter. “Or should I be more worried about the bio-hazard thing? It’s the bio-hazard thing isn’t it? This place is gross.”

Before Wade could answer either way, Peter continued, “I think the worst part about seeing Harry today was that he still doesn’t really know what he did wrong. He thinks I’m just upset, thinks I should cut all this out and just come home. But I mean-- he betrayed me. He ruined me. All I wanted was suppressants so I could stay in school and I wanted internships so I could get my degree done faster and I wanted--” Peter’s breath hitched. “I wanted a mate who understood me and instead I got an Alpha who saw nothing wrong with making me give all that up and I don’t understand why--”

“It’s alright Omega, sweet Omega.” Wade whispered into Peter’s hair, rubbing slow circles across Peter’s back when he sounded like he might cry. “It’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with wanting school and work and all that sorta thing, the domestic life isn’t for everyone. Just because I’m a paragon of domesticity and a poster child for a perfect Alpha doesn’t mean that you have to follow in my illustrious footsteps.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb.” Peter sniffed loudly, wriggling and shifting until he was straddling Wade’s thighs, his forehead pushed into solid shoulders, hands playing at the edge of Wade’s hoodie. “There’s nothing domestic about you. You kill people for a living. That’s the literal opposite of domesticity. The literal opposite.

“I’m hurt.” The words were strained, Wade’s breathing a little shaky the Omega pressed even closer. “I mean, yes, I kill people but there’s a more eloquent way to say that, right? Something about how I reunite their souls with the ancestral plane? You went to college, find a fucking synonym college boy.”

“College boy.” Peter laughed, soft and breathy and Wade’s heart rate tripled when the Omega’s fingers slipped under his hoodie to pluck at his shirt, then under again to smooth lightly over rough skin. “I think I like it better when you call me baby boy.”

“When do I- when do I--” Wade cleared his throat and tried again. “When do I call you baby boy?”

“Usually after you think I’m asleep.” Longing filtered into the Omega’s scent, and Wade’s eyes blurred red with need. “When you hold me after my heat. You ramble a lot, say a lot of stupid things and it makes me sleepy, but sometimes I l’l wake up, and you always say, ‘go back to sleep baby boy, I’ve got you’. S’nice. I like it.”

“Excuse you sir.” Wade tried to sound affronted, but it was difficult when Peter was drawing idle designs on his sides, the Omega tilting his head so his breath puffed warm against Wade’s neck. “That’s my emotional support rambling after you’ve fallen asleep and I’d thank you not to eavesdrop on it.”

“Mmmm. Sorry.” Peter shifted so that pert bottom settled snug in Wade’s lap, and Wade’s hands landed at the lean hips, holding him still .”I won’t interrupt your emotional support rambling then.”

He shifted a second time and Wade bit out--“You gotta sit still Omega, you’re killing me over here.”

“Sorry.” Peter said again, but he sure didn’t seem sorry as he inched even closer, rubbing his chest against Wade’s and moaning low in his throat. “You feel good, Alpha.”

He was definitely exhausted and definitely drunk and Wade felt a pang of guilt for enjoying how handsy the Omega was, the way Peter’s fingers kept flexing at his back and those long legs hugged at his thighs. Wade knew he should say something, should put the Omega back on the other side of the booth and settle the situation down but fuck-- fuck Peter felt so good and he was warm and comfortable and the perfect size in Wade’s arms and--

“Will you help me through my next heat?” Peter mumbled then and Wade nearly bit his tongue off. “I don’t want to do it alone anymore. Tired of it.”

“Um--Um--Um--” Wade scrambled for anything half decent to say, wrestling with his Alpha instincts so he didn’t fucking throw Peter down on the table and claim him right then and there. “Well I mean-- I’ll post up outside the door with a goddamn rifle to make sure no one bothers you, if that's what you mean. I don’t have a problem with that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Peter leaned away far enough to peer up into the hoodie, trying to catch any glimpse of expression on the Alpha’s face, sucking in a harsh breath when he saw the red eyes staring back at him. “I-I want you to share it with me. The suppressants keep it short anyway but it still hurts to be--” his voice dropped. “--empty. And I won’t be empty with you there, will I Alpha?”

Wades growl was low and desperate, vibrating through their bodies and Peter’s head fell back with a pleased trill. “Omega, you’re too drunk to be asking this sort of thing.” the Alpha managed. “You can’t just-- I’m not going to-- we should talk when you’re sober.”

“Okay.” Peter nodded. “Okay, then I’ll just ask you again when I’m sober.”

“Omega--”

“I should get home if I’m going to sober up in time for my shift tomorrow.” Peter wiggled off of Wade’s legs, an entirely too wicked smile on his lips when the Alpha automatically tried to hold on to him. “Unless you don’t want me to leave, of course. Do you want me to leave, Alpha?”

“I--” Wade forced himself to let go of Peter. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, ask me again when you’re sober and no, I don’t want you to leave, but yes you should-- you should leave. You’re very drunk and I might be a saint but even saint’s mess up every once in a while, yeah? So why don’t you--” he coughed and folded his arms, fighting against every instinct to stay put and not grab Peter again. “--go home and sober up and maybe text me tomorrow.”

“I know this is just a protective thing with us.” Peter struggled into his jacket, and Wade didn’t trust himself enough to try and help him. “I mean, I know you sort of trauma imprinted on me? And that’s fine. Because otherwise I know you wouldn't look twice at me, but I think if you--” he tripped and nearly fell and Wade caught him, letting go right away so he wouldn’t be tempted to pull the Omega back onto his lap.

“I think if you gave it a chance between us it could work.” Peter finished, eyes bright with too much to drink, cheeks flushed because even this drunk he knew he was taking a risk., crossing a line between them. “If you want to try, I mean. If you could ever look at me as an Omega, rather than someone you want to protect or-- or someone that needs protecting? We could try. If you wanted. It could-- it could be easy, you know?”

“I--I--” Wade thought he really might be broken, his mouth open as he watched his mate duck his head shyly. “Pete. I--we-- yeah. We could try. If you want. That’s--” god, he really was broken. “Yes.”

“My heat will start early next week.” Peter bent down and bumped their noses together, then dropped the lightest kiss possible on the Alpha’s mouth. “Think about it and let me know.”

Right. Wade thought as he watched Peter leave. Like I’m going to be able to think about anything else ever for the rest of my life.

*************************

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AUTHORS NEED DRINKS TOO!

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#ncts fics #spideypool #wade wilson #peter parker #harry osborn #abo dynamics #alpha wade wilson #omega peter parker

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