#bwkwinterexchange

[yehet-me-up]

The Science of Attraction

Pairing: Hansol/Vernon x Reader (female)

Word Count: 3,669

Genre: Camp Counselor AU, Christmas fic

Rating: (F) - fluff/SFW

Summary: The 3rd Annual Jasper College Winter Camp Christmas Competition is off to a heated start. The middle schoolers you’re in charge of at your college’s winter break camp are a mess of hormones and crushes. But no one is more affected by the season than the counselors.

“You like him, don’t you?” says the sassy thirteen year old next to you for the third time.

Your jaw drops and you pause in your decorating to look at her. Bethany came to camp last year, as a twelve year old, and has only become more forthright and nosy in the year since. You snap your jaw shut and re-focus on stringing lights around the tree in the common room, ignoring her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say in a desperate attempt to stop her loud, incessant questions.

“I think you do, and like, he’s soooo cute. And funny. And sweet. Why wouldn’t you?” she demands and you can feel her intent stare as she untangles more lights for you.

You give in and look across the large space to where to boys group is working on their tree. Although, you think with a laugh, it’s more resembling a trash heap at this point. One of their counselors, Vernon, is sitting on a couch, drinking a hot chocolate and directing his horde of middle schoolers around like basketball coach. 

You allow yourself a moment of weakness, three seconds to take in the casual way his hair falls over his forehead. The twist of his lips, the amusement in his eyes, as he lords over the space, his arm slung over the back of the couch. He’s like the big brother every camper wishes they had; all of the boys at camp look up to him with awe.

His head turns, as if drawn by your attention, and you snap back to face the tree so quickly your hair whacks you in the face. A flush rises in your cheeks and you fumble with the lights, desperate to not be caught staring. After a minute you look over at Bethany, who is handing you more lights with a look that so clearly says ‘told you so’ you want to burst out laughing. 

“I’ll tell Adam Rockford you like him if you say anything,” you tease and her eyes go wide. She opens her mouth to say something frantically but you cut her off. “How about we keep this between ourselves, hmm?” you offer, holding out your hand in a truce. 

She closes her jaw with a hmph and sighs, holding out her hand with resignation and shakes yours. She narrows her eyes with renewed focus at the tree. “Now, let’s get a move on. We’ve got to kick their asses. You know what’s at stake.”

You laugh - she looks like a mini general, your right hand in the battle for the victory. The dorm is relatively quiet for a Saturday afternoon. When school’s in session it’s a crush of bodies coming and going. Students off to late night study sessions, returning from sports practice, holing up in their dorms with movies and friends, or off to parties large and small. 

You smirk, thinking about how if this were any other Saturday night you’d be with your best friend, Claire. Either you drag her to the arcade in the basement of Miller Hall with your Astronomy major friends or she drags you to her sorority, forcing you into a dress and making you hang out at yet another get together in some fraternity’s basement. 

You’re definitely the odd couple – her the fashion merchandising major with the Louis Vuitton scarves and designer handbags, you the with the beat up Converse sneakers, permanent pen marks on your hands from doodling too much, and endless supply of space pun sweatshirts. Today’s reads Why didn’t the Dog Star laugh at the joke? It was too Sirius.

But you’d bonded over stapling reams of paper in the counseling during your work study placements freshman year and had only grown closer the last two years. She was off in Paris with her family, but she was obsessively teasing you about Vernon, asking how good he was looking this year and making you want to toss your phone into the nearest body of water.

Now that it’s winter break the dorms are almost empty of students. Your school is near a wealthy community, filled with parents wanting to get out of town for the holidays; off to islands and tropical resorts. Desperate for some time away, without kids. So two years ago your school offered free room and board for two weeks over the holidays to anyone who wanted to be a counselor at the ‘camp.’

You agreed of course. Your family isn’t big on holiday celebrations, and the break gave you plenty of time to get a head start on your reading for next quarter, and to use the showers without anyone else around. 

The only ones staying in the building aside from the security guard were the fifty or so students, seven counselors, and the faculty member who agreed to oversee this; Angie Callaghan, an English professor who was way more excited about the idea of a competition than any of the counselors or the students.

The first year it was simple – the team with the best floor decorations got to pick what movie everyone watched on Christmas Eve. The second year, things escalated. There was a cookie baking competition and a contest to see which team could wrap the most presents in ten minutes. 

This year, Angie’s gone all out. Tree decorating. Caroling. An Elf movie quoting challenge. Her right hand woman, a senior Architecture student named Sydney, has a permanent clipboard tucked under her arm, recording points. It was cute, you thought, how into it the kids got. They threw out taunts left and right to each other, tried to sabotage the other team’s efforts. 

And this year you’d heard that the teams had made a side bet under the table. The losing group has to run outside barefoot on New Year’s Eve in only their pajamas. Hence, Bethany’s steely focus as she critiques your light placement. A squad of pre-teen girls swarm around you, laying out ornaments and discussing strategy with an intensity usually reserved for disarming bombs.

A loud laugh comes from the other side of the room and your attention is once again drawn to Vernon. He’s bent over laughing at a boy who’s making a very inappropriate gesture with two ornaments. His eyes crinkle in the corners and you feel out of breath all of a sudden, struck again by how good looking he is, how magnetic his energy is.

When he showed up to the meeting for counselors freshman year with you, you were shocked. Two years ago he was the stereotypical frat guy. Black baseball cap on backwards, looking for everything in the world like he was trying to act as if he was too cool to be there. 

But over those first two weeks you saw the crack in his mask. The genuine smile that came to his face when he watched Blake Anderson get up his nerves and talk to his crush. How he stayed up late at night cleaning up the dishes and cups from the common room.

The way he swelled with pride when several of the students asked him what he wanted to major in over breakfast one day. He rambled on about business and majoring in something practical for a minute before he’d stopped short. Realized who he was talking to, realized he didn’t have to pretend to give a crap about ‘practical careers.’ 

He promptly started talking at the speed of light about his passion for video games and his desire to code the next Halo or Call of Duty. You were at the next table, grinning into your orange juice as the façade of the ‘too cool’ boy melted away to reveal someone who was just as big of a nerd as you were. 

The next year was even worse for you and the crush you were so intent on denying. You found him in the common room one night, consoling Bethany while she cried about how her parents had gone on vacation without her. And how she didn’t think they cared about her. He’d taken a deep breath, looked at her with her head in her hands, tears streaming down her cheek, looking like he wanted to cry himself at her distress. He’d turned and seen you in the doorway. 

You motioned to her to ask if he needed help and he happily scooted over to let you join them. The three of you had stayed up half the night, listening to her talk, offering words of comfort, stories, laughter and jokes to make her feel better. After she went to bed the two of you had sat there in a bubble of silence, regarding one another as if you’d each seen a new side of the other that you hadn’t noticed before.

You didn’t run into each other too much on campus, large that it was. Your departments, astronomy and computer science were only vaguely in the same sphere. But with your best friend’s involvement in the Greek life on campus, you saw him every now and again at parties. You gave each other friendly waves, nods of acknowledgement, as you passed in hallways, coming out of classrooms, in various living room parties. 

But now here you both are, yet again. Together in this in-between place, once more. Halfway between fall and winter quarters. Halfway between real life and this magical, dreamy holiday place. It’s getting harder and harder to stop yourself from wanting him. 

He’s never said anything about it, but you’ve felt his eyes on you. Seen the way that his attention lingers on you in counselor meetings. Noticed that he always tries to stand next to you in line for breakfast, giving you a wry smile when inevitably some hyper twelve year old cuts between. 

For someone who belongs to the largest fraternity on campus, he’s much more subtle than you would have expected. Wise beyond his years. Not that it doesn’t frustrate you to no end that he’s never made a move, but you can appreciate those qualities about him – his patience, the way his keen eyes seem to take in every detail of a person. The knowing smile he’d given you two days ago the night before camp began when you walked into the dorm together.

If the Christmas Competition is for the students, the unspoken challenge between you and Vernon is a game just for the two of you. Neither of you acknowledging this… thing between the two of you for the last few years. But this year feels different, the normal holiday magic feels charged with electricity. 

Last night, the first of camp, everyone had participated in the annual decorating of the dorm floor you were all staying on. Being the tallest of the group, he was chosen to hang the ceremonial mistletoe. You were pouring apple cider for everyone in the kitchen, but you’d come out just in time for him to step off the ladder. His eyes had caught yours, looking back between the mistletoe and you before giving you a knowing grin and walking off to put the ladder away. 

Frozen to the spot, you’d looked after him with a mix of longing and frustration, thinking he’ll be the death of you. Now he’s sitting on the couch with his legs wide, an easy grin on his face, and you can’t decide if you want to kiss him or dump water on him. A mix of both, if you’re honest. 

Finally finished with the lights, you move onto the ornaments, staunchly ignoring the way that you can feel his eyes on you as you stretch up to reach the top branches. Your team finishes first, of course. You pack up the supplies and head off to the store room with a smug look at him, giving the boy’s disaster of a tree a raise of your brow. 

The dorm being used for storage is a dangerous mix of boxes, packages, and wrapping paper. You do your best to organize the chaos for a few minutes, but suddenly you feel a presence behind you. Turning, you see Vernon in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. 

“Can I help you?” you ask, feigning ignorance that there’s anything in the air between you two.

“Would you like a hand?” he offers innocently, motioning to the leaning tower of bags and boxes. 

“Oh, fine,” you huff out, edgy at the thought of being with him in such an enclosed space. 

He gives you a grin that nearly stops your heart before dramatically rolling up the sleeves of his sweater and diving in. 

“So, how were your fall classes?” he asks as he tries to balance an armload of wrapping paper.

“Fantastic,” you start, intending to give a one-word answer, but your excitement keeps you talking. “I’m finally in the advanced courses so we’re actually getting to work on real projects. We’re helping out the local lab with charting the beginnings of a comprehensive Oort cloud diagram,” you say, your voice raising several octaves in your excitement. 

When you look over at him he’s watching you with a soft smile, paused in his movements. You impulsively bring your hand to your face, worried that there’s something wrong. “What is it?” you ask, and he blinks and shakes his head. 

“Nothing. It’s just - you’re so cute when you talk science,” he says and turns to set down the paper on the desk, completely missing the way your jaw drops. 

Without a coherent response to that you busy yourself with organizing the boxes of granola bars on the dresser. “What about you, I think I heard you got an internship at Bethesda?” you ask, trying to keep your curiosity to a normal level. 

He turns around, eyes wide and excited. “Yes, it’s been incredible. The new RPG they’re designing – well, I cant give you any details, but it’s going to be huge. I can’t believe they accepted me,” he says and rubs his hand on his neck in a nervous gesture.

“I’m not surprised,” you start. “Jeff Calkins in my advanced database management course says you’re wildly talented. A direct quote.”

He looks stunned for a moment, then his lips pull back into a proud grin, making him too like a little boy who just won a first prize. You spend the next half an hour discussing your majors, your internships, both reveling in the fact that someone in your life understands your obsessions and passions. 

His hands make quick work of the mess, his body coming into your orbit as you move around each other; bouncing around each other like atoms in the small dorm room. The connection you feel to him only escalates as you watch his mouth form words with care, every syllable sincere and passionate. 

Your gaze lingers too long on him, unable to tear yourself away. The curiosity that’s been building in you for the last two years seems to simmer to the surface on this night, in this room. Your hands fumble with an extra string of lights as the fantasies you’ve had come rushing through your mind. 

His lips on yours, his hands on your hips, pressing you against the closet door of your dorm. 

His hand holding yours at parties, the sun you orbit around, no longer adrift on your own. 

His front pressed to your back, his hands next to yours as you play Space Invaders at the arcade.

Someone who can understand the need you have to make order of the universe, to create art out of data and numbers. Someone who exists between worlds, between cliques, with you. 

“Y/N?” he asks from behind you, startling you from your thoughts. 

You turn around to find him watching you, hands in his pockets, hip resting against the desk. “Sorry, I spaced out for a sec, what did you say?” you ask in a rush, your eyes unable to stop from wandering to his lips. 

His own gaze is distracted, taking in your flushed cheeks, the way you hold the string of lights as though it’s the only thing grounding you to reality. He leans off the desk, walking a step closer to you. 

“I asked if you were seeing anyone,” he says in a low voice, laced with hope. His warm eyes find yours, taking a deep breath in just as you feel all the air leave your lungs. 

Your brow furrows, your brain seemingly unable to form these words into a concept you can understand. You tell yourself you’re hallucinating, suddenly worried that your logical, fact based mind has slipped into insanity and started merging your dreams with reality. 

“Huh?” is all you can say, your shoulders slumping, lips pouting in confusion.

He laughs, delighted by your disbelief. Closing the distance between you in two strides, his hands pull the string of lights from you and set them on the bed. Gently he steps up to you, sliding his fingers between your own and staring down at where your hands have become interlocked. 

“Are you seeing anyone? I’ve always felt like we’d be good together. We somehow kept missing each other, passing each other. But I came to camp this year determined to find out if you want me too,” he says, slow and steady, as if knowing how surprising this must be for you. This sudden declaration of feeling. 

“I just – no? I’m not seeing anyone,” you manage, your sanity returning. “Wait. You and me? Really?” you ask, wanting to reaffirm that these are actual, real words he said. That he means what you think he does.

He nods, his eyes alight with laugher. “Yes, Y/N. You. Me. Together,” he says like he would explain to a child and you purse your lips at him. 

“You know how I feel about you,” you say plainly, wondering if he could somehow have missed the way you’ve been drawn to him these past two years. 

“I have no idea,” he says with a grin. “Why don’t you tell me about it.” 

You let out a laugh, lips twisting into a wry smile. “Well, first there’s the science thing. God, I love when you talk nerdy to me, too-” you start. Your words trail off on a sigh as he bends forward to place a chaste kiss to your cheek. A noise leaves you as his lips move lower, trailing down your neck, something between a whine and a moan.

“No, no, keep going, I’m enjoying this,” he says, teasing, his hot breath brushing your ear. His lips find the sensitive skin of your neck and you let out a surprised sound. You smother it with your hand, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to the room.

Your eyes drift close as he continues to press warm, open-mouthed kisses there. You lick your lips and do your best to continue. “And you are so good with the campers, they love you. You show them that it’s okay to belong to lots of different groups, to be many different things at once.”

Finally he pulls back, the lightness in his eyes turning into something deeper. “I want to kiss you. So tell me right now if you don’t like me,” he laughs, releasing your hands and bringing his up to hold your face. 

“I like you,” you say in a rush. A second later he bends down to press his lips against yours, the moment stretching out as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that he’s actually here, in front of you, wanting you too. 

You bring your hands to his waist, folding yourself into his warmth as you remove any remaining space between your bodies. He moves against you, slanting his lips against yours and capturing them fully. You sigh against him, disbelief turning to passion as you catch up and pull back, needing to look him in the eye.

“So, wait. You like me too?” you ask with a grin. 

He laughs quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear with one hand. He nods, looking down at you with a cute smile. 

“Tell me all about it,” you say in a light voice, leaning over to press a kiss to his jaw, making him swallow dramatically. 

“Okay, let’s start with the fact that you have the current high score on Space Invaders, because that is incredibly hot…” he starts and you smile against his skin.

You emerge back into the main common room together, much later that night - hair ruffled, lips red and swollen, hands clasped together. The space is blissfully absent of middle schoolers or any other adults. The two trees stand at opposite ends, direct contrasts in skill level and aesthetic appeal. You stare at the mess that is the boys tree and smother a giddy laugh that he immediately notices. 

“Don’t say it,” he groans, his hands tickling your waist until you laugh and have to slap his hands away.

“But-” your start, holding your hand out indignantly to the monstrosity in the corner. 

“I swear I will break up with you if you say it,” he says, a lopsided grin coming to his mouth.

“Okay, fine,” your say with a huff, dropping your hand. A beat later, his words hit you. “Wait a minute… break up with me? Are we together now?” you ask, a wave of hope rising in you. 

“It took me two years to catch you. I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon,” he says warmly, leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose.

“Okay, but that really is the saddest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen,” you laugh when he pulls back.

“Oh boy, you’ve insulted Clarence. You’re going to get it now, babe,” he says with a devilish smile, grabbing your hand to pull you against him. His eyes glance up to the mistletoe above your head before leaning down to kiss you again.

[baepsaetan]

A Slice of Sweet (A Touch of Heat)

Pairing: Jackson x Reader

Summary: Prompt: "what tastes better, me or the hot chocolate?"

Genre: Fluff, Idol! verse

Warnings: Mildly suggestive content

Length: 2.7k words

Burning into your lungs, the cold makes every gasping breath painful… which is unfortunate, because you’re laughing so hard each breath comes in a pant, and you can’t seem to stop. You duck under a snowball that sails over your head and hits Yugyeom in the shoulder, and he shakes his fist at BamBam, who grins and dives away. The white battleground, made dim by the late hour, has slowly degenerated into a chaotic sprawl, mounds of snow springing up here and there to act as hasty barriers for each team. For some reason Youngjae and Sana have spent the last half hour making a snowman near one of the streetlights that circle the park, only half-heartedly adding their snowballs to your team’s arsenal. The process is hampered by Jinyoung and Tzuyu, who are taking great pleasure in trying to knock the snowman over or hit the carefree duo – either seems to work.

You move away, not wanting to be targeted by the two, before scooping up more snow in your gloved hands. Breath misting out in front of you, you narrow your eyes, trying to spot the rest of the boys and girls as they dart through the darkness. A high-pitched laugh calls your attention, and you swivel. Mark’s doubled over, laughing so hard he almost looks like he’s going to be sick, and JB is racing across the field, white powder streaming from his hair, vengeance in his face. You’re not certain, but Mark probably pegged him pretty good. You’re even less certain your ‘enemy’ will live long enough to enjoy his hit, given the way your teammate JB is running. With a slight snort, you pitch your projectile at Mark despite his total distraction – all’s fair in love and snow fights, right? His yelp carries across the field as the cold, wet bullet hits him in the neck, and you smirk and bend over to grab more ammunition.

Which is when the ambush happens.

Suddenly someone crashes into you, knocking you harmlessly into a snow drift, and your indignant cry is closely followed by a victorious crowing that’s all too familiar. A weight settles on your hips, pinning you, and Jackson grins down at you with a smugness that would have been annoying if it weren’t so cute. His neck and chin are swathed in a thick red and yellow scarf, his eyes peeking out from underneath a black beanie, and his winter jacket is so thick you’re surprised he can move at all. He can, though, shifting to kiss your nose teasingly as you struggle to throw him off you.

“Aish Jackson, get off!” you complain, though your skin feels warm where his lips pressed against. Still – it’s the principle of the thing, and you’re not about to let your enemy (and boyfriend) say he beat you. Unbeknownst to the oblivious Jackson, your scrabbling hand finds a good clump of snow, and you go limp, pretending to be defeated.

“The first victim of the war!” he declares with a smile that’s entirely too happy. “Can true love’s kiss resurrect this poor girl?” When Jackson leans in to give you another kiss, you act – your hand flies up, shoving the snow into his face.

With a dramatic howl – you don’t know what else you were expecting – he collapses backwards, sprawling out onto the soft ground with his arms outstretched, looking for all the world like a kid who fell asleep making snow angels. His theatrical faint gives you time to get to your knees, snow cascading off your back and toque, and you shuffle to his side and then lean over him, trying to look stern. Jackson sneaks open one eye, sees you watching, and quickly closes it again. You snort under your breath before taking off one glove, reaching down and brushing some of the snow off his face. Under your palm his jaw tenses, obviously fighting off a smile, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, what a poor boy,” you say teasingly. “If only he’d survived this war, maybe I would have kissed him.”

Jackson sits up like he’s been electrified. “It’s a miracle!” he exclaims shamelessly. “Your love’s brought me back to life! A kiss would totally make sure I don’t die again, though.”

The blond boy tilts his head expectantly, and you suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Leaning over, you brush your lips just barely over his before pulling back, still teasing, and he whines a complaint. His eyes are soulfully wounded, and you sniff, unsuccessfully fighting a smile. Mouth curling, you rest one hand on his thigh for balance and move closer. This time Jackson gently traps you, his gloved fingers finding either side of your face, though when you kiss him - for real this time - you have no intention of pulling away. His lips are warm but chapped by the cold, and when he exhales against your mouth, his hot breath flutters softly against your wind stung cheeks.

“Get a room!” someone shouts – it’s probably BamBam – and though a laugh rumbles in Jackson’s chest, he holds you tighter, your lips pressing together harder. You lean into him more, his warmth and stability drawing you in, and his arms shift to circle your back, tucking you more firmly into his body. Your eyes close with the feel of the velvety kiss, an encouraging moan rising in your throat, and you shift closer –

And the movement disturbs some of the snow that your hair and toque picked up when you first got tackled to the ground, making it slide in icy trails down your neck, and with a gasp you pull away from Jackson. Twisting, you try to shake the snow off, but that just makes it worse, the rapidly melting slush skating between your shoulder blades and following your spine. “Ugh,” you mumble, more ruefully than anything, and find your feet with the disgusted sound.

Looking down at the bewildered Jackson and dancing uncomfortably on the spot, you reproachfully say, “You could have kissed me without knocking me into the snow, you know.”

As some measure of understanding crosses his face, he laughs, totally unrepentant. “Yeah babe, but then you wouldn’t have been a snow angel.”

“Oh my god,” is your unimpressed response, but before you can stalk theatrically away, he grabs at your hand, hauls himself to his feet.

“Okay, okay, how about I make it up to you?” Leaning closer, he lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Let’s ditch everyone and head back to the dorms. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

At this point you and the rest of GOT7, as well as some members of TWICE, have been outside for close to two hours, and you’re definitely not going to argue with the idea of going inside. Glancing shiftily at the people scattered throughout the field that you’ve claimed for the night, none of whom seem to be looking your way or inclined to leave yet, Jackson giggles and begins to tow you after him, constantly looking over his shoulder. You go willingly, raising your free hand in a cheerful wave when Sana happens to look your way. She smiles, shakes her head, and goes back to helping Youngjae shove a giant stick into their snowman to give it another arm.

No one else notices your departure, although Jackson is snickering so much you’re a little surprised no one hears. Still, you guys stumble out of sight and are quickly on your way to the dorm, never letting go of each other. This late at night, there’s almost no one around, and though most of the idols would claim they managed to sneak out right under the manager’s nose, you’re pretty sure he just let it happen. It’s close to Christmas, past midnight and cold out, and not too many people, even the fans, are likely to be out trying to snap pictures right now. The managers of both groups probably figured it’d be a nice break for everyone involved.

You get to the JYP building without any problems, and it’s a relief to stagger into the warm shelter, Jackson’s arm slung around your shoulder. By the time you get to GOT7’s apartment, you can almost feel your nose again.

“All my clothes are wet,” you complain as you begin stripping off your jacket and snow pants, neither of which did much to protect you after spending so long being pelted by snow.

“Such a shame,” Jackson replies, tilting his head. “I wonder how that happened?” He yelps and ducks the mitt that you fling at his head. “Hey, hey, we’re trucing right now, remember? How about you grab a shirt from my room while I start on the hot chocolate?” He arches an eyebrow suggestively. “No pants necessary.”

Your second mitt hits him square in the face, but as he staggers melodramatically you make your way out of the entrance hall and through the short corridor to Jackson’s room. You’ve been here a lot – it’s been over a year since you started dating – and there’s nothing uncomfortable about opening his door and stepping inside. The room is a little messy, but GOT7’s been busy with promotions, and Jackson has his own separate schedule on top of that, so you can’t really blame him. It doesn’t take long to rummage through his drawers and find an oversize shirt, though you’re mentally cursing taking your extra pair of sleeping clothes home a few weeks ago. Your boyfriend had been so busy you hadn’t gotten to hang out much, and finally you’d grabbed your comfy pair of shorts and casual top that you usually left here and brought them home.

Too late for regrets now. Some of the guys will probably give you a hard time in the morning, but it won’t cause a scandal or anything. Slowly stripping off your clothes but leaving the underwear, you wiggle into the baggy white t-shirt. Honestly, it’s not that ideal – falling only a little way down your thighs – but with just you and Jackson in the dorms right now, you’re not going to be too uncomfortable. You’ve just finished hanging your clothes to dry across his desk and over the foot of the bed when Jackson’s voice comes from the kitchen area.

“Babe, it’s gonna be done soon. You find something okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply, and leave his door ajar as you walk barefooted back to the kitchen. Even after all this time, there’s something really satisfying about the way Jackson pauses when you come into view, his eyes skirting down to appreciatively note where the hem of his shirt ends, his hands stilling over the mugs he’s been filling. The smile that comes to his lips is a little different from his usual wild grin, softer but still fierce, and under his considering gaze you shift, a mixture of pleased and still almost… surprised that someone would look at you like that. That makes your hands fall, running self-consciously along the edge of the shirt, and if anything his smile becomes softer.

Shaking his head, almost as though to snap himself out of it, Jackson finishes filling up the mugs. “You look better in that than I do,” he complains while putting some marshmallows into the hot chocolate, and that makes you laugh, the tightness in your chest easing like it always did with him.

“You think JB would let me take your place in GOT7?” you ask, accepting the mug from him and gratefully clasping it to warm up your hands.

Jackson snorts, offended. “Babe, no offense but you can’t rap. I’m not just the pretty face, you know.” He gently nudges you and you both head for the couch. Jackson sits down first, and you sit down a little bit away, shoving your bare feet under his legs as soon you’re both settled, practically cuddling with the hot chocolate and ignoring his mumbled protest at your cold toes. It’s almost hot in the dorms, but the cold has sunk into your bones and you’re happy to steal his warmth. Besides, he’s in a thick hoodie, and even if his pants are kind of thin, you’re sure he’ll be fine. He grabs a blanket off the back of the couch and throws it over you, fussing until you’re tucked in, and you can’t help the warmth in your stomach that’s got nothing to do with hot chocolate.

“You’re not just the pretty face,” you agree once you’ve both shifted into a comfortable position, “but you’ve definitely got the prettiest face.”

He flutters his lashes outrageously and makes a face that’s supposed to be cute, laughing at the way you wrinkle your nose at him. “Thanks jagiya! Don’t tell Markie though.”

“You kidding? I won’t. I don’t want to get thrown out of the dorms.” Grinning, you take a cautious sip of the hot chocolate, hissing as it burns your tongue. “Ow ow ow too soon!” you explain to his curious expression, blowing and trying to get rid of the stinging pain.

Jackson shakes his head. “Want me to blow on it?” he asks with an impish grin, and you would have prodded him with your foot except you’re well and truly cocooned by the blanket and it would take too much effort.

“No, thanks, I’ve got it,” you reply instead. “I’m better at blowing than you, anyways.”

Having just taken a sip of his own drink, Jackson chokes, spilling some of the liquid onto his hoodie, and he coughs so hard you’re on the verge of abandoning your smug amusement and getting alarmed before he manages to get a hold of himself. Your boyfriend fans his mouth and side-eyes you while you smile innocently. Running a hand slowly through his hair, eventually Jackson speaks, and his voice is a husky rasp – although you can’t tell if that’s from choking or something else entirely. “Are you ready to prove that?”

You have a judicious mouthful of hot chocolate, deliberately taking your time and enjoying the way it warms your core. Lowering your mug, you arch an eyebrow at him. “Have I not proved it before?” you ask with prim confusion, and he’s recovered enough that he doesn’t choke again.

If anything his voice gets rougher. “Evidence has an expiry date, babe. Gonna need more proof if you want me to agree.”

You settle yourself more firmly into the heat of the blankets, pouting. “That sounds like a lot of effort,” you complain. Before he can protest, you wave your mug a little. “Besides, I wanna finish my hot chocolate.”

Smoothly, in a way that reminds you of just how fit he is, Jackson sets his drink on the coffee table nearby and then straddles you, the blankets trapping your legs and making escape a not-so-regrettable impossibility. Taking your glass from you (and you can’t honestly say you put up much of a fight) Jackson sets it on the ground next to the couch before leaning over you. When his lips press against yours, the taste of chocolate slides bitter-sweet into your mouth and his tongue follows a second later. You hum in appreciation, a throb of a totally different kind of heat settling in your stomach. Arching up as much as the blanket allows, you press against him, your fingers threading through his blonde hair and pulling him closer.

He grunts, shifting on you, and draws back just enough to trail his tongue over your lips, catching them gently between his teeth before he’s kissing you in earnest again. The friction builds in your limbs, against your mouth, not quite enough, and when you bite at his bottom lip in return Jackson groans. You slide one hand from his hair, trailing it down his shoulder, lingering briefly on the tautness of his lower back before slipping over his hip. When you palm his hard on through his pants, Jackson groans again, breaks away, his hand braced on the couch arm for support.

Now you’re starting to finally feel warm, and as you meet his eyes your tongue runs across your lips, the sweetness of him lingering in your mouth. His words come out in a sharply teasing hitch. “Come on babe, be honest… What tastes better, me or the hot chocolate?”

A/N: @bangtanwriters-net, @kwriterskollection

[sugaurora]

something to believe in

The town priestess peddled only lies and fantasy, a profession Doctor Kim could never let himself respect. If only she would stop making his heart beat so fast.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Doctor!Namjoon; Fluff; Fantasy; Barely Implied Smut

Word Count: 3,700+

Warnings: Profanity; Mentions of blood

Notes: Part of the BWK Winter Exchange held by @kwriterskollection and @bangtanwriters-net.

Prompt: first snow not dressed warm enough (I took interpretive liberties with this, I really hope you don’t mind)

Fun fact: This story has a named original character because I read the request, "Namjoon x OC", as "Namjoon x Original Character". At the time, I wasn't familiar with the usage of OC to mean a reader-insert character; so Aera was born. Even though it was a mistake, I've always loved this story exactly as it is. I hope you're able to enjoy!

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi!

Crossposted on AO3

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“I can see you there, good doctor,” she called out towards him in gentle warning. Her voice was unsteady, words rippling like disturbed waters and Namjoon’s well-practiced ears could hear the pain woven between them.

“Be still,” she followed up after a deep, shaky breath, pale fingers clutching at her clearly injured arm as she braced her shoulder against the base of a tall tree. “The creature bites.”

Aera, they called her. Well, those like Namjoon who didn’t attend the temple services she held throughout the week called her that anyway. Her followers simply called her Priestess, spending their time in her presence hanging on her every word as she made absurd promises of blessings from gods that simply couldn’t exist.

But even Namjoon couldn’t lie that there was something enchanting about her, the striking violet of her eyes drawing him in every time she turned her gaze in his direction, and the gentle wit of her words having left him lost in thought for more days than he’d care to admit.

In the beginning, he’d only spotted her in the village, running errands and visiting townsfolk like everyone else. He’d tried hard to ignore her presence though, no matter how tempting, as his faith in the sciences made him reject everything she stood for. But Aera was, if nothing else, charming. She was also a more than skilled apothecary, he’d found after visiting a patient and being highly impressed with the medicine she’d left for them.

So he willingly failed in his attempts to avoid her, giving in to the priestess’ kind smile, the one that sometimes made him wonder if he had a mild case of arrhythmia. Instead, she spent a few days a week with him at his office, almost as a makeshift nurse who brought comfort to his clients, partially as a skilled chemist who knew more about herbs and minerals than he ever knew one person could, and definitely as a friend. A somewhat delusional friend, but still a good friend that he enjoyed a glass of wine and a satisfying debate with now and again. And again. And again.

Namjoon set his travel bag at the foot of the tree nearest him, his spot at the lip of the forest somehow shrunken in comparison to the bizarre vision before him. Even as blooms of red and patches of brown dirt marred the white lace of her robes, Aera looked captivating, the vision of an imaginary ethereal being hurrying Namjoon’s heart, though he wanted desperately to tamp it down since it was getting slightly out of hand as of late.

But if Namjoon could wager, he was quite sure most of his staggered breath could be attributed to the towering creature just behind her.

The young girl that had been in the forest with the priestess hurriedly reported that the pair had been accosted by bandits during their stroll through the trees. She’d said Aera had sent her hurrying to the village for her own safety and that she might be hurt or in grave danger.

She had neglected to mention, however, that the priestess had been joined by a hell-only-knows how many meters tall, lizard-like creature with wings that currently had what Namjoon hoped was not a human arm poking out between it’s impressively-sized fangs.

“I’m here to help you, miss,” Namjoon spoke slowly, unsure how to handle a monster of this size and not completely believing what he was seeing in the first place. Wild boars and bucking horses had nothing on the beast resting on its enormous claws and still brushing tree tops with its back. Was this a spell? Did priestesses do spells? Namjoon shook his head to clear his thoughts, reasoning that whatever was happening was sure to be explained in a book he had overlooked somewhere. Perhaps in a lecture on hysteria.

“And I assure you, good doctor, I’m in need of it. But Seles is a little overprotective right now. Let her digest the bandits that caused this for a little longer.”

The creature — had she called it Seles? — rippled its back like a stretching feline, inky, black scales larger than his long-fingered hand and, he wagered, as strong as damascus, shimmering in the hot, midday sun. Positioned behind the priestess, it eyed Namjoon with caution, slurping up the remaining contents of its snack before focusing a measured, blood-red, cat-eyed slit on him.

He knelt into the grass at his feet slowly in an instinctual show of submission, not interested just yet in losing his life at the hands...or teeth of an unknown forest monster.

“Can you stand?” he asked across the patch of grass that served to distance them. “If you’ll come to me, perhaps she...he...it will be soothed by you making the first move.”

“A girl,” Aera responded, then groaned a little at the force of sitting up and away from her supportive tree.

“I’m sorry?” Namjoon responded.

“Seles is a female dragon,” she said calmly, glancing up with an almost loving gaze at the dark monster hovering high above her head.

“A dra-”

A voice, heavy with power and drenched in layers of the unknown rippled between the edges of time and existence. Namjoon could feel his sanity teetering on the precipice with each utterance, barely holding on as things he didn’t believe in anchored themselves to his mind and body.

I won’t hurt him. This human holds you in his heart.

Shaking his head to quiet the ringing in his ears, Namjoon found his hand clutching at his breast, trails of fresh tears staining his cheeks. Dumbfounded by whatever had just taken place, he looked to Aera to confirm his madness, seeing that the priestess had at last stood from her spot on the ground, stance shaky. And on her face, peony pink lips held a sympathetic smile for him.

“I’m sorry, my poor doctor. She has that effect on us mortals the first time around.”

Namjoon scrambled to his feet as Aera began to stumble her way towards him. His shock overridden by years of emergency responses to injured patients, he scooped up his bag and hurried to her side, wiping tears from his eyes before meeting her halfway. She let herself fall forward into his chest, strands of her long, dark hair plastered in sweat against her forehead.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, both needing to know how to treat her and worried for her health, only just realizing how pale her face had become. Bleeding this much on a normal day was dangerous enough. But it was blazing hot today in their already usually warm village and he worried she might not be long for a sunstroke at this rate.

“Haeun and I were looking for berry patches in the shade when we were attacked,” Aera started, and Namjoon helped her back down onto the ground, leaning her against him in support as he began peeling down the bloodied sleeve of her dress to assess the damage. He sucked in air through his teeth and began pulling out supplies to treat the nasty wound at her back.

“I sent her running, hoping they would focus on me instead of chasing her. Then I fought and one of the bastards stabbed me.” Aera hissed as Namjoon worked, the sting of medicine welcome, but painful on her fresh cut. “They meant to sell me off, probably. To be quite honest, I was scared witless. I’m not sure if you know this, but getting stabbed hurts quite badly.”

Namjoon chuckled darkly at her sarcasm, brushing strands of her dark hair to one side of her neck as he bandaged her first wound and moved to the second. His usually unsteady hands only served him well when he focused on work, though he did admit the smooth pink across the skin of her back and neck of her skin, even brushed with blood was mildly distracting.

“But Seles was grazing nearby and heard my prayers. She came and made a meal of them. And then you came.” She hissed again at his attention on the second wound, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as if she had run out of energy from speaking.

A subtle blush spread across his cheeks and Namjoon was thankful her eyes were not on him, the words of the dragon moments ago finally catching up to him.

He held her in his heart? Namjoon shook his head to himself. Of course he did, she was a good friend. A dear friend.

“Seles, you can leave me with him,” Aera said, voice muffled as she spoke into Namjoon’s shoulder. But the beast seemed to perk up at her words anyway. “The bastards have long since settled into your belly and the good doctor will take care of me.”

As you will, little one.

With one subtle nod of its enormous head the creature took wing, blowing stray leaves and branches behind as it flew up into the skies with a grace unheard of for a creature so large and was gone before Namjoon could register its path. Yet he had seen it with his own eyes. Dragons, a fairy tale myth told by nannies to adventurous little boys, real and flying away in front of him.

“I know it must be a shock for you. She came to me one day while I prayed at the edge of the forest. There was nothing in the temple handbook about a guardian dragon, but,” Aera shrugged and then winced from the accidental pain. “Uggh...anyway, now I have one. Thankfully, or I might’ve been sold at an auction miles from here by now.”

Namjoon felt uneasy after he’d left her at the temple that night, heading back towards his house in town. He found himself at her door the following morning, obviously only to check on her injuries. And again that evening, just to make sure she was staying hydrated. He found himself spending more time with her each day after as well, at the temple, or his office, at the inn for a drink, or even when she wandered the forest and prayed. Just to make sure she was safe, he told himself each time. He was worried for her after her ordeal, that was all.

Namjoon had never been a religious man. He believed in science, simple facts, and explicable proof. Still, the more time he spent with Aera, the more he understood the faith people put in the temple, laying mounds of golden wheat and good cuts of meat into the altar’s flames in exchange for good fortune and happiness. The more he was able to accept her beliefs and admire her dedication, to appreciate the guidance and hope she offered those that sought her out.

And it wasn’t until weeks had passed, while he was tending to the nasty cough of one of the village elderly, that he realized he’d fallen completely in love with her.

“Where is your little nurse today?” the old woman muttered between her hacking. “She sure does help you out a lot.”

Namjoon poured out the mixture of cough medicine from his mortar into a small vial, clutching tighter to avoid dropping it at the mention of his “little nurse”.

“Ah, she is a priestess first, I’m afraid,” he answered calmly. “She’s tending to patrons at the temple. But I do think this medicine will make you feel a lot better, even in her absence.”

Another round of coughs and he handed over the serum, hoping it was the right mixture to settle the rattling of her lungs.

“I know you fancy that woman, but you know she can’t marry. She can’t give you children or even satisfy your needs what with her profession. You’d best look elsewhere, medicine man.” The woman upturned the herbal mix, sputtering a little at the unpleasant flavor before heaving herself from her seat, services rendered. “I’ll introduce you to my granddaughter sometime, dear. She would make a fine wife for a doctor.”

Long after his last patient had left that day, Namjoon found himself unable to leave his office as the evening crawled into late night, chewing his lip to hell over the old crone’s words and desperately trying to understand why they had opened an enormous hole somewhere inside his chest.

A gentle knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts and, after tripping only slightly over a stray book, he made his way to the entrance to find the very one muddying his thoughts standing in his doorway.

“Are you busy? It’s late and I didn’t see you after tonight’s service,” Aera asked curiously, lifting herself onto her toes in a pointless effort to see past his broad shoulders. He gave her a tight-lipped smile and a quiet ‘no’, trying his hardest to hide his deflated feelings.

A warm breeze trickled past him through the doorway, the tropical heat of summer wafting across the threshold and carrying her scent with it, brushed with lilac and vanilla and causing the aching in his chest to grow that much more.

Aera was practically bouncing in front of him, taking a furtive glance behind her before stepping a little closer to him and whispering.

“I want to take you somewhere,” she said, her eyes glittering with excitement. Namjoon leaned against the frame of his door, hyper-aware of her closeness to him and trying to force himself back to the usual comfort he felt in her presence.

“Alright. Where?” he asked, forcing nonchalance.

“A place where you can stand on fish and build castles with water,” she said ominously, before hurriedly turning on her heel and heading off towards the temple, waving an encouraging hand behind her for him to join.

“W..wait, what?” He fumbled behind, closing up his office and running off after her, his long legs making short work of the distance, but her words still leaving him behind in confusion.

She giggled excitedly, refusing to answer, cheeks flushed as she lifted her skirts and hurried her step towards the thick woods just behind the temple.

Seles was there waiting, barely visible in the dark of night save for her crimson eyes focusing on the pair as they came into view. Aera hurried to stand beside the creature, a grin plastered across her face as she waved him forward. Namjoon hesitated, still shaken from his first encounter with the creature and no more interested in becoming a midnight snack.

“Oh, don’t be afraid. Seles likes you,” Aera said warmly.

Like is a strong word, little one.

Aera laughed and gave Namjoon a wink before hoisting herself up onto the beasts wing and reaching out a hand to help him follow.

“It’s safe, I promise. Hurry, I want to make it while there’s daylight.”

It wasn’t that Namjoon had never imagined taking Aera by the hips and holding her close to his body. On the contrary, that idea was more than pleasant. However, doing so while flying above the clouds at speeds he was sure humans were never meant to go was never a part of his daydreams.

Shivers rippled down his spine as the temperature steadily dropped the further they flew from their home, cold air slicing through his breezy shirt and pants as Seles finally sought fit to descend. True to her word, the sun was again high in the sky, which was shocking enough.

But even more so was the ground they were heading towards, a blanket of sparkling white, dotted by small patches of deep green.

The dragon landed gracefully and Aera patted Namjoon’s hand, signaling that he should probably let her go. He released his grip, turning his head in awe at the new landscape. The blanket of white surrounded them completely, the green he recognized as some type of trees he had never seen, dusted with the same powder as the earth.

Aera slid down from Seles’ back carefully, making a soft crunch as she landed on the ground below. She urged him to follow, after which he felt a gentle bucking from Seles that had him hurrying down to what he hoped was safer territory.

“Shit!” he cursed as he landed, skin almost burnt by the cold sting of the substance below him. Aera only giggled in response.

“You get used to it. Seles said it’s called snow and it happens in places colder than our home.” She spread her arms, breath leaving wisps of smoke in the air. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

They spent the day exploring and shivering, walking upon a solid lake that sure enough Namjoon could see fish darting about several feet beneath them. Until he fell on his arse and Aera helped him slide back to the snow, her laughter ringing in the air all the while.

His body kept shaking, but watching Aera play around in the freezing, white powder was warming him just enough from the inside to withstand the cold. He had never seen her so excited, her cheeks red and her violet eyes crinkling at the edges as she danced around with him making shapes in the snow.

She scooped a little of it up, rolling it between her hands and he looked on curiously until he felt the ball explode against his shoulder and heard Aera burst into laughter, mischievously scooping another round of ammunition into her hands.

“What kind of priestess-” Namjoon started in shock, reaching down and grabbing up some of the chilly substance between his much larger hands, servicing for a much larger ball.

She shrieked a wild giggle, dropping her weapon and taking off running, and Namjoon dropped his own, running after her and quickly hot on her heels. Aera stumbled a little in the heavy snow, the hem of her dress tripping her feet and slowing her down just enough to let Namjoon catch up to her. His hands swung over her hips, pulling her back to him, the force landing them both into the freezing white powder.

But Namjoon could hardly feel the cold biting into his skin or hear the deafening thumps as his heart threatened to exit his chest. He could only feel her body beneath him, the blush of her cheeks, the white mist in the air escaping from between deep pink of her lips calling out to him, begging his attention. Then suddenly coming towards him as the priestess headed off his intentions, settling her lips against his.

Namjoon’s hand was in her hair, mixing wet snow with deep, ebony strands until he was on his back, her body draped across his as they explored secrets beyond words hidden between each others lips and his heart was filled again, the old woman’s words buried beneath the feel of Aera’s body pressed tightly against him.

A storm is on the horizon, little ones. Mate at home where you won’t freeze to death.

Aera’s eyes snapped open at the dragon’s words, and she hurried to her feet, staring out across the sky at the darkening clouds. Namjoon stood next to her, dusting snow from his body and unable to hold back his shivering any further.

“I’m so ready to be back in the heat,” he mumbled.

In no time, Seles had spirited them back to their tropical village, another setting sun greeting them when she left them in the forest. Namjoon made to leave her at the temple as always, planning to hurry home and change from his freezing, wet clothes. But Aera’s hesitation gave him pause, her fingers catching on the hem of his shirt, her wet, wind-whipped hair shuffling about her shoulders in the warm night breeze.

Her eyes said what she wouldn’t, but Namjoon understood all the same, hoping she could see the same feelings in his own. Wordlessly, he took her hand, and they both hurried back into town, arriving at Namjoon’s home just as night fell, but not sleeping until the moon was far past high in the sky.

Aera was awakened by a loud noise, blinking at her surroundings and not quite remembering her temple quarters looking this way. She sat up, slightly confused until she looked over and saw Namjoon’s bare chest as he sat up next to her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Namjoon sniffled noisily next to her, rubbing the back of his hand across his reddened nose before shaking out another loud sneeze. “I think those cold, wet clothes got under my skin. I don’t feel too well.”

Aera glanced over at the floor of the bedroom, where the now dry clothes he was speaking of had made their home for the night. She pressed a hand to his forehead, then a light kiss before nudging his shoulders back into the bed to lie down.

Slipping from beneath his sheets, she stepped back into her dress and settled herself into his kitchen, searching out his mortar and pestle and the ingredients for something to soothe the sickness sure to come to his body soon.

She heard him after a short while, quietly taking a seat at the table behind her.

“Ah, you should stay in bed,” she chided. “Isn’t that what you would tell your sick patients? This is my fault for taking you to that freezing place. I don’t want you to feel worse.”

Namjoon watched her tense shoulders, worrying that she felt guilty about more than just his runny nose. The old woman’s words came back to him, mostly disproven, but Namjoon wasn’t sure at what cost. He watched Aera work, mixing together something that, in her brilliance, he was sure would have him feeling better in no time. And even if it didn’t, he didn’t regret any part of it. Only...

“So…” he started, searching his heart for the courage to ask. He ran a nervous hand through the golden strands of his hair. “...Priestesses can’t marry, right?”

The pestle went idle, Aera’s fingers pausing in her work on the fragrant herbs. She took a slow half-turn towards his spot at the oaken table, trailing the deep violet of her eyes up to meet the warm amber of his. A familiar wrinkle was pressed into his forehead, the weight of his question hanging across the width of his face as his teeth sank nervously into his bottom lip.

Her lips took on a hesitant smile as warm tears threatened to prick the corners of her eyes, filling out her voice with the comforting feelings she’d had since meeting the good doctor.

“We can...”